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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Revellers
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: February 24, 2011 [EBook #35393]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVELLERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE
+ REVELLERS
+
+ BY
+ LOUIS TRACY
+
+ AUTHOR OF
+ "THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,"
+ "THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER,"
+ ETC., ETC.
+
+ NEW YORK
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+
+
+
+ Copyright, 1917, by
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+ All rights reserved
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+ _By_ LOUIS TRACY
+
+
+ THE WINGS OF THE MORNING
+ THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS
+ THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE
+ A SON OF THE IMMORTALS
+ CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
+ THE MESSAGE
+ THE STOWAWAY
+ THE PILLAR OF LIGHT
+ THE SILENT BARRIER
+ THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL
+ ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT
+ THE TERMS OF SURRENDER
+ FLOWER OF THE GORSE
+ THE RED YEAR
+ THE GREAT MOGUL
+ MIRABEL'S ISLAND
+ THE DAY OF WRATH
+ HIS UNKNOWN WIFE
+ THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER
+ THE REVELLERS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ CHAPTER                                          PAGE
+
+     I. QUESTIONINGS                                1
+    II. STRANGERS, INDEED                          13
+   III. THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF                      27
+    IV. THE FEAST                                  40
+     V. "IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS"         55
+    VI. WHEREIN THE RED BLOOD FLOWS                71
+   VII. GEORGE PICKERING PLAYS THE MAN             88
+  VIII. SHOWING HOW MARTIN'S HORIZON
+         WIDENS                                   100
+    IX. THE WILDCAT                               115
+     X. DEEPENING SHADOWS                         128
+    XI. FOR ONE, THE NIGHT; FOR ANOTHER,
+         THE DAWN                                 140
+   XII. A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT                       153
+  XIII. A DYING DEPOSITION                        172
+   XIV. THE STORM                                 190
+    XV. THE UNWRITTEN LAW                         206
+   XVI. UNDERCURRENTS                             225
+  XVII. TWO MOORLAND EPISODES                     243
+ XVIII. THE SEVEN FULL YEARS                      272
+   XIX. OUT OF THE MISTS                          292
+    XX. THE RIGOR OF THE GAME                     307
+   XXI. NEARING THE END                           323
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+QUESTIONINGS
+
+
+"And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate,
+and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son
+Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"
+
+The voice of the reader was strident, his utterance uneven, his diction
+illiterate. Yet he concluded the 18th chapter of the second Book of
+Samuel with an unctuous force born of long familiarity with the text.
+His laborious drone revealed no consciousness of the humanism of the
+Jewish King. To suggest that the Bible contained a mine of literature,
+a series of stories of surpassing interest, portraying as truthfully
+the lives of the men and women of to-day as of the nomad race which a
+personal God led through the wilderness, would have provoked from this
+man's mouth a sluggish flood of protest. The slow-moving lips, set
+tight after each syllabic struggle, the shaggy eyebrows overhanging
+horn-rimmed spectacles, the beetling forehead and bull-like head sunk
+between massive shoulders, the very clutch of the big hands on the Bible
+held stiffly at a distance, bespoke a triumphant dogmatism that found as
+little actuality in the heartbroken cry of David as in a description of
+a seven-branched candlestick.
+
+The boy who listened wondered why people should "think such a lot
+about" high priests and kings who died so long ago. David was
+interesting enough as a youth. The slaying of Goliath, the charming of
+Saul with sweet music on a harp, appealed to the vivid, if unformed,
+imagination of fourteen. But the temptation of the man, the splendid
+efforts of the monarch to rule a peevish people--these were lost on him.
+Worse, they wearied him, because, as it happened, he had a reasoning
+brain.
+
+He refused to credit all that he heard. It was hard to believe that any
+man's hair could catch in an oak so that he should be lifted up between
+heaven and earth, merely because he rode beneath the tree on the back of
+a mule. This sounded like the language of exaggeration, and sturdy
+little Martin Court Bolland hated exaggeration.
+
+Again, he took the winged words literally, and the ease with which
+David saw, heard, spoke to the Lord was disturbing. Such things were
+manifestly impossible if David resembled other men, and that there were
+similarities between the ruler of Israel and certain male inhabitants of
+Elmsdale was suggested by numberless episodes of the very human history
+writ in the Book of Kings.
+
+"The Lord" was a terrific personality to Martin--a personality seated
+on thunder-cloud, of which the upper rim of gold and silver, shining
+gloriously against a cerulean sky, was Heaven, and the sullen blackness
+beneath, from which thunder bellowed and lightning flashed, was Hell.
+How could a mere man, one who pursued women like a too susceptible
+plowman, one who "smote" his fellows, and "kissed" them, and ate with
+them, hold instant communion with the tremendous Unseen, the ruler of
+sun and storm, the mover of worlds?
+
+"David inquired of the Lord"; "David said to the Lord"; "The Lord
+answered unto David"--these phrases tortured a busy intelligence, and
+caused the big brown eyes to flash restlessly toward the distant hills,
+while quick ears and retentive brain paid close heed to the text.
+
+For it was the word, not the spirit, that John Bolland insisted on. The
+boy knew too well the penalty of forgetfulness. During half an hour,
+from five o'clock each day, he was led drearily through the Sacred Book;
+if he failed to answer correctly the five minutes' questioning which
+followed, the lesson was repeated, verse for verse, again, and yet
+again, as a punishment.
+
+At half-past four o'clock the high tea of a north-country farmhouse was
+served. Then the huge Bible was produced solemnly, and no stress of
+circumstances, no temporary call of other business, was permitted to
+interfere with this daily task. At times, Bolland would be absent at
+fairs or detained in some distant portion of the farm. But Martin's
+"portion of the Scriptures" would be marked for careful reading, and
+severe corporal chastisement corrected any negligence. Such was the old
+farmer's mania in this regard that his portly, kind-hearted wife became
+as strict as John himself in supervising the boy's lesson, merely
+because she dreaded the scene that would follow the slightest lapse.
+
+So Martin could answer glibly that Ahimaaz was the son of Zadok and
+that Joab plunged three darts into Absalom's heart while the scapegrace
+dangled from the oak. Of the love that David bore his son, of the
+statecraft that impelled a servant of Israel to slay the disturber of
+the national peace, there was never a hint. Bolland's stark Gospel was
+harshly definite. There was no channel in his gnarled soul for the
+turbulent life-stream flowing through the ancient text.
+
+The cold-blooded murder of Absalom, it is true, induced in the boy's
+mind a certain degree of belief in the narrative, a belief somewhat
+strained by the manner of Absalom's capture. Through his brain danced a
+_tableau vivant_ of the scene in the wood. He saw the gayly caparisoned
+mule gallop madly away, leaving its rider struggling with desperate arms
+to free his hair from the rough grasp of the oak.
+
+Then, through the trees came a startled man-at-arms, who ran back and
+brought one other, a stately warrior in accouterments that shone like
+silver. A squabble arose between them as to the exact nature of the
+King's order concerning this same Absalom, but it was speedily
+determined by the leader, Joab, snatching three arrows from the
+soldier's quiver and plunging them viciously, one after the other, into
+the breast of the man hanging between the heaven and the earth.
+
+Martin wondered if Absalom spoke to Joab. Did he cry for mercy? Did
+his eyes glare awfully at his relentless foe? Did he squeal pitiful
+gibberish like Tom Chandler did when he chopped off his fingers in the
+hay-cutter? How beastly it must be to be suspended by your own hair, and
+see a man come forward with three barbed darts which he sticks into your
+palpitating bosom, probably cursing you the while!
+
+And then appeared from the depths of the wood ten young men, who behaved
+like cowardly savages, for they hacked the poor corpse with sword and
+spear, and made mock of a gallant if erring soldier who would have slain
+them all if he met them on equal terms.
+
+This was the picture that flitted before the boy's eyes, and for one
+instant his tongue forgot its habitual restraint.
+
+"Father," he said, "why didn't David ask God to save his son, if he
+wished him to live?"
+
+"Nay, lad, I doan't kno�. You mun listen te what's written i' t'
+Book--no more an' no less. I doan't ho'd wi' their commentaries an'
+explanations, an' what oor passon calls anilitical disquisitions. Tak'
+t' Word as it stands. That's all 'at any man wants."
+
+Now, be it observed that the boy used good English, whereas the man
+spoke in the broad dialect of the dales. Moreover, Bolland, an
+out-and-out Dissenter, was clannish enough to speak of "our" parson,
+meaning thereby the vicar of the parish, a gentleman whom he held at
+arm's length in politics and religion.
+
+The latter discrepancy was a mere village colloquialism; the other--the
+marked difference between father and son--was startling, not alone by
+reason of their varying speech, but by the queer contrast they offered
+in manners and appearance.
+
+Bolland was a typical yeoman of the moor edge, a tall, strong man,
+twisted and bent like the oak which betrayed Absalom, slow in his
+movements, heavy of foot, and clothed in brown corduroy which resembled
+curiously the weatherbeaten bark of a tree. There was a rugged dignity
+in his bearded face, and the huge spectacles he had now pushed high up
+on his forehead lent a semblance of greater age than he could lay claim
+to. Yet was he a lineal descendant of Gurth, the swineherd, Gurth,
+uncouth and unidealized.
+
+The boy, a sturdy, country-built youngster in figure and attire, had a
+face of much promise. His brow was lofty and open, his mouth firm and
+well formed, his eyes fearless, if a trifle dreamy at times. His hands,
+too, were not those of a farmer's son. Strong they were and scarred with
+much use, but the fingers tapered elegantly, and the thumbs were long
+and straight.
+
+Certainly, the heavy-browed farmer, with his drooping nether lip and
+clumsy spatulate digits, had not bequeathed these bucolic attributes to
+his son. As they sat there, in the cheerful kitchen where the sunbeams
+fell on sanded floor and danced on the burnished contents of a full
+"dresser," they presented a dissimilarity that was an outrage on
+heredity.
+
+Usually, the reading ended, Martin effaced himself by way of the back
+door. Thence, through a garden orchard that skirted the farmyard, he
+would run across a meadow, jump two hedges into the lane which led back
+to the village street, and so reach the green where the children played
+after school hours.
+
+He was forced early to practice a degree of dissimulation. Though he
+hated a lie, he at least acted a reverent appreciation of the chapter
+just perused. His boyish impulses lay with the cricketers, the
+minnow-catchers, the players of prisoner's base, the joyous patrons of
+well-worn "pitch" and gurgling brook. But he knew that the slightest
+indication of grudging this daily half-hour would mean the confiscation
+of the free romp until supper-time at half-past eight. So he paid heed
+to the lesson, and won high praise from his preceptor in the
+oft-expressed opinion:
+
+"Martin will make a rare man i' time."
+
+To-day he did not hurry away as usual. For one reason, he was going
+with a gamekeeper to see some ferreting at six o'clock, and there was
+plenty of time; for another, it thrilled him to find that there were
+episodes in the Bible quite as exciting as any in the pages of "The
+Scalp-Hunters," a forbidden work now hidden with others in the store
+of dried bracken at the back of the cow-byre.
+
+So he said rather carelessly: "I wonder if he kicked?"
+
+"You wunner if whe� kicked?" came the slow response.
+
+"Absalom, when Joab stabbed him. The other day, when the pigs were
+killed, they all kicked like mad."
+
+Bolland laid down the Bible and glanced at Martin with a puzzled air. He
+was not annoyed or even surprised at the unlooked-for deduction. It had
+simply never occurred to him that one might read the Bible and construct
+actualities from the plain-spoken text.
+
+"Hoo div' I kno�?" he said calmly; "it says nowt about it i' t'
+chapter."
+
+Then Martin awoke with a start. He saw how nearly he had betrayed
+himself a second time, how ready were the lips to utter ungoverned
+thoughts.
+
+He flushed slightly.
+
+"Is that all for to-day, father?" he said.
+
+Before Bolland could answer, there came a knock at the door.
+
+"See whe� that is," said the farmer, readjusting his spectacles.
+
+A big, hearty-looking young man entered. He wore clothes of a sporting
+cut and carried a hunting-crop, with the long lash gathered in his
+fingers.
+
+"Oah, it's you, is it, Mr. Pickerin'?" said Bolland, and Martin's quick
+ears caught a note of restraint, almost of hostility, in the question.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bolland, an' how are ye?" was the more friendly greeting. "I
+just dropped in to have a settlement about that beast."
+
+"A sattlement! What soart o' sattlement?"
+
+The visitor sat down, uninvited, and produced some papers from his
+pocket.
+
+"Well, Mr. Bolland," he said quietly, "it's not more'n four months since
+I gave you sixty pounds for a thoroughbred shorthorn, supposed to be in
+calf to Bainesse Boy the Third."
+
+"Right enough, Mr. Pickerin'. You've gotten t' certificates and t'
+receipt for t' stud fee."
+
+Martin detected the latent animosity in both voices. The reiterated use
+of the prefix "Mr." was an exaggerated politeness that boded a dispute.
+
+"Receipts, certificates!" cried Pickering testily. "What good are they
+to me? She cannot carry a calf. For all the use I can make of her, I
+might as well have thrown the money in the fire."
+
+"Eh, but she's a well-bred 'un," said Bolland, with sapient head-shake.
+
+"She might be a first-prize winner at the Royal by her shape and
+markings; but, as matters stand, she'll bring only fifteen pounds from a
+butcher. I stand to lose forty-five pounds by the bargain."
+
+"You canna fly i' t' fe�ce o' Providence, Mr. Pickerin'."
+
+"Providence has little to do with it, I fancy. I can sell her to
+somebody else, if I like to work a swindle with her. I had my doubts at
+the time that she was too cheap."
+
+John Bolland rose. His red face was dusky with anger, and it sent a pang
+through Martin's heart to see something of fear there, too.
+
+"Noo, what are ye drivin' at?" he growled, speaking with ominous
+calmness.
+
+"You know well enough," came the straight answer. "The poor thing has
+something wrong with her, and she will never hold a calf. Look here,
+Bolland, meet me fairly in the matter. Either give me back twenty
+pounds, and we'll cry 'quits,' or sell me another next spring at the
+same price, and I'll take my luck."
+
+Perhaps this _via media_ might have been adopted had it presented itself
+earlier. But the word "swindle" stuck in the farmer's throat, and he
+sank back into his chair.
+
+"Nay, nay," he said. "A bargain's a bargain. You've gotten t'
+papers----"
+
+It was the buyer's turn to rise.
+
+"To the devil with you and your papers!" he shouted. "Do you think I
+came here without making sure of my facts? Twice has this cow been in
+calf in your byre, and each time she missed. You knew her failing, and
+sold her under false pretenses. Of course, I cannot prove it, or I would
+have the law of you; but I did think you would act squarely."
+
+For some reason the elder Bolland was in a towering rage. Martin had
+never before seen him so angry, and the boy was perplexed by the
+knowledge that what Pickering said was quite true.
+
+"I'll not be sworn at nor threatened wi' t' law in my own house,"
+bellowed the farmer. "Get out! Look tiv' your own business an' leave me
+te follow mine."
+
+Pickering, too, was in a mighty temper. He took a half stride forward
+and shook out the thong of the whip.
+
+"You psalm-singing humbug!" he thundered. "If you were a younger
+man----"
+
+Martin jumped between them; his right hand clenched a heavy kitchen
+poker.
+
+Pickering half turned to the door with a bitter laugh.
+
+"All right, my young cub!" he shouted. "I'm not such a fool, thank
+goodness, as to make bad worse. It's lucky for you, boy, that you are
+not of the same kidney as that old ranter there. Catch me ever having
+more to do with any of his breed."
+
+"An' what affair is it of yours, Mr. Pickerin', who the boy belongs to?
+If all tales be true, _you_ can't afford to throw stones at other
+folks's glass houses!"
+
+Mrs. Bolland, stout, hooded, aproned, and fiery red in face, had come
+from the dairy, and now took a hand in the argument.
+
+Pickering, annoyed at the unlooked-for presence of a woman, said
+sternly:
+
+"Talk to your husband, not to me, ma'am. He wronged me by getting three
+times the value for a useless beast, and if you can convince him that he
+took an unfair advantage, I'm willing, even now----"
+
+But Mrs. Bolland had caught the flicker of amazement in Martin's eye and
+was not to be mollified.
+
+"Who are you, I'd like to know?" she shrilled, "coomin' te one's house
+an' scandalizin' us? A nice thing, to be sure, for a man like you to
+call John Bolland a wrongdoer. The cow won't calve, won't she? 'Tis a
+dispensation on you, George Pickerin'. You're payin' for yer own
+misdeeds. There's plenty i' Elmsdale whe� ken your char-ak-ter, let me
+tell you that. What's become o' Betsy Thwaites?"
+
+But Pickering had resigned the contest. He was striding toward the
+"Black Lion," where a dogcart awaited him, and he laughed to himself as
+the flood of vituperation swelled from the door of the farm.
+
+"Gad!" he muttered, "how these women must cackle in the market! One old
+cow is hardly worth so much fuss!"
+
+Still smiling at the storm he had raised, he gathered the reins, gave
+Fred, the ostler, a sixpence, and would have driven off had he not seen
+a pretty serving-maid gazing out through an upper window. Her face
+looked familiar.
+
+"Hello!" he cried. "You and I know each other, don't we?"
+
+"No, we doan't; an' we're not likely to," was the pert reply.
+
+"Eh, my! What have I done now?"
+
+"Nowt to me, but my sister is Betsy Thwaites."
+
+"The deuce she is! Betsy isn't half as nice-looking as you."
+
+"More shame on you that says it."
+
+"But, my dear girl, one should tell the truth and shame the devil."
+
+"Just listen to him!" Yet the window was raised a little higher, and
+the girl leaned out, for Pickering was a handsome man, with a tremendous
+reputation for gallantry of a somewhat pronounced type.
+
+Fred, the stable help, struck the cob smartly with his open hand.
+Pickering swore, and bade him leave the mare alone and be off.
+
+"I was sorry for Betsy," he said, when the prancing pony was quieted,
+"but she and I agreed to differ. I got her a place at Hereford, and hope
+she'll be married soon."
+
+"You'll get me no place at Hereford, Mr. Pickerin'"--this with a
+coquettish toss of the head.
+
+"Of course not. When is the feast here?"
+
+"Next Monday it starts."
+
+"Very well. Good-by. I'll see you on Monday."
+
+He blew her a kiss, and she laughed. As the smart turnout rattled
+through the village she looked after him.
+
+"Betsy always did say he was such a man," she murmured. "I'll smack his
+fe�ce, though, if he comes near me a-Monday."
+
+And Fred, leaning sulkily over the yard gate, spat viciously on
+Pickering's sixpence.
+
+"Coomin' here for t' fe�st, is he?" he growled. "Happen he'd better bide
+i' Nottonby."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+STRANGERS, INDEED
+
+
+Pickering left ruffled breasts behind him. The big farm in the center of
+the village was known as the White House, and had been owned by a
+Bolland since there were Bollands in the county. It was perched on a
+bank that rose steeply some twenty feet or more from the main road.
+Cartways of stiff gradient led down to the thoroughfare on either hand.
+A strong retaining wall, crowned with gooseberry bushes, marked the
+confines of the garden, which adjoined a row of cottages tenanted by
+laborers. Then came the White House itself, thatched, cleanly,
+comfortable-looking; beyond it, all fronting on the road, were stables
+and outbuildings.
+
+Behind lay the remainder of the kitchen garden and an orchard, backed by
+a strip of meadowland that climbed rapidly toward the free moor with its
+whins and heather--a far-flung range of mountain given over to grouse
+and hardy sheep, and cleft by tiny ravines of exceeding beauty.
+
+Across the village street stood some modern iron-roofed buildings, where
+Bolland kept his prize stock, and here was situated the real approach to
+the couple of hundred acres of rich arable land which he farmed. The
+house and rear pastures were his own; he rented the rest. Of late years
+he had ceased to grow grain, save for the limited purposes of his
+stock, and had gone in more and more for pedigree cattle.
+
+Pickering's words had hurt him sorely, since they held an element of
+truth. The actual facts were these: One of his best cows had injured
+herself by jumping a fence, and a calf was born prematurely. Oddly
+enough, a similar accident had occurred the following year. On the third
+occasion, when the animal was mated with Bainesse Boy III, Bolland
+thought it best not to tempt fortune again, but sold her for something
+less than the enhanced value which the circumstances warranted. From a
+similar dam and the same sire he bred a yearling bull which realized
+�250, or nearly the rent of his holding, so Pickering had really
+overstated his case, making no allowance for the lottery of
+stock-raising.
+
+The third calf might have been normal and of great value. It was not.
+Bolland suspected the probable outcome and had acted accordingly. It was
+the charge of premeditated unfairness that rankled and caused him such
+heart-burning.
+
+When Mrs. Bolland, turkey-red in face, and with eyes still glinting
+fire, came in and slammed the door, she told Martin, angrily, to be off,
+and not stand there with his ears cocked like a terrier's.
+
+The boy went out. He did not follow his accustomed track. He hesitated
+whether or not to go rabbiting. Although far too young to attach serious
+import to the innuendoes he had heard, he could not help wondering what
+Pickering meant by that ironical congratulation on the subject of his
+paternity.
+
+His mother, too, had not repelled the charge directly, but had gone out
+of her way to heap counter-abuse on the vilifier. It was odd, to say
+the least of it, and he found himself wishing heartily that either the
+unfortunate cow had not been sold or that his father had met Mr.
+Pickering's protests more reasonably.
+
+A whistle came from the lane that led up to the moor. Perched on a gate
+was a white-headed urchin.
+
+"Aren't ye coomin' te t' green?" was his cry, seeing that Martin heard
+him.
+
+"Not this evening, thanks."
+
+"Oah, coom on. They're playin' tig, an' none of 'em can ketch Jim
+Bates."
+
+That settled it. Jim Bates's pride must be lowered, and ferrets were
+forgotten.
+
+But Jim Bates had his revenge. If he could not run as fast as Martin, he
+made an excellent pawn in the hands of fortune. Had the boy gone to the
+rabbit warren, he would not have seen the village again until after
+eight o'clock, and, possibly, the current of his life might have entered
+a different runnel. In the event, however, he was sauntering up the
+village street, when he encountered a lady and a little girl,
+accompanied by a woman whose dress reminded him of nuns seen in
+pictures. The three were complete strangers, and although Martin was
+unusually well-mannered for one reared in a remote Yorkshire hamlet, he
+could not help staring at them fixedly.
+
+The Normandy nurse alone was enough to draw the eyes of the whole
+village, and Martin knew well it was owing to mere chance that a crowd
+of children was not following her already.
+
+The lady was tall and of stately carriage. She was dressed quietly, but
+in excellent taste. Her very full face looked remarkably pink, and her
+large blue eyes stared out of puffy sockets. Beyond these unfavorable
+details, she was a handsome woman, and the boy thought vaguely that she
+must have motored over from the castle midway between Elmsdale and the
+nearest market town of Nottonby.
+
+Yet it was on the child that his wondering gaze dwelt longest. She
+looked about ten years old. Her elfin face was enshrined in jet-black
+hair, and two big bright eyes glanced inquiringly at him from the depths
+of a wide-brimmed, flowered-covered hat. A broad blue sash girdled her
+white linen dress; the starched skirts stood out like the frills of a
+ballet dancer.
+
+Her shapely legs were bare from above the knees, and her tiny feet were
+encased in sandals. At Trouville she would be pronounced "sweet" by
+enthusiastic admirers of French fashion, but in a north-country village
+she was absurdly out of place. Nevertheless, being a remarkably
+self-possessed little maiden, she returned with interest Martin's covert
+scrutiny.
+
+He would have passed on, but the lady lifted a pair of mounted
+eyeglasses and spoke to him.
+
+"Boy," she said in a flute-like voice, "can you tell me which is the
+White House?"
+
+Martin's cap flew off.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," he said, pointing. "That is it. I live there."
+
+"Oh, indeed. And what is your name?"
+
+"Martin Court Bolland, ma'am."
+
+"What an odd name. Why were you christened Martin Court?"
+
+"I really don't know, ma'am. I didn't bother about it at the time, and
+since then have never troubled to inquire."
+
+Now, to be candid, Martin did not throw off this retort spontaneously.
+It was a little effusion built up through the years, the product of
+frequent necessity to answer the question. But the lady took it as a
+coruscation of rustic wit, and laughed. She turned to the nurse:
+
+"Il m'a rendu la monnaie de ma pi�ce, Fran�oise."
+
+"J'en suis bien s�r, madame, mais qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?" said the
+nurse.
+
+The other translated rapidly, and the nurse grinned.
+
+"Ah, il est na�f, le petit," she commented. "Et tr�s gentil."
+
+"Oh, maman," chimed in the child, "je serais heureuse si vous vouliez me
+permettre de jouer avec ce joli gar�on."
+
+"Attendez, ma belle. Pas si vite.... Now, Martin Court, take me to your
+mother."
+
+Not knowing exactly what to do with his cap, the boy had kept it in his
+hand. The foregoing conversation was, of course, so much Greek in his
+ears. He realized that they were talking about him, and was fully alive
+to the girl's demure admiration. The English words came with the more
+surprise, seeing that they followed so quickly on some remark in an
+unknown tongue.
+
+He led the way at once, hoping that his mother had regained her normal
+condition of busy cheerfulness.
+
+Silence reigned in the front kitchen when he pressed the latch. The room
+was empty, but the clank of pattens in the yard revealed that the
+farmer's thrifty wife was sparing her skirts from the dirt while she
+crossed to the pig tub with a pailful of garbage.
+
+"Will you take a seat, ma'am?" said Martin politely. "I'll tell mother
+you are here."
+
+With a slight awkwardness he pulled three oaken chairs from the serried
+rank they occupied along the wall beneath the high-silled windows.
+Feeling all eyes fixed on him quizzically, he blushed.
+
+"Ah, v'l� le p'tit. Il rougit!" laughed the nurse.
+
+"Don't tease him, nurse!" cried the child in English. "He is a nice boy.
+I like him."
+
+Clearly this was for Martin's benefit. Already the young lady was a
+coquette.
+
+Mrs. Bolland, hearing there were "ladies" to visit her, entered with
+trepidation. She expected to meet the vicar's aunt and one of that
+lady's friends. In a moment of weakness she had consented to take charge
+of the refreshment stall at a forthcoming bazaar in aid of certain
+church funds. But Bolland was told that the incumbent was adopting
+ritualistic practices, so he sternly forbade his better half to render
+any assistance whatsoever. The Established Church was bad enough; it was
+a positive scandal to introduce into the service aught that savored of
+Rome.
+
+Poor Mrs. Bolland therefore racked her brain for a reasonable excuse as
+she crossed the yard, and it is not to be wondered at if she was struck
+almost dumb with surprise at sight of the strangers.
+
+"Are you Mrs. Bolland?" asked the lady, without rising, and surveying
+her through the eyeglasses with head tilted back.
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Ah. Exactly. I--er--am staying at The Elms for some few weeks, and the
+people there recommended you as supplying excellent dairy produce. I
+am--er--exceedingly particular about butter and milk, as my little girl
+is so delicate. Have you any objection to allowing me to inspect your
+dairy? I may add that I will pay you well for all that I order."
+
+The lady's accent, no less than the even flow of her words, joined to
+unpreparedness for such fashionable visitors, temporarily bereft Mrs.
+Bolland of a quick, if limited, understanding.
+
+"Did ye say ye wanted soom bootermilk?" she cried vacantly.
+
+"No, mother," interrupted Martin anxiously. For the first time in his
+life he was aware of a hot and uncomfortable feeling that his mother was
+manifestly inferior to certain other people in the world. "The lady
+wishes to see the dairy."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"She wants to buy things from you, and--er--I suppose she would like to
+see what sort of place we keep them in."
+
+No manner of explanation could have restored Mrs. Bolland's normal
+senses so speedily as the slightest hint that uncleanliness could harbor
+its microbes in her house.
+
+"My goodness, ma'am," she cried, "whe�'s bin tellin' you that my ple�ce
+hez owt wrong wi't?"
+
+Now it was the stranger's turn to appeal to Martin, and the boy showed
+his mettle by telling his mother, in exact detail, the request made by
+the lady and her reference to the fragile-looking child.
+
+Mrs. Bolland's wrath subsided, and her lips widened in a smile.
+
+"Oah, if that's all," she said, "coom on, ma'am, an' welcome. Ye canna
+be too careful about sike things, an' yer little lass do look pukey, te
+be sure."
+
+The lady, gathering her skirts for the perilous passage of the yard,
+followed the farmer's wife.
+
+Martin and the girl sat and stared at each other. She it was who began
+the conversation.
+
+"Have you lived here long?" she said.
+
+"All my life," he answered. Pretty and well-dressed as she was, he had
+no dread of her. He regarded girls as spiteful creatures who scratched
+one another like cats when angry and shrieked hysterically when they
+played.
+
+"That's not very long," she cried.
+
+"No; but it's longer than you've lived anywhere else."
+
+"Me! I have lived everywhere--in London, Berlin, Paris, Nice,
+Montreux--O, je ne sais--I beg your pardon. Perhaps you don't speak
+French?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Would you like to learn?"
+
+"Yes, very much."
+
+"I'll teach you. It will be such fun. I know all sorts of naughty words.
+I learnt them in Monte Carlo, where I could hear the servants chattering
+when I was put to bed. Watch me wake up nurse. Fran�oise, mon chou! Cr�
+nom d'un pipe, mais que vous �tes triste aujourd'hui!"
+
+The _bonne_ started. She shook the child angrily.
+
+"You wicked girl!" she cried in French. "If madame heard you, she would
+blame me."
+
+The imp cuddled her bare knees in a paroxysm of glee.
+
+"You see," she shrilled. "I told you so."
+
+"Was all that swearing?" demanded Martin gravely.
+
+"Some of it."
+
+"Then you shouldn't do it. If I were your brother, I'd hammer you."
+
+"Oh, would you, indeed! I'd like to see any boy lay a finger on me. I'd
+tear his hair out by the roots."
+
+Naturally, the talk languished for a while, until Martin thought he had
+perhaps been rude in speaking so brusquely.
+
+"I'm sorry if I offended you," he said.
+
+The saucy, wide-open eyes sparkled.
+
+"I forgive you," she said. "How old are you?"
+
+"Fourteen. And you?"
+
+"Twelve."
+
+He was surprised. "I thought you were younger," he said.
+
+"So does everybody. You see, I'm tiny, and mamma dresses me in this baby
+way. I don't mind. I know your name. You haven't asked me mine."
+
+"Tell me," he said with a smile.
+
+"Ang�le. Ang�le Saumarez."
+
+"I'll never be able to say that," he protested.
+
+"Oh, yes, you will. It's quite easy. It sounds Frenchy, but I am
+English, except in my ways, mother says. Now try. Say 'An'----"
+
+"Ang----"
+
+"Not so much through your nose. This way--'An-g�le.'"
+
+The next effort was better, but tuition halted abruptly when Martin
+discovered that Ang�le's mother, instead of being "Mrs. Saumarez," was
+"the Baroness Irma von Edelstein."
+
+"Oh, crikey!" he blurted out. "How can that be?"
+
+Ang�le laughed at his blank astonishment.
+
+"Mamma is a German baroness," she explained. "My papa was a colonel in
+the British army, but mamma did not lose her courtesy title when she
+married. Of course, she is Mrs. Saumarez, too."
+
+These subtleties of Burke and the Almanach de Gotha went over Martin's
+head.
+
+"It sounds a bit like an entry in a stock catalogue," he said.
+
+Ang�le, in turn, was befogged, but saw instantly that the village youth
+was not sufficiently reverent to the claims of rank.
+
+"You can never be a gentleman unless you learn these things," she
+announced airily.
+
+"You don't say," retorted Martin with a smile. He was really far more
+intelligent than this pert monitress, and had detected a curious
+expression on the stolid face of Fran�oise when the Baroness von
+Edelstein's name cropped up in a talk which she could not understand.
+The truth was that the canny Norman woman, though willing enough to take
+a German mistress's gold, thoroughly disliked the lady's nationality.
+Martin could only guess vaguely at something of the sort, but the mere
+guess sufficed.
+
+Ang�le, however, wanted no more bickering just then. She was about to
+resume the lesson when the Baroness and Mrs. Bolland re-entered the
+house. Evidently the inspection of the dairy had been satisfactory, and
+the lady had signified her approval in words that pleased the older
+woman greatly.
+
+The visitor was delighted, too, with the old-world appearance of the
+kitchen, the heavy rafters with their load of hams and sides of bacon,
+the oaken furniture, the spotless white of the well-scrubbed ash-topped
+table, the solemn grandfather's clock, and the rough stone floor, over
+which soft red sandstone had been rubbed when wet.
+
+By this time the tact of the woman of society had accommodated her words
+and utterance to the limited comprehension of her hearer, and she
+displayed such genuine interest in the farm and its belongings that Mrs.
+Bolland gave her a hearty invitation to come next morning, when the
+light would be stronger. Then "John" would let her see his prize stock
+and the extensive buildings on "t' other side o' t' road.... T' kye (the
+cows) were fastened up for t' neet" by this time.
+
+The baroness was puzzled, but managed to catch the speaker's drift.
+
+"I do not rise very early," she said. "I breakfast about eleven"--she
+could not imagine what a sensation this statement caused in a house
+where breakfast was served never later than seven o'clock--"and it takes
+me an hour to dress; but I can call about twelve, if that will suit."
+
+"Ay, do, ma'am," was the cheery agreement. "You'll be able te see t'
+farmhands havin' their dinner. It's a fair treat te watch them men an'
+lads puttin' away a beefsteak pie."
+
+"And this is your little boy?" said the other, evidently inclined for
+gossip.
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"He is a splendid little fellow. What a nice name you gave him--Martin
+Court Bolland--so unusual. How came you to select his Christian names?"
+
+The question caused the farmer's wife a good deal of unnoticed
+embarrassment. The baroness was looking idly at an old colored print of
+York Castle, and the boy himself was far too taken up with Ang�le to
+listen to the chat of his elders.
+
+Mrs. Bolland laughed confusedly.
+
+"Martin," she said. "Tak t' young leddy an' t' nurse as far as t' brig,
+an' show 'em t' mill."
+
+The baroness was surprised at this order, but an explanation was soon
+forthcoming. In her labored speech and broad dialect, the farmer's wife
+revealed a startling romance. Thirteen years ago her husband's brother
+died suddenly while attending a show at Islington, and the funeral took
+John and herself to London. They found the place so vast and noisy that
+it overwhelmed them; but in the evening, after the ceremony at Abney
+Park, they strolled out from their hotel near King's Cross Station to
+see the sights.
+
+Not knowing whither they were drifting, they found themselves, an hour
+later, gazing at St. Paul's Cathedral from the foot of Ludgate Hill.
+They were walking toward the stately edifice, when a terrible thing
+happened.
+
+A young woman fell, or threw herself, from a fourth-floor window onto
+the pavement of St. Martin's Court. In her arms was an infant, a boy
+twelve months old. Providence saved him from the instant death met by
+his mother. A projecting signboard caught his clothing, tore him from
+the encircling arms, and held him a precarious second until the rent
+frock gave way.
+
+But John Bolland's sharp eyes had noted the child's momentary escape. He
+sprang forward and caught the tiny body as it dropped. At that hour,
+nearly nine o'clock, the court was deserted, and Ludgate Hill had lost
+much of its daily crowd. Of course, a number of passers-by gathered; and
+a policeman took the names and address of the farmer and his wife, they
+being the only actual witnesses of the tragedy.
+
+But what was to be done with the baby? Mrs. Bolland volunteered to take
+care of it for the night, and the policeman was glad enough to leave it
+with her when he ascertained that no one in the house from which the
+woman fell knew anything about her save that she was a "Mrs. Martineau,"
+and rented a furnished room beneath the attic.
+
+The inquest detained the Bollands another day in town. Police inquiries
+showed that the unfortunate young woman had committed suicide. A letter,
+stuck to a dressing-table with a hatpin, stated her intention, and that
+her name was not Martineau. Would the lady like to see the letter?
+
+"Oh, dear, no!" said the baroness hastily. "Your story is awfully
+interesting, but I could not bear to read the poor creature's words."
+
+Well, the rest was obvious. Mrs. Bolland was childless after twenty
+years of married life. She begged for the bairn, and her husband allowed
+her to adopt it. They gave the boy their own name, but christened him
+after the scene of his mother's death and his own miraculous escape. And
+there he was now, coming up the village street, leading Ang�le
+confidently by the hand--a fine, intelligent lad, and wholly different
+from every other boy in the village.
+
+Not even the squire's sons equaled him in any respect, and the teacher
+of the village school gave him special lessons. Perhaps the lady had
+noticed the way he spoke. The teacher was proud of Martin's abilities,
+and he tried to please her by not using the Yorkshire dialect.
+
+"Ah, I see," said the baroness quietly. "His history is quite romantic.
+But what will he become when he grows up--a farmer, like his adopted
+father?"
+
+"John thinks te mak' him a minister," said Mrs. Bolland with genial
+pride.
+
+"A minister! Do you mean a preacher, a Nonconformist person?"
+
+"Why, yes, ma'am. John wouldn't hear of his bein' a parson."
+
+"Grand Dieu! Quelle b�tise! I beg your pardon. Of course, you will do
+what is best for him.... Well, ma belle, have you enjoyed your little
+walk?"
+
+"Oh, so much, mamma. The miller has such lovely pigs, so fat, so tight
+that you can't pinch them. And there's a beautiful dog, with four puppy
+dogs. I'm so glad we came here. J'en suis bien aise."
+
+"She's a queer little girl," said Mrs. Bolland, as Martin and she
+watched the party walking back to The Elms. "I couldn't tell half what
+she said."
+
+"No, mother," he replied. "She goes off into French without thinking,
+and her mother's a German baroness, who married an English officer. The
+nurse doesn't speak any English. I wish I knew French and German.
+French, at any rate."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF
+
+
+Preparations for the forthcoming "Feast" were varied by gossip
+concerning "the baroness," her daughter, and the Normandy _bonne_.
+Elmsdale had never before set eyes on any human beings quite so foreign
+to its environment. At first, the canny Yorkshire folk were much
+intrigued by the lady's title. A princess or a duchess they had read of;
+a marchioness and a countess they had seen, because the county of broad
+acres finds room for a great many noble houses; and baronets' wives,
+each a "Lady" by perspective right, were so plentiful as to arouse no
+special comment.
+
+But a "baroness" was rather un-English, while Elmsdale frankly refused
+to pronounce her name other than "Eedelsteen." The village was ready to
+allude to her as "her ladyship," but was still doubtful whether or not
+to grant her the prefix "Lady," when the question was settled in a
+wholly unexpected way by the announcement that the baroness preferred to
+be addressed as "Mrs. Saumarez." In fact, she was rather annoyed that
+Ang�le should have flaunted the title at all.
+
+"I am English by marriage, and proud of my husband's name," she
+explained. "He was a gallant officer, who fell in the Boer War, and I
+have long since left the use of my German rank for purely official
+occasions. It is no secret, of course, but Ang�le should not have
+mentioned it."
+
+Elmsdale liked this democratic utterance. It made these blunt Yorkshire
+folk far readier to address her as "your ladyship" than would have been
+the case otherwise, and, truth to tell, she never chided them for any
+lapse of the sort, though, in accordance with her wish, she became
+generally known as Mrs. Saumarez.
+
+She rented a suite at The Elms, a once pretentious country mansion owned
+by a family named Walker. The males had died, the revenues had dwindled,
+and two elderly maiden ladies, after taking counsel with the vicar, had
+advertised their house in a society newspaper.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez said she was an invalid. She required rest and good air.
+Fran�oise, since Ang�le had outgrown the attentions of a nurse, was
+employed mainly as her mistress's confidential servant. Fran�oise either
+could not or would not speak English; Mrs. Saumarez gave excellent
+references and no information as to her past, while Ang�le's volatile
+reminiscences of continental society had no meaning for Elmsdale.
+
+But it was abundantly clear that Mrs. Saumarez was rich. She swept aside
+the arrangements made by the Misses Walker for her comfort, chose her
+own set of apartments, ordered things wholly her own way, and paid
+double the terms originally demanded.
+
+The day following her visit to the White House she descended on the
+chief grocer, whose shop was an emporium of many articles outside his
+trade, but mostly of a cheap order.
+
+"Mr. Webster," she said in her grand manner, "few of the goods you stock
+will meet my requirements. I prefer to deal with local tradesmen, but
+they must meet my wants. Now, if you are prepared to cater for me, you
+will not only save me the trouble of ordering supplies from London, but
+make some extra profit. You have proper agents, no doubt, so you must
+obtain everything of the best quality. You understand. I shall never
+grumble at the prices; but the least inferiority will lead me to
+withdraw my custom."
+
+It was a sore point with Mr. Webster that "the squire" dealt with the
+Stores. He promised implicit obedience, and wrote such instructions to
+Leeds, his supply town, that the wholesale house there wondered who had
+come to live at Elmsdale.
+
+The proprietress of the "Black Lion," hearing the golden tales that
+circulated through the village, dressed in her best one afternoon and
+called at The Elms in the hope of obtaining patronage for wines, bottled
+beer, and mineral waters. Mrs. Saumarez was resting. The elder Miss
+Walker conveyed Mrs. Atkinson's name and business. Some conversation
+took place between Mrs. Saumarez and Fran�oise, with the result that
+Mrs. Atkinson was instructed to supply Schweppe's soda water, but "no
+intoxicants."
+
+So Mrs. Saumarez was a teetotaller. The secretary of the local branch of
+the Good Templars donned a faded black coat and a rusty tall hat and
+sent in a subscription list. It came out with a guinea. The vicar was at
+The Elms next day. Mrs. Saumarez received him graciously and gave him a
+five-pound note toward the funds of the bazaar which would be opened
+next week. Most decidedly the lady was an acquisition. When Miss Martha
+Walker was enjoined by her sister, Miss Emmy, to find out how long Mrs.
+Saumarez intended to remain at Elmsdale--on the plausible pretext that
+the terms would be lowered for a monthly tenancy--she was given a curt
+reply.
+
+"I am a creature of moods. I may be here a day, a year. At present the
+place suits me. And Ang�le is brimming over with health. But it is fatal
+if I am told I must remain a precise period anywhere. That is why I
+never go to Carlsbad."
+
+Miss Martha did not understand the reference to Carlsbad; but the nature
+of the reply stopped effectually all further curiosity as to Mrs.
+Saumarez's plans. It also insured unflagging service.
+
+Hardly a day passed that the newcomer did not call at the White House.
+She astounded John Bolland by the accuracy of her knowledge concerning
+stock, and annoyed him, too, by remarking that some of his land required
+draining.
+
+"Your lower pastures are too rank," she said. "So long as there is a
+succession of fine seasons it does not matter, but a wet spring and
+summer will trouble you. You will have fifty acres of water-sodden
+meadows, and nothing breeds disease more quickly."
+
+"None o' my cattle hev had a day's illness, short o' bein' a trifle
+overfed wi' oil cake," he said testily.
+
+"Quite so. You told me that in former years you raised wheat and oats
+there. I'm talking about grass."
+
+Martin and Ang�le became close friends. The only children of the girl's
+social rank in the neighborhood were the vicar's daughter, Elsie
+Herbert, and the squire's two sons, Frank and Ernest Beckett-Smythe. Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe was a widower. He lived at the Hall, three-quarters of a
+mile away, and had not as yet met Mrs. Saumarez. Ang�le would have
+nothing to do with Elsie.
+
+"I don't like her," she confided to Martin. "She doesn't care for boys,
+and I adore them. She's trop regl�e for me."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"Well, she holds her nose--so."
+
+Ang�le tilted her head and cast down her eyes.
+
+"Of course, I don't know her, but she seems to be a nice girl," said
+Martin.
+
+"Why do you say, 'Of course, I don't know her'? She lives here, doesn't
+she?"
+
+"Yes, but my father is a farmer. She has a governess, and goes to tea at
+the Hall. I've met her driving from the Castle. She's above me, you
+see."
+
+Ang�le laughed maliciously.
+
+"O l� l�! c'est pour rire! I'm sorry. She is--what do you say--a little
+snob."
+
+"No, no," protested Martin. "I think she would be very nice, if I knew
+her. You'll like her fine when you play with her."
+
+"Me! Play with her, so prim, so pious. I prefer Jim Bates. He winked at
+me yesterday."
+
+"Did he? Next time I see him I'll make it hard for him to wink."
+
+Ang�le clapped her hands and pirouetted.
+
+"What," she cried, "you will fight him, and for me! What joy! It's just
+like a story book. You must kick him, so, and he will fall down, and I
+will kiss you."
+
+"I will not kick him," said the indignant Martin. "Boys don't kick in
+England. And I don't want to be kissed."
+
+"Don't boys kiss in England?"
+
+"Well ... anyhow, I don't."
+
+"Then we are not sweethearts. I shan't kiss you, and you must just leave
+Jim Bates alone."
+
+Martin was humiliated. He remained silent and angry during the next
+minute. By a quick turn in the conversation Ang�le had placed him in a
+position of rivalry with another boy, one with whom she had not
+exchanged a word.
+
+"Look here," he said, after taking thought, "if I kiss your cheek, may I
+lick Jim Bates?"
+
+This magnanimous offer was received with derision.
+
+"I forbid you to do either. If you do, I'll tell your father."
+
+The child had discovered already the fear with which Martin regarded the
+stern, uncompromising Methodist yeoman--a fear, almost a resentment, due
+to Bolland's injudicious attempts to guide a mere boy into the path of
+serious and precise religion. Never had Martin found the daily reading
+of Scripture such a burden as during the past few days. The preparations
+for the feast, the cricket-playing, running and jumping of the boys
+practicing for prizes--these disturbing influences interfered sadly with
+the record of David's declining years.
+
+Even now, with Ang�le's sarcastic laughter ringing in his ears, he was
+compelled to leave her and hurry to the front kitchen, where the farmer
+was waiting with the Bible opened. At the back door he paused and looked
+at her. She blew him a kiss.
+
+"Good boy!" she cried. "Mind you learn your lesson."
+
+"And mind you keep away from those cowsheds. Your nurse ought to have
+been here. It's tea time."
+
+"I don't want any tea. I'm going to smell the milk. I love the smell of
+a farmyard. Don't you? But, there! You have never smelt anything else.
+Every place has its own smell. Paris smells like smoky wood. London
+smells of beer. Here there is always the smell of cows...."
+
+"Martin!" called a harsh voice from the interior, and the boy perforce
+brought his wandering wits to bear on the wrongdoing of David in taking
+a census of the people of Israel.
+
+He read steadily through the chapter which described how a pestilence
+swept from Dan to Beersheba and destroyed seventy thousand men, all
+because David wished to know how many troops he could muster.
+
+He could hear Ang�le talking to the maids and making them laugh. A
+caravan lumbered through the street; he caught a glimpse of carved
+wooden horses' heads and gilded moldings. His quick and retentive brain
+mastered the words of the chapter, but to-day there was no mysterious
+and soul-awakening glimpse of its spirit.
+
+"What did David say te t' Lord when t' angel smote t' people?" said
+Bolland when the moment came to question his pupil.
+
+"He said, 'Lo, I have sinned; but what have these sheep done?'"
+
+"And what sin had he de�n?"
+
+"I don't know. I think the whole thing was jolly unfair."
+
+"What!" John Bolland laid down the Bible and rested both hands on the
+arms of the chair to steady himself. Had he heard aright? Was the boy
+daring to criticize the written word?
+
+But Martin's brain raced ahead of the farmer's slow-rising wrath. He
+trembled at the abyss into which he had almost fallen. What horror if he
+lost an hour on this Saturday, the Saturday before the Feast, of all
+days in the year!
+
+"I didn't quite mean that," he said, "but it doesn't say why it was
+wrong for a census to be taken, and it does say that when the angel
+stretched his hand over Jerusalem the Lord repented of the evil."
+
+Bolland bent again over the book. Yes, Martin was right. He was letter
+perfect.
+
+"It says nowt about unfairness," growled the man slowly.
+
+"No. That was my mistake."
+
+"Ye mun tak' heed age�n miste�ks o' that sort. On Monday we begin t'
+Third Book o' Kings."
+
+So, not even the Feast would be allowed to interfere with the daily
+lesson.
+
+Ang�le had departed with the belated Fran�oise. Martin, running through
+the orchard like a hare, doubled to the main road along the lane. In two
+minutes he was watching the unloading of the roundabout in front of the
+"Black Lion." Jim Bates was there.
+
+"Here, I want you," said Martin. "You winked at Ang�le Saumarez
+yesterday."
+
+"Winked at whe�?" demanded Jim.
+
+"At the young lady who lives at The Elms."
+
+"Not afore she pulled a fe�ce at me."
+
+"Well, if you wink at her again I'll lick you."
+
+"Mebbe."
+
+"There's no 'mebbe' about it. Come down to the other end of the green
+now, if you think I can't."
+
+Jim Bates was no coward, but he was faced with the alternative of
+yielding gracefully and watching the showmen at work or risking a defeat
+in a needless battle. He chose the better part of valor.
+
+"It's ne�n o' my business," he said. "I de�n't want te wink at t' young
+leddy."
+
+At the inn door Mrs. Atkinson's three little girls were standing with
+Kitty Thwaites, the housemaid. The eldest, a bonnie child, whose fair
+skin was covered with freckles, ran toward Martin.
+
+"Where hae ye bin all t' week?" she inquired. "Are ye always wi' that
+Saumarez girl?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I heerd tell she was at your ple�ce all hours. What beautiful frocks
+she has, but I should be ashe�med te show me legs like her."
+
+"That's the way she dresses," said Martin curtly.
+
+"How funny. Is she fond of you?"
+
+"How do I know?" He tried to edge away.
+
+Evelyn tossed her head.
+
+"Oh, I don't care. Why should I?"
+
+"There's no reason that I can tell."
+
+"You soon forget yer friends. On'y last Whit Monday ye bowt me a packet
+of chocolates."
+
+There was truth in this. Martin quitted her sheepishly. He drew near
+some men, one of whom was Fred, the groom, and Fred had been drinking,
+as a preliminary to the deeper potations of the coming week.
+
+"Ay, there she is!" he muttered, with an angry leer at Kitty. "She
+thinks what's good eneuf fer t' sister is good eneuf fer her. We'll see.
+Oad John Bollan' sent 'im away wiv a flea i' t' lug a-Tuesday. I reckon
+he'll hev one i' t' other ear if 'e comes after Kitty."
+
+One of the men grinned contemptuously.
+
+"Gan away!" he said. "George Pickerin' 'ud chuck you ower t' top o' t'
+hotel if ye said 'Booh' to 'im."
+
+But Fred, too, grinned, blinking like an owl in daylight.
+
+"Them as lives t' longest sees t' me�st," he muttered, and walked toward
+the stables, passing close to Kitty, who looked through him without
+seeing him.
+
+Suddenly there was a stir among the loiterers. Mrs. Saumarez was walking
+through the village with Mr. Beckett-Smythe. Behind the pair came the
+squire's two sons and Ang�le. The great man had called on the new
+visitor to Elmsdale, and together they strolled forth, while he
+explained the festivities of the coming week, and told the lady that
+these "feasts" were the creation of an act of Charles II. as a protest
+against the Puritanism of the Commonwealth.
+
+Martin stood at the side of the road. Mrs. Saumarez did not notice him,
+but Ang�le did. She lifted her chin and dropped her eyelids in clever
+burlesque of Elsie Herbert, the vicar's daughter, but ignored him
+otherwise. Martin was hurt, though he hardly expected to be spoken to in
+the presence of distinguished company. But he could not help looking
+after the party. Ang�le turned and caught his glance. She put out her
+tongue.
+
+He heard a mocking laugh and knew that Evelyn Atkinson was telling her
+sisters of the incident, whereupon he dug his hands in his pockets and
+whistled.
+
+A shooting gallery was in process of erection, and its glories soon
+dispelled the gloom of Ang�le's snub. The long tube was supported on
+stays, the target put in place, the gaudy front pieced together, and
+half a dozen rifles unpacked. The proprietor meant to earn a few honest
+pennies that night, and some of the men were persuaded to try their
+prowess.
+
+Martin was a born sportsman. He watched the competitors so keenly that
+Ang�le returned with her youthful cavaliers without attracting his
+attention. Worse than that, Evelyn Atkinson, scenting the possibility of
+rustic intrigue, caught Martin's elbow and asked quite innocently why a
+bell rang if the shooter hit the bull's-eye.
+
+Proud of his knowledge, he explained that there was a hole in the iron
+plate, and that no bell, but a sheet of copper, was suspended in the box
+at the back where the lamp was.
+
+Both Ang�le and Evelyn appreciated the situation exactly. The boy alone
+was ignorant of their tacit rivalry.
+
+Ang�le pointed out Martin to the Beckett-Smythes.
+
+"He is such a nice boy," she said sweetly. "I see him every day. He can
+fight any boy in the village."
+
+"Hum," said the heir. "How old is he?"
+
+"Fourteen."
+
+"I am fifteen."
+
+Ang�le smiled like a seraph.
+
+"Regardez-vous donc!" she said. "He could twiddle you round--so," and
+she spun one hand over the other.
+
+"I'd like to see him try," snorted the aristocrat. The opportunity
+offered itself sooner than he expected, but the purring of a
+high-powered car coming through the village street caused the
+pedestrians to draw aside. The car, a new and expensive one, was driven
+by a chauffeur, but held no passengers.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe gazed after it reflectively.
+
+"Well, I thought I knew every car in this district," he began.
+
+"It is mine, I expect," announced Mrs. Saumarez. "I've ordered one, and
+it should arrive to-day. I need an automobile for an occasional long
+run. For pottering about the village lanes, I may buy a pony cart."
+
+"What make is your car?" inquired the Squire.
+
+"A Mercedes. I'm told it is by far the best at the price."
+
+"It's the best German car, of course, but I can hardly admit that it
+equals the French, or even our own leading types."
+
+"Oh, I don't profess to understand these things. I only know that my
+banker advised me to buy none other. He explained the matter simply
+enough. The German manufacturers want to get into the trade and are
+content to lose money for a year or so. You know how pushful they are."
+
+Beckett-Smythe saw the point clearly. He was even then hesitating
+between a Panhard and an Austin. He decided to wait a little longer and
+ascertain the facts about the Mercedes. A month later he purchased one.
+Mrs. Saumarez's chauffeur, a smart young mechanic from Bremen, who spoke
+English fluently, demonstrated that the buyer was given more than his
+money's worth. The amiable Briton wondered how such things could be, but
+was content to benefit personally. He, in time, spread the story. German
+cars enjoyed a year's boomlet in that part of Yorkshire. With nearly
+every car came a smart young chauffeur mechanic. Surely, this was wisdom
+personified. They knew the engine, could effect nearly all road repairs,
+demanded less wages than English drivers, and were always civil and
+reliable.
+
+"Go-ahead people, these Germans!" was the general verdict.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FEAST
+
+
+An Elmsdale Sunday was a day of rest for man and beast alike. There
+could be no manner of doubt that the horses and dogs were able to
+distinguish the Sabbath from the workaday week. Prince, six-year-old
+Cleveland bay, the strongest and tallest horse in the stable, when his
+headstall was taken off on Sunday morning, showed his canny Yorkshire
+sense by walking past the row of carts and pushing open a rickety gate
+that led to a tiny meadow kept expressly for odd grazing. After him, in
+Indian file, went five other horses; yet, on any other day in the week
+they would stand patiently in the big yard, waiting to be led away
+singly or in pairs.
+
+Curly and Jim, the two sheep-dogs--who never failed between Monday and
+Saturday to yawn and stretch expectantly by the side of John Bolland's
+sturdy nag in the small yard near the house--on the seventh day made
+their way to the foreman's cottage, there attending his leisure for a
+scamper over the breezy moorland.
+
+For, Sunday or weekday, sheep must be counted. If any are missing, the
+almost preternatural intelligence of the collie is invoked to discover
+the hollow in which the lost ones are reposing helplessly on their
+backs. They will die in a few hours if not placed on their legs again.
+Turn over unaided they cannot. Man or dog must help, or they choke.
+
+Even the cocks and hens, the waddling geese and ducks, the huge
+shorthorns, which are the pride of the village, seemed to grasp the
+subtle distinction between life on a quiet day and the well-filled
+existence of the six days that had gone before. At least, Martin thought
+so; but he did not know then that the windows of the soul let in
+imageries that depend more on mood than on reality.
+
+Personally he hated Sunday, or fancied he did. He had Sunday clothes,
+Sunday boots, Sunday food, a Sunday face, and a Sunday conscience.
+Things were wrong on Sunday that were right during the rest of the week.
+Though the sky was as bright, the grass as green, the birds as tuneful
+on that day as on others, he was supposed to undergo a metamorphosis
+throughout all the weary waking hours. His troubles often began the
+moment he quitted his bed. As his "best" clothes and boots were so
+little worn, they naturally maintained a spick-and-span appearance
+during many months. Hence, he was given a fresh assortment about once a
+year, and the outfit possessed three distinct periods of use, of which
+the first tortured his mind and the third his body.
+
+He being a growing lad, the coat was made too long in the sleeves, the
+trousers too long in the legs, and the boots too large. At the beginning
+of this epoch he looked and felt ridiculous. Gradually, the effect of
+roast beef and suet dumplings brought about a better fit, and during
+four months of the year he was fairly smart in appearance. Then there
+came an ominous shrinkage. His wrists dangled below the coat cuffs,
+there was an ever-widening rim of stocking between the tops of the boots
+and the trousers' ends, while Mrs. Bolland began to grumble each week
+about the amount of darning his stockings required. Moreover, there were
+certain quite insurmountable difficulties in the matter of buttons, and
+it was with a joy tempered only by fear of the grotesque that he beheld
+the "best" suit given away to an urchin several sizes smaller than
+himself.
+
+Happily for his peace of mind, the Feast occurred in the middle stage of
+the current supply of raiment, so he was as presentable as a peripatetic
+tailor who worked in the house a fortnight at Christmas could make him.
+
+But this Sunday dragged terribly. The routine of chapel from 10:30 A.M.
+to noon, Sunday-school from 3 P.M. to 4:30 P.M., and chapel again from
+6:30 P.M. to 8 P.M., was inevitable, but there were compensations in the
+whispered confidences of Jim Bates and Tommy Beadlam, the latter
+nicknamed "White Head," as to the nature of some of the shows.
+
+The new conditions brought into his life by Ang�le Saumarez troubled him
+far more than he could measure. Her mere presence in the secluded
+village carried a breath of the unknown. Her talk was of London and
+Paris, of parks, theatres, casinos, luxurious automobiles, deck-cabins,
+and Pullman cars. She seemed to have lived so long and seen so much. Yet
+she knew very little. Her ceaseless chatter in French and English, which
+sounded so smart at first, would not endure examination.
+
+She had read nothing. When Martin spoke of "Robinson Crusoe" and
+"Ivanhoe," of "Treasure Island" and "The Last of the Mohicans"--a
+literary medley devoured for incident and not for style--she had not
+even heard of them, but produced for inspection an astonishingly rude
+colored cartoon, the French comments on which she translated literally.
+
+He was a boy aglow with dim but fervent ideals; she, a girl who had
+evidently been allowed to grow up almost wild in the midst of
+fashionable life and flippant servants, all exigencies being fulfilled
+when she spoke nicely and cleverly and wore her clothes with the
+requisite chic. The two were as opposed in essentials as an honest
+English apple grown in a wholesome garden and a rare orchid, the product
+of some poisonous equatorial swamp.
+
+He tried to interest her in the sights and sounds of country life. She
+met him more than halfway by putting embarrassing questions as to the
+habits of animals. More than once he told her plainly that there were
+some things little girls ought not to know, whereat she laughed
+scornfully, but switched the conversation to a topic on which she could
+vex him, as was nearly always the case in her references to Elsie
+Herbert or John Bolland's Bible teaching.
+
+Yet he was restless and irritable because he did not see her on the
+Sunday. Mrs. Saumarez, it is true, sped swiftly through the village
+about three o'clock, and again at half-past seven. On each occasion the
+particular chapel affected by the Bollands was resounding with a
+loud-voiced hymn or echoing the vibrant tones of a preacher powerful
+beyond question in the matter of lungs and dogmatism. The whir of the
+Mercedes shut off these sounds; but Martin heard the passing of the car
+and knew that Ang�le was in it.
+
+It was a novel experience for the Misses Walker to find that their
+lodgers recognized no difference between Sunday and the rest of the
+week. Mrs. Saumarez dined at 6:30 P.M., a concession of an hour and a
+half to rural habits, but she scouted the suggestion that a cold meal
+should be served to enable the "girls" to go to church. The old ladies
+dared not quarrel with one who paid so well. They remained at home and
+cooked and served the dinner.
+
+As Fran�oise, to a large extent, waited on her mistress, this
+development might not have been noticed had not Ang�le's quick eyes seen
+Miss Emmy Walker carrying a chicken and a dish of French beans to a
+small table in the hall.
+
+She told her mother, and Mrs. Saumarez was annoyed. She had informed
+Miss Martha that if the servants required a "night out," the addition of
+another domestic to the household at her expense would give them a good
+deal more liberty, but this ridiculous "Sunday-evening" notion must stop
+forthwith.
+
+"It gets on my nerves, this British Sabbath," she exclaimed peevishly.
+"In London I entertain largely on a Sunday and have never had any
+trouble. Do you mean to say I cannot invite guests to dinner on Sunday
+merely to humor a cook or a housemaid? Absurd!"
+
+Miss Martha promised reform.
+
+"Let her have her way," she said to Miss Emmy. "Another servant will
+have nothing to do, and all the girls will grow lazy; but we must keep
+Mrs. Saumarez as long as we can. Oh, if she would only remain a year,
+we'd be out of debt, with the house practically recarpeted throughout!"
+
+Unfortunately, Mrs. Saumarez's nerves were upset. She was snappy all the
+evening. Fran�oise tried many expedients to soothe her mistress's
+ruffled feelings. She brought a bundle of illustrated papers, a parcel
+of books, the scores of a couple of operas, even a gorgeous assortment
+of patterns of the new autumn dress fabrics, but each and all failed to
+attract. For some reason the preternaturally acute Ang�le avoided her
+mother. She seemed to be afraid of her when in this mood. The Misses
+Walker, seeing the anxiety of the maid and the unwonted retreat of the
+child to bed at an early hour, were miserable at the thought that such a
+trivial matter should have given their wealthy tenant cause for dire
+offense.
+
+So Sunday passed irksomely, and everyone was glad when the next morning
+dawned in bright cheerfulness.
+
+From an early hour there was evidence in plenty that the Elmsdale Feast
+would be an unqualified success, though shorn of many of its ancient
+glories.
+
+Time was when the village used to indulge in a week's saturnalia, but
+the march of progress had affected rural Yorkshire even so long ago as
+1906. The younger people could visit Leeds, York, Scarborough, or Whitby
+by Saturday afternoon "trips"--special excursion trains run at cheap
+rates--while "week-ends" in London were not unknown luxuries, and these
+frequent opportunities for change of scene and recreation had lessened
+the scope of the annual revels. Still, the trading instinct kept alive
+the commercial side of the Feast; the splendid hospitality of the north
+country asserted itself; church and chapels seized the chance of
+reaching enlarged congregations, and a number of itinerant showmen
+regarded Elmsdale as a fixture in the yearly round.
+
+So, on the Monday, every neighboring village and moorland hamlet poured
+in its quota. The people came on foot from the railway station, distant
+nearly two miles, on horseback, in every sort of conveyance. The roads
+were alive with cattle, sheep, and pigs. The programme mapped out bore a
+general resemblance on each of the four days. The morning was devoted to
+business, the afternoon and evening to religion or pleasure.
+
+The proceedings opened with a horse fair. An agent of the German
+Government snapped up every Cleveland bay offered for sale. George
+Pickering, in sporting garb, and smoking a big cigar, was an early
+arrival. He bid vainly for a couple of mares which he needed to complete
+his stud. Germany wanted them more urgently.
+
+A splendid mare, the property of John Bolland, was put up for auction.
+The auctioneer read her pedigree, and proved its authenticity by
+reference to the Stud Book.
+
+"Is she in foal?" asked Pickering, and a laugh went around. Bolland
+scowled blackly. If a look could have slain the younger man he would
+assuredly have fallen dead.
+
+The bidding commenced at �40 and rose rapidly to �60.
+
+Then Pickering lost his temper. The agent for Germany was too
+pertinacious.
+
+"Seventy," he shouted, though the bids hitherto had mounted by single
+sovereigns.
+
+"Seventy-one," said the agent.
+
+"Eighty!" roared Pickering.
+
+"Eighty-one!" nodded the agent.
+
+"The reserve is off," interposed the auctioneer, and again the
+surrounding farmers guffawed, as the mare had already gone to twenty
+pounds beyond her value.
+
+Pickering swallowed his rage with an effort. He turned to Bolland.
+
+"That's an offset for my hard words the other day," he said.
+
+But the farmer thrust aside the proffered olive branch.
+
+"Once a fule, always a fule," he growled. Pickering, though anything but
+a fool in business, took the ungracious remark pleasantly enough.
+
+"He ought to sing a rare hymn this afternoon," he cried. "I've put a
+score of extra sovereigns in his pocket, and he doesn't even say 'Thank
+you.' Well, it's the way of the world. Who's dry?"
+
+This invitation caused an adjournment to the "Black Lion." The
+auctioneer knew his clients.
+
+Pickering's allusion to the hymn was not made without knowledge. At
+three o'clock, on a part of the green farthest removed from the thronged
+stalls and the blare of a steam-driven organ, Bolland and a few other
+earnest spirits surrounded the stentorian preacher and held an open-air
+service. They selected tunes which everybody knew and, as a result, soon
+attracted a crowd of older people, some of whom brought their children.
+Martin, of course, was in the gathering.
+
+Meanwhile, along the line of booths, a couple of leather-lunged men were
+singing old-time ballads, dealing for the most part with sporting
+incidents. They soon became the centers of two packed audiences, mainly
+young men and boys, but containing more than a sprinkling of girls. The
+ditties were couched in "broad Yorkshire"--sometimes too broad for
+modern taste. Whenever a particularly crude stanza was bawled forth a
+chuckle would run through the audience, and coppers in plenty were
+forthcoming for printed copies of the song, which, however, usually fell
+short of the blunt phraseology of the original. The raucous ballad
+singers took risks feared by the printer.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez, leading Ang�le by the hand, thought she would like to
+hear one of these rustic melodies, and halted. Instantly the vendor
+changed his cue. The lady might be the wife of a magistrate. Once he got
+fourteen days as a rogue and a vagabond at the instance of just such
+another interested spectator, who put the police in action.
+
+Quickly surfeited by the only half-understood humor of a song describing
+the sale of a dead horse, she wandered on, and soon came across the
+preacher and his lay helpers.
+
+To her surprise she saw John Bolland standing bareheaded in the front
+rank, and with him Martin. She had never pictured the keen-eyed, crusty
+old farmer in this guise. It amused her. The minister began to offer up
+a prayer. The men hid their faces in their hats, the women bowed
+reverently, and fervent ejaculations punctuated each pause in the
+preacher's appeal.
+
+"I do believe!"
+
+"Amen! Amen!"
+
+"Spare us, O Lord!"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez stared at the gathering with real wonderment.
+
+"C'est incroyable!" she murmured.
+
+"What are they doing, mamma?" cried Ang�le, trying to guess why Martin
+had buried his eyes in his cap.
+
+"They are praying, dearest. It reminds one of the Covenanters. It really
+is very touching."
+
+"Who were the Covenanters?"
+
+"When you are older, ma belle, you will read of them in history."
+
+That was Mrs. Saumarez's way. She treated her daughter's education as a
+matter for governesses whom she did not employ and masters to whose
+control Ang�le would probably never be entrusted.
+
+The two entered the White House. There they found Mrs. Bolland, radiant
+in a black silk dress, a bonnet trimmed with huge roses, and a velvet
+dolman, the wings of which were thrown back over her portly shoulders to
+permit her the better to press all comers to partake of her hospitality.
+
+Several women and one or two men were seated at the big table, while
+people were coming and going constantly.
+
+It flustered and gratified Mrs. Bolland not a little to receive such a
+distinguished visitor.
+
+"Eh, my leddy," she cried, "I'm glad to see ye. Will ye tek a chair? And
+t' young leddy, too? Will ye hev a glass o' wine?"
+
+This was the recognized formula. There was a decanter of port wine on
+the sideboard, but most of the visitors partook of tea or beer. One of
+the men drew himself a foaming tankard from a barrel in the corner.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled wistfully.
+
+"No wine, thank you," she said; "but that beer looks very nice. I'll
+have some, if I may."
+
+Not until that moment did Mrs. Bolland remember that her guest was a
+reputed teetotaller. So, then, Mrs. Atkinson, proprietress of the "Black
+Lion," was mistaken.
+
+"That ye may, an' welcome," she said in her hearty way.
+
+Ang�le murmured something in French, but her mother gave a curt answer,
+and the child subsided, being, perhaps, interested by the evident
+amazement and admiration she evoked among the country people. To-day,
+Ang�le was dressed in a painted muslin, with hat and sash of the same
+material, long black silk stockings, and patent-leather shoes. She
+looked elegantly old-fashioned, and might have walked bodily out of one
+of Caran d'Ache's sketches of French society.
+
+Suddenly she bounced up like an india-rubber ball.
+
+"Tra la!" she cried. "V'l� mon cher Martin!"
+
+The prayer meeting had ended, and Martin was speeding home, well knowing
+who had arrived there.
+
+Ang�le ran to meet him.
+
+"She's a rale fairy," whispered Mrs. Summersgill, mistress of the Dale
+End Farm. "She's rigged out like a pet doll."
+
+"Ay," agreed her neighbor. "D'ye ken wheer they coom frae?"
+
+"Frae Lunnon, I reckon. They're staying wi' t' Miss Walkers. That's t'
+muther, a Mrs. Saumarez, they call her, but they say she's a Jarman
+baroness."
+
+"Well, bless her heart, she hez a rare swallow for a gill o' ale."
+
+This was perfectly true. The lady had emptied her glass with real gusto.
+
+"I was so hot and tired," she said, with an apologetic smile at her
+hostess. "Now, I can admire your wonderful store of good things to eat,"
+and she focussed the display through gold-rimmed eyeglasses.
+
+Truly, the broad kitchen table presented a spectacle that would kill a
+dyspeptic. A cold sirloin, a portly ham, two pairs of chickens, three
+brace of grouse--these solids were mere garnishings to dishes piled with
+currant cakes, currant loaves and plain bread cut and buttered, jam
+turnovers, open tarts of many varieties, "fat rascals," Queen cakes,
+sponge cakes--battalions and army corps of all the sweet and toothsome
+articles known to the culinary skill of the North.
+
+"I'm feared, my leddy, they won't suit your taste," began Mrs. Bolland,
+but the other broke in eagerly:
+
+"Oh, don't say that! They look so good, so wholesome, so different from
+the French cooking we weary of in town. If I were not afraid of spoiling
+my dinner and earning a scolding from Fran�oise I would certainly ask
+for some of that cold beef and a slice of bread and butter."
+
+"Tek my advice, ma'am, an' eat while ye're in t' humor," cried Mrs.
+Bolland, instantly helping her guest to the eatables named.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez laughed delightedly and peeled off a pair of white kid
+gloves. She ate a little of the meat and crumbled a slice of bread.
+Mrs. Bolland refilled the glass with beer.
+
+Then the lady made herself generally popular by asking questions. Did
+they use lard or butter in the pastry? How was the sponge cake made so
+light? What a curious custom it was to put currants into plain dough;
+she had never seen it done before. Were the servants able to do these
+things, or had they to be taught by the mistress of the house? She
+amused the women by telling of the airs and graces of London domestics,
+and evoked a feeling akin to horror by relating the items of the weekly
+bills in her town house.
+
+"Seven pund o' be�can for breakfast i' t' kitchen!" exclaimed Mrs.
+Summersgill. "Whe� ivver heerd tell o' sike waste?"
+
+"Eh, ma'am," cried another, "but ye mun addle yer money aisy t' let 'em
+carry on that gait."
+
+Martin, who found Ang�le in her most charming mood--unconsciously
+pleased, too, that her costume was not so _outr�_ as to run any risk of
+caustic comment by strangers--came in and asked if he might take her
+along the row of stalls. Mrs. Bolland had given him a shilling that
+morning, and he resolved magnanimously to let the shooting gallery wait;
+Ang�le should be treated to a shilling's worth of aught she fancied.
+
+But Mrs. Saumarez rose.
+
+"Your mother will kill me with kindness, Martin, if I remain longer,"
+she said. "Take me, too, and we'll see if the fair contains any toys."
+
+She emptied the second glass of ale, drew on her gloves, bade the
+company farewell with as much courtesy as if they were so many
+countesses, and walked away with the youngsters.
+
+At one stall she bought Martin a pneumatic gun, a powerful toy which the
+dealer never expected to sell in that locality. At another she would
+have purchased a doll for Ang�le, but the child shrugged her shoulders
+and declared that she would greatly prefer to ride on the roundabouts
+with Martin. Mrs. Saumarez agreed instantly, and the pair mounted the
+hobby-horses.
+
+Among the children who watched them enviously were Jim Bates and Evelyn
+Atkinson. When the steam organ was in full blast and the horses were
+flying round at a merry pace, Mrs. Saumarez bent over Jim Bates and
+placed half a sovereign in his hand.
+
+"Go to the 'Black Lion,'" she said, "and bring me a bottle of the best
+brandy. See that it is wrapped in paper. I do not care to go myself to a
+place where there are so many men."
+
+Jim darted off. The roundabout slackened speed and stopped, but Mrs.
+Saumarez ordered another ride. The whirl had begun again when Bates
+returned with a parcel.
+
+"It was four shillin's, ma'am," he said.
+
+"Thank you, very much. Keep the change."
+
+Even Evelyn Atkinson was so awed by the magnitude of the tip that she
+forgot for a moment to glue her eyes on Ang�le and Martin.
+
+But Ang�le, wildly elated though she was with the sensation of flight,
+and seated astride like a boy, until the tops of her stockings were
+exposed to view, did not fail to notice the conclusion of Jim Bates's
+errand.
+
+"Mamma will be ill to-night," she screamed in Martin's ear. "Fran�oise
+will be busy waiting on her. I'll come out again at eight o'clock."
+
+"You must not," shouted the boy. "It will be very rough here then."
+
+"C'la va--I mean, I know that quite well. It'll be all the more jolly.
+Meet me at the gate. I'll bring plenty of money."
+
+"I can't," protested Martin.
+
+"You must!"
+
+"But I'm supposed to be home myself at eight o'clock."
+
+"If you don't come, I'll find some other boy. Frank Beckett-Smythe said
+he would try and turn up every evening, in case I got a chance to sneak
+out."
+
+"All right. I'll be there."
+
+Martin intended to hurry her through the fair and take her home again.
+If he received a "hiding" for being late, he would put up with it. In
+any case, the squire's eldest son could not be allowed to steal his
+wilful playmate without a struggle. Probably Adam reasoned along similar
+lines when Eve first offered him an apple. Be that as it may, it never
+occurred to Martin that the third chapter of Genesis could have the
+remotest bearing on the night's frolic.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+"IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS"
+
+
+Mrs. Saumarez and Ang�le returned to The Elms, but Martin had to forego
+accompanying them. He knew that--with Bible opened at the Third Book of
+Kings--John Bolland was waiting in a bedroom, every downstairs apartment
+being crowded.
+
+He ran all the way along the village street and darted upstairs,
+striving desperately to avoid even the semblance of undue haste. Bolland
+was thumbing the book impatiently. He frowned over his spectacles.
+
+"Why are ye late?" he demanded.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez asked me to walk with her through the village," answered
+Martin truthfully.
+
+"Ay. T' wife telt me she was here."
+
+The explanation served, and Martin breathed more freely. The reading
+commenced:
+
+     "Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him
+     with clothes, but he gat no heat.
+
+     "Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my
+     lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king,
+     and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord
+     the king may get heat."
+
+Martin, with his mind in a tumult on account of the threatened escapade,
+did not care a pin what method was adopted to restore the feeble
+circulation of the withered King so long as the lesson passed off
+satisfactorily.
+
+With rare self-control, he bent over the, to him, unmeaning page, and
+acquitted himself so well in the parrot repetition which he knew would
+be pleasing that he ventured to say:
+
+"May I stay out a little later to-night, sir?"
+
+"What for? You're better i' bed than gapin' at shows an' listenin' te
+drunken men."
+
+"I only ask because--because I'm told that Mrs. Saumarez's little girl
+means to see the fair by night, and she--er--would like me to be with
+her."
+
+John Bolland laughed dryly.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez'll soon hev more'n eneuf on't," he said. "Ay, lad, ye can
+stay wi' her, if that's all."
+
+Martin never, under any circumstances, told a downright lie, but he
+feared that this was sailing rather too near the wind to be honest. The
+nature of Ang�le's statement was so nebulous. He could hardly explain
+outright that Mrs. Saumarez was not coming--that Ang�le alone would be
+the sightseer. So he flushed, and felt that he was obtaining the
+required permission by false pretense. He could have pulled Ang�le's
+pretty ears for placing him in such a dilemma, but with a man so utterly
+unsympathetic as Bolland it was impossible to be quite candid.
+
+He had clear ideas of right and wrong. He knew it was wrong for Ang�le
+to come out unattended and mix in the scene of rowdyism which the
+village would present until midnight. If she really could succeed in
+leaving The Elms unnoticed, the most effectual way to stop her was to
+go now to her mother or to one of the Misses Walker and report her
+intention. But this, according to the boy's code of honor, was to play
+the sneak, than which there is no worse crime in the calendar. No. He
+would look after her himself. There was a spice of adventure, too, in
+acting as the chosen squire of this sprightly damsel. Strong-minded as
+he was, and resolute beyond his years, Ang�le's wilfulness, her quick
+tongue, the diablerie of her glance, the witchery of her elegant little
+person, captivated heart and brain, and benumbed the inchoate murmurings
+of conscience.
+
+Oddly enough, he often found himself comparing her with Elsie Herbert, a
+girl with whom he had never exchanged a word, and Ang�le Saumarez
+invariably figured badly in the comparison. The boy did not know then
+that he must become a man, perhaps soured of life, bitter with
+experience, before he would understand the difference between respect
+and fascination.
+
+With housewife prudence, Mrs. Bolland hailed him as he was passing
+through the back kitchen.
+
+"Noo, then, Martin, don't ye go racketin' about too much in your best
+clothes. And mind your straw hat isn't blown off if ye go on one o' them
+whirligigs."
+
+"All right, mother," he said cheerfully, and was gone in a flash.
+
+Two hours must elapse before Ang�le could appear. Jim Bates, who bore no
+malice, stood treat in gingerbread and lemonade out of the largesse
+bestowed by Mrs. Saumarez. Martin, carried away by sight of a champion
+boxer who offered a sovereign to any local man under twelve stone who
+stood up to him for three two-minute rounds, spent sixpence in securing
+seats for himself and Jim when the gage of combat was thrown down by
+his gamekeeper friend.
+
+There was a furious fight with four-ounce gloves. The showman discovered
+quickly that Velveteens "knew a bit." Repeated attempts to "out" him
+with "the right" on the "point" resulted in heavy "counters" on the
+ribs, and a terrific uppercut failed because of the keeper's quick
+sight.
+
+The proprietor of the booth, who acted as timekeeper, gave every favor
+to his henchman, but at the end of the third round the professional was
+more blown than the amateur. The sovereign was handed over with apparent
+good will, both showmen realizing that it might be money well spent. And
+it was, as the black eyes and swollen lips among the would-be pugilists
+of Elmsdale testified for many days thereafter.
+
+Martin, who had never before seen a real boxing match, was entranced.
+With a troop of boys he accompanied the two combatants to the door of
+the "Black Lion," where a fair proportion of the sovereign was soon
+converted into beer.
+
+George Pickering had witnessed the contest. Generous to a fault, he
+started a purse to be fought for in rounds inside the booth. Wanting a
+pencil and paper, he ran upstairs to his room--he had resolved to stay
+at the inn for a couple of nights--and encountered Kitty Thwaites on the
+stairs.
+
+She carried a laden tray, so he slipped an arm around her waist, and she
+was powerless to prevent him from kissing her unless she dropped the
+tray or risked upsetting its contents. She had no intention of doing
+either of these things.
+
+"Oh, go on, do!" she cried, not averting her face too much.
+
+He whispered something.
+
+"Not me!" she giggled. "Besides, I won't have a minnit to spare till
+closin' time."
+
+Pickering hugged her again. She descended the stairs, laughing and very
+red.
+
+The boys heard something of the details of the proposed Elmsdale
+championship boxing competition. Entries were pouring in, there being no
+fee. George Pickering was appointed referee, and the professional named
+as judge. The first round would be fought at 3 P.M. next day.
+
+The time passed more quickly than Martin expected; as for his money, it
+simply melted. Tenpence out of the shilling had vanished before he
+realized how precious little remained wherewith to entertain Ang�le. She
+said she would have "plenty of money," but he imagined that a walk
+through the fair and a ride on the roundabout would satisfy her. Not
+even at fourteen does the male understand the female of twelve.
+
+A few minutes before eight he escaped from his companions and strolled
+toward The Elms. The house was not like the suburban villa which stands
+in the center of a row and proudly styles itself Oakdene. It was hidden
+in a cluster of lordly elms, and already the day was so far spent that
+the entrance gate was invisible save at a few yards' distance.
+
+The nearest railway station was situated two miles along this very road.
+A number of slow-moving country people were sauntering to the station,
+where the north train was due at 9:05 P.M. Another train, that from the
+south, arrived at 9:20, and would be the last that night. A full moon
+was rising, but her glories were hidden by the distant hills. There was
+no wind; the weather was fine and settled. The Elmsdale Feast was lucky
+in its dates.
+
+Martin waited near the gate and heard the church clock chime the hour.
+Two boys on bicycles came flying toward the village. They were the
+Beckett-Smythes. They slackened pace as they neared The Elms.
+
+"Wonder if she'll get out to-night?" said Ernest, the younger.
+
+"There's no use waiting here. She said she'd dodge out one evening for
+certain. If she's not in the village, we'd better skip back before we're
+missed," said the heir.
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Pater thinks we're in the grounds, and there
+won't be any bother if we show up at nine."
+
+They rode on. The quarter-hour chimed, and Martin became impatient.
+
+"She was humbugging me, as usual," he reflected. "Well, this time I'm
+pleased."
+
+An eager voice whispered:
+
+"Hold the gate! It'll rattle when I climb over. They've not heard me. I
+crept here on the grass."
+
+Ang�le had changed her dress to a dark-blue serge and sailor hat. This
+was decidedly thoughtful. In her day attire she must have attracted a
+great deal of notice. Now, in the dark, neither the excellence of her
+clothing nor the elegance of her carriage would differentiate her too
+markedly from the village girls.
+
+She was breathless with haste, but her tongue rattled on rapidly.
+
+"Mamma _is_ ill. I knew she would be. I told Fran�oise I had a headache,
+and went to bed. Then I crept downstairs again. Miss Walker nearly
+caught me, but she's so upset that she never saw me. As for Fritz, if I
+meet him--poof!"
+
+"What's the matter with Mrs. Saumarez?" asked Martin.
+
+"Trop de cognac, mon ch�ri."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"It means a 'bit wobbly, my dear.'"
+
+"Is her head bad?"
+
+"Yes. It will be for a week. But never mind mamma. She'll be all right,
+with Fran�oise to look after her. Here! You pay for everything. There's
+ten shillings in silver. I have a sovereign in my stocking, if we want
+it."
+
+They were hurrying toward the distant medley of sound. Flaring naptha
+lamps gave the village street a Rembrandt effect. Love-making couples,
+with arms entwined, were coming away from the glare of the booths. Their
+forms cast long shadows on the white road.
+
+"Ten shillings!" gasped Martin. "Whatever do we want with ten
+shillings?"
+
+"To enjoy ourselves, you silly. You can't have any fun without money.
+Why, when mamma dines at the Savoy and takes a party to the theater
+afterwards, it costs her as many pounds. I know, because I've seen the
+checks."
+
+"That has nothing to do with it. We can't spend ten shillings here."
+
+"Oh, can't we? You leave that to me. Mais, voyez-vous, imb�cile, are
+you going to be nasty?" She halted and stamped an angry foot.
+
+"No, I'm not; but----"
+
+"Then come on, stupid. I'm late as it is."
+
+"The stalls remain open until eleven."
+
+"Magnifique! What a row there'll be if I have to knock to get in!"
+
+Martin held his tongue. He resolved privately that Ang�le should be home
+at nine, at latest, if he dragged her thither by main force. The affair
+promised difficulties. She was so intractable that a serious quarrel
+would result. Well, he could not help it. Better a lasting break than
+the wild hubbub that would spring up if they both remained out till the
+heinous hour she contemplated.
+
+In the village they encountered Jim Bates and Evelyn Atkinson,
+surrounded by seven or eight boys and girls, for Jim was disposing
+rapidly of his six shillings, and Evelyn bestowed favor on him for the
+nonce.
+
+"Hello! here's Martin," whooped Bates. "I thowt ye'd gone yam (home).
+Where hev ye----"
+
+Jim's eloquence died away abruptly. He caught sight of Ang�le and was
+abashed. Not so Evelyn.
+
+"Martin's been to fetch his sweetheart," she said maliciously.
+
+Ang�le simpered sufficiently to annoy Evelyn. Then she laughed
+agreement.
+
+"Yes. And won't we have a time! Come on! Everybody have a ride."
+
+She sprang toward the horses. Martin alone followed.
+
+"Come on!" she screamed. "Martin will pay for the lot. He has heaps of
+money."
+
+No second invitation was needed. Several times the whole party swung
+round with lively yelling. From the roundabouts they went to the swings;
+from the swings to the cocoanut shies. Here they were joined by the
+Beckett-Smythes, who endeavored promptly to assume the leadership.
+
+Martin's blood was fired by the contest. He was essentially a boy
+foredoomed to dominate his fellows, whether for good or evil. He pitched
+restraint to the winds. He could throw better than either of the young
+aristocrats; he could shoot straighter at the galleries; he could
+describe the heroic combat between the boxer and Velveteens; he would
+swing Ang�le higher than any, until they looked over the crossbar after
+each giddy swirl.
+
+The Beckett-Smythes kept pace with him only in expenditure, Jim Bates
+being quickly drained, and even they wondered how long the village lad
+could last.
+
+The ten shillings were soon dissipated.
+
+"I want that sovereign," he shouted, when Ang�le and he were riding
+together again on the hobby-horses.
+
+"I told you so," she screamed. She turned up her dress to extricate the
+money from a fold of her stocking. The light flashed on her white skin,
+and Frank Beckett-Smythe, who rode behind with one of the Atkinson
+girls, wondered what she was doing.
+
+She bent over Martin and whispered:
+
+"There are _two_! Keep the fun going!"
+
+The young spark in the rear thought that she was kissing Martin; he was
+wild with jealousy. At the next show--that of a woman grossly fat, who
+allowed the gapers to pinch her leg at a penny a pinch--he paid with his
+last half-crown. When they went to refresh themselves on ginger-beer,
+Martin produced a sovereign. The woman who owned the stall bit it,
+surveyed him suspiciously, and tried to swindle him in the change. She
+failed badly.
+
+"Eleven bottles at twopence and eleven cakes at a penny make
+two-and-nine. I want two more shillings, please," he said coolly.
+
+"Be aff wid ye! I gev ye seventeen and thruppence. If ye thry anny uv
+yer tricks an me I'll be afther askin' where ye got the pound."
+
+"Give me two more shillings, or I'll call the police."
+
+Mrs. Maguire was beaten; she paid up.
+
+The crowd left her, with cries of "Irish Molly!" "Where's Mick?" and
+even coarser expressions. Ang�le screamed at her:
+
+"Why don't you stick to ginger-beer? You're muzzy."
+
+The taunt stung, and the old Irishwoman cursed her tormentor as a
+black-eyed little witch.
+
+Ang�le, seeing that Martin carried all before him, began straightway to
+flirt with the heir. At first the defection was not noted, but when she
+elected to sit by Frank while they watched the acrobats the new swain
+took heart once more and squeezed her arm.
+
+Evelyn Atkinson, who was in a smiling temper, felt that a crisis might
+be brought about now. There was not much time. It was nearly ten
+o'clock, and soon her mother would be storming at her for not having
+taken herself and her sisters to bed, though, in justice be it said,
+the girls could not possibly sleep until the house was cleared.
+
+Ernest Beckett-Smythe was her cavalier at the moment.
+
+"We've seen all there is te see," she whispered. "Let's go and have a
+dance in our yard. Jim Bates can play a mouth-organ."
+
+Ernest was a slow-witted youth.
+
+"Where's the good?" he said. "There's more fun here."
+
+"You try it, an' see," she murmured coyly.
+
+The suggestion caught on. It was discussed while Martin and Jim Bates
+were driving a weight up a pole by striking a lever with a heavy hammer.
+Anything in the shape of an athletic feat always attracted Martin.
+
+Ang�le was delighted. She scented a row. These village urchins were imps
+after her own heart.
+
+"Oh, let's," she agreed. "It'll be a change. I'll show you the American
+two-step."
+
+Frank had his arm around her waist now.
+
+"Right-o!" he cried. "Evelyn, you and Ernest lead the way."
+
+The girl, flattered by being bracketed publicly with one of the squire's
+sons, enjoined caution.
+
+"Once we're past t' stables it's all right," she said. "I don't suppose
+Fred'll hear us, anyhow."
+
+Fred was at the front of the hotel watching the road, watching Kitty
+Thwaites as she flitted upstairs and down, watching George Pickering
+through the bar window, and grinning like a fiend when he saw that
+somewhat ardent wooer, hilarious now, but sober enough according to his
+standard, glancing occasionally at his watch.
+
+There was a gate on each side of the hotel. That on the left led to the
+yard, with its row of stables and cart-sheds, and thence to a spacious
+area occupied by hay-stacks, piles of firewood, hen-houses, and all the
+miscellaneous lumber of an establishment half inn, half farm. The gate
+on the right opened into a bowling-green and skittle-alley. Behind these
+lay the kitchen garden and orchard. A hedge separated one section from
+the other, and entrance could be obtained to either from the back door
+of the hotel.
+
+The radiance of a full moon now decked the earth in silver and black; in
+the shade the darkness was intense by contrast. The church clock struck
+ten.
+
+Half a dozen youngsters crept silently into the stable yard. Ang�le
+kicked up a dainty foot in a preliminary _pas seul_, but Evelyn stopped
+her unceremoniously. The village girl's sharp ears had caught footsteps
+on the garden path beyond the hedge.
+
+It was George Pickering, with his arm around Kitty's shoulders. He was
+talking in a low tone, and she was giggling nervously.
+
+"They're sweetheartin'," whispered a girl.
+
+"So are we," declared Frank Beckett-Smythe. "Aren't we, Ang�le?"
+
+"Sapristi! I should think so. Where's Martin?"
+
+"Never mind. We don't want him."
+
+"Oh, he will be furious. Let's hide. There will be such a row when he
+goes home, and he daren't go till he finds me."
+
+Master Beckett-Smythe experienced a second's twinge at thought of the
+greeting he and his brother would receive at the Hall. But here was
+Ang�le pretending timidity and cowering in his arms. He would not leave
+her now were he to be flayed alive.
+
+The footsteps of Pickering and Kitty died away. They had gone into the
+orchard.
+
+Evelyn Atkinson breathed freely again.
+
+"Even if Kitty sees us now, I don't care," she said. "She daren't tell
+mother, when she knows that we saw her and Mr. Pickerin'. He ought to
+have married her sister."
+
+"Poof!" tittered Ang�le. "Who heeds a domestic?"
+
+Someone came at a fast run into the yard, running in desperate haste,
+and making a fearful din. Two boys appeared. The leader shouted:
+
+"Ang�le! Ang�le! Are you there?"
+
+Martin had missed her. Jim Bates, who knew the chosen rendezvous of the
+Atkinson girls, suggested that they and their friends had probably gone
+to the haggarth.
+
+"Shut up, you fool!" hissed Frank. "Do you want the whole village to
+know where we are?"
+
+Martin ignored him. He darted forward and caught Ang�le by the shoulder.
+He distinguished her readily by her outline, though she and the rest
+were hidden in the somber shadows of the outbuildings.
+
+"Why did you leave me?" he demanded angrily. "You must come home at
+once. It is past ten o'clock."
+
+"Don't be angry, Martin," she pouted. "I am just a little tired of the
+noise. I want to show you and the rest a new dance."
+
+The minx was playing her part well. She had read Evelyn Atkinson's soul.
+She felt every throb of young Beckett-Smythe's foolish heart. She was
+quite certain that Martin would find her and cause a scene. There was
+deeper intrigue afoot now than the mere folly of unlicensed frolic in
+the fair. Her vanity, too, was gratified by the leading r�le she filled
+among them all. The puppets bore themselves according to their
+temperaments. Evelyn bit her lip with rage and nearly yielded to a wild
+impulse to spring at Ang�le and scratch her face. Martin was white with
+determination. As for Master Frank, he boiled over instantly.
+
+"You just leave her alone, young Bolland," he said thickly. "She came
+here to please herself, and can stay here, if she likes. I'll see to
+that."
+
+Martin did not answer.
+
+"Ang�le," he said quietly, "come away."
+
+Seeing that he had lived in the village nearly all his life, it was
+passing strange that this boy should have dissociated himself so
+completely from its ways. But the early hours he kept, his love of
+horses, dogs, and books, his preference for the society of grooms and
+gamekeepers--above all, a keen, if unrecognized, love of nature in all
+her varying moods, an almost pagan worship of mountain, moor, and
+stream--had kept him aloof from village life. A boy of fourteen does not
+indulge in introspection. It simply came as a fearful shock to find the
+daughter of a lady like Mrs. Saumarez so ready to forget her social
+standing. Surely, she could not know what she was doing. He was
+undeceived, promptly and thoroughly.
+
+Ang�le snatched her shoulder from his grasp.
+
+"Don't you dare hold me," she snapped. "I'm not coming. I won't come
+with you, anyhow. Ma foi, Frank is far nicer."
+
+"Then I'll drag you home," said Martin.
+
+"Oh, will you, indeed? I'll see to that."
+
+Beckett-Smythe deemed Ang�le a girl worth fighting for. In any case,
+this clodhopper who spent money like a lord must be taught manners.
+
+Martin smiled. In his bemused brain the idea was gaining ground that
+Ang�le would be flattered if he "licked" the squire's son for her sake.
+
+"Very well," he said, stepping back into the moonlight. "We'll settle it
+that way. If _you_ beat _me_, Ang�le remains. If _I_ beat _you_, she
+goes home. Here, Jim. Hold my coat and hat. And, no matter what happens,
+mind you don't play for any dancing."
+
+Martin stated terms and issued orders like an emperor. In the hour of
+stress he felt himself immeasurably superior to this gang of urchins,
+whether their manners smacked of Elmsdale or of Eton.
+
+Ang�le's acquaintance with popular fiction told her that at this stage
+of the game the heroine should cling in tears to the one she loved, and
+implore him to desist, to be calm for her sake. But the riot in her
+veins brought a new sensation. There were possibilities hitherto
+unsuspected in the darkness, the secrecy, the candid brutality of the
+fight. She almost feared lest Beckett-Smythe should be defeated.
+
+And how the other girls must envy her, to be fought for by the two boys
+pre-eminent among them, to be the acknowledged princess of this village
+carnival!
+
+So she clapped her hands.
+
+"O l� l�!" she cried. "Going to fight about poor little me! Well, I
+can't stop you, can I?"
+
+"Yes, you can," said one.
+
+"She won't, anyhow," scoffed the other. "Are you ready?"
+
+"Quite!"
+
+"Then 'go.'"
+
+And the battle began.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+WHEREIN THE RED BLOOD FLOWS
+
+
+They fought like a couple of young bulls. Frank intended to demolish his
+rival at the outset. He was a year older and slightly heavier, but
+Martin was more active, more sure-footed, sharper of vision. Above all,
+he had laid to heart the three-pennyworth of tuition obtained in the
+boxing booth a few hours earlier.
+
+He had noted then that a boxer dodged as many blows with his head as he
+warded with his arms. He grasped the necessity to keep moving, and thus
+disconcert an adversary's sudden rush. Again, he had seen the excellence
+of a forward spring without changing the relative positions of the feet.
+Assuming you were sparring with the left hand and foot advanced, a quick
+jump of eighteen inches enabled you to get the right home with all your
+force. You must keep the head well back and the eye fixed unflinchingly
+on your opponent's. Above all, meet offense with offense. Hit hard and
+quickly and as often as might be.
+
+These were sound principles, and he proceeded to put them into
+execution, to the growing distress and singular annoyance of Master
+Beckett-Smythe.
+
+Ernest acted as referee--in the language of the village, he "saw fair
+play"--but was wise enough to call "time" early in the first round, when
+his brother drew off after a fierce set-to. The forcing tactics had
+failed, but honors were divided. The taller boy's reach had told in his
+favor, while Martin's newly acquired science redressed the balance.
+
+Martin's lip was cut and there was a lump on his left cheek, but Frank
+felt an eye closing and had received a staggerer in the ribs. He was
+aware of an uneasy feeling that if Martin survived the next round he
+(Frank) would be beaten, so there was nothing for it but to summon all
+his reserves and deliver a Napoleonic attack. The enemy must be crushed
+by sheer force.
+
+He was a plucky lad and was stung to frenzy by seeing Ang�le offer
+Martin the use of a lace handkerchief for the bleeding lip, a delicate
+tenderness quietly repulsed.
+
+So, when the rush came, Martin had to fight desperately to avoid
+annihilation. He was compelled to give way, and backed toward the hedge.
+Behind lay an unseen stackpole. At the instant when Beckett-Smythe
+lowered his head and endeavored to butt Martin violently in the stomach,
+the latter felt the obstruction with his heel. Had he lost his nerve
+then or flickered an eyelid, he would have taken a nasty fall and a
+severe shaking. As it was, he met the charge more than halfway, and
+delivered the same swinging upper stroke which had nearly proved fatal
+to his gamekeeper friend.
+
+It was wholly disastrous to Beckett-Smythe. It caught him fairly on the
+nose, and, as the blow was in accord with the correct theory of dynamics
+as applied to forces in motion, it knocked him silly. His head flew up,
+his knees bent, and he dropped to the ground with a horrible feeling
+that the sky had fallen and that stars were sparkling among the rough
+paving-stones.
+
+"That's a finisher. He's whopped!" exulted Jim Bates.
+
+"No, he's not. It was a chance blow," cried Ernest, who was strongly
+inclined to challenge the victor on his own account. "Get up, Frank.
+Have another go at him!"
+
+But Frank, who could neither see nor hear distinctly, was too groggy to
+rise, and the village girls drew together in an alarmed group. Such
+violent treatment of the squire's son savored of sacrilege. They were
+sure that Martin would receive some condign punishment by the law for
+pummeling a superior being so unmercifully.
+
+Ang�le, somewhat frightened herself, tried to console her discomfited
+champion.
+
+"I'm so sorry," she said. "It was all my fault."
+
+"Oh, go away!" he protested. "Ernest, where's there a pump?"
+
+Assisted by his brother, he struggled to his feet. His nose was bleeding
+freely and his face was ghastly in the moonlight. But he was a spirited
+youngster. He held out a hand to Martin.
+
+"I've had enough just now," he said, with an attempt at a smile. "Some
+other day, when my eye is all right, I'd like to----"
+
+A woman's scream of terror, a man's cry of agony, startled the silent
+night and nearly scared the children out of their wits.
+
+Someone came running up the garden path. It was Kitty Thwaites. She
+swayed unsteadily as she ran; her arms were lifted in frantic
+supplication.
+
+"Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you've killed him!" she wailed. "Murder! Murder!
+Come, someone! For God's sake, come!"
+
+She stumbled and fell, shrieking frenziedly for help. Another woman--a
+woman whose extended right hand clutched a long, thin knife such as is
+used to carve game--appeared from the gloom of the orchard. Her wan face
+was raised to the sky, and a baleful light shone in her eyes.
+
+"Ay, I'll swing for him," she cried in a voice shrill with hysteria.
+"May the Lord deal wi' him as he dealt wi' me! And my own sister, too!
+Out on ye, ye strumpet! 'Twould sarve ye right if I stuck ye wi' t' same
+knife."
+
+With a clatter of ironshod boots, most of the frightened children
+stampeded out of the stable yard. Martin, to whom Ang�le clung in
+speechless fear, and the two Beckett-Smythes alone were left.
+
+The din of steam organ and drums, the ceaseless turmoil of the fair, the
+constant fusillade at the shooting gallery, and the bawling of men in
+charge of the various sideshows, had kept the women's shrieks from other
+ears thus far. But Kitty Thwaites, though almost shocked out of her
+senses, gained strength from the imminence of peril. Springing up from
+the path just in time to avoid the vengeful oncoming of her sister, she
+staggered toward the hotel and created instant alarm by her cries of
+"Murder! Help! George Pickering has been stabbed!"
+
+A crowd of men poured out from bar and smoking-room. One, who took
+thought, rushed through the front door and snatched a naphtha lamp from
+a stall. Meanwhile, the three boys and the girl on the other side of
+the hedge, seeing and hearing everything, but unseen and unheard
+themselves, took counsel in some sort.
+
+"I say," Ernest Beckett-Smythe urged his brother, "let's get out of
+this. Father will thrash us to death if we're mixed up in this
+business."
+
+The advice was good. Frank forgot his dizziness for the moment, and the
+two raced to secure their bicycles from a stall-holder's care. They rode
+away to the Hall unnoticed.
+
+Martin remained curiously quiet. All the excitement had left him. If
+Elmsdale were rent by an earthquake just then, he would have watched the
+toppling houses with equanimity.
+
+"I suppose you don't wish to stop here now?" he said to Ang�le.
+
+The girl was sobbing bitterly. Her small body shook as though each gulp
+were a racking cough. She could not answer. He placed his arm around her
+and led her to the gate. While they were crossing the yard the people
+from the hotel crowded into the garden. The man with the lamp had
+reached the back of the house across the bowling green, and a stalwart
+farmer had caught Betsy Thwaites by the wrist. The blood-stained knife
+fell from her fingers. She moaned helplessly in disjointed phrases.
+
+"It's all overed now. God help me! Why was I born?"
+
+Already a crowd was surging into the hotel through the front door.
+Martin guided his trembling companion to the right; in a few strides
+they were clear of the fair, only to run into Mrs. Saumarez's German
+chauffeur.
+
+He was not in uniform; in a well-fitting blue serge suit and straw hat,
+he looked more like a young officer in mufti than a mechanic. He was the
+first to recognize Ang�le, and was so frankly astonished that he bowed
+to her without lifting his hat.
+
+"_You_, mees?" he cried, seemingly at a loss for other words.
+
+Ang�le recovered her wits at once. She said something which Martin could
+not understand, though he was sure it was not in French, as the girl's
+frequent use of that language was familiarizing his ears with its
+sounds. As a matter of fact, she spoke German, telling the chauffeur to
+mind his own business, and she would mind hers; but if any talking were
+done her tongue might wag more than his.
+
+At any rate, the man did then raise his hat politely and walk on. The
+remainder of the road between Elmsdale and The Elms was deserted. Martin
+hardly realized the pace at which he was literally dragging his
+companion homeward until she protested.
+
+"Martin, you're hurting my arm! What's the hurry?... Did she really kill
+him?"
+
+"She said so. I don't know," he replied.
+
+"Who was she?"
+
+"Kitty Thwaites's sister, I suppose. I never saw her before. They were
+not bred in this village."
+
+"And why did she kill him?"
+
+"How can I tell?"
+
+"She had a knife in her hand."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps she killed him because she was jealous."
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Martin, don't be angry with me. I didn't mean any harm. I was only
+having a lark. I did it just to tease you--and Evelyn Atkinson."
+
+"That's all very fine. What will your mother say?"
+
+The quietude, the sound of her own voice, were giving the girl courage.
+She tossed her head with something of contempt.
+
+"She can say nothing. You leave her to me. You saw how I shut Fritz's
+mouth. What was the name of the man who was killed?"
+
+"George Pickering."
+
+"Ah. He walked down the garden with Kitty Thwaites."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes. When I get in I can tell Miss Walker and Fran�oise all about it.
+They will be so excited. There will be no fuss about me being out. V'l�
+la bonne fortune!"
+
+"Speak English, please."
+
+"Well, it is good luck I was there. I can make up such a story."
+
+"Good luck that a poor fellow should be stabbed!"
+
+"That wasn't my fault, was it? Good-night, Martin. You fought
+beautifully. Kiss me!"
+
+"I won't kiss you. Run in, now. I'll wait till the door opens."
+
+"Then _I'll_ kiss _you_. There! I like you better than all the
+world--just now."
+
+She opened the gate, careless whether it clanged or not. Martin heard
+her quick footsteps on the gravel of the short drive. She rattled loudly
+on the door.
+
+"Good-night, Martin--dear!" she cried.
+
+He did not answer. There was some delay. Evidently she had not been
+missed.
+
+"Are you there?" She was impatient of his continued coldness.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why don't you speak, silly?"
+
+The door opened with the clanking of a chain. There was a woman's
+startled cry as the inner light fell on Ang�le. Then he turned.
+
+Not until he reached the "Black Lion" and its well-lighted area did he
+realize that he was coatless and hatless. Jim Bates had vanished with
+both of these necessary articles. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound!
+There would be a fearful row, and the thrashing would be the same in any
+case.
+
+He avoided the crowd, keeping to the darker side of the street. A
+policeman had just come out of the inn and was telling the people to go
+away. All the village seemed to have gathered during the few minutes
+which had elapsed since the tragedy took place. He felt strangely sorry
+for Betsy Thwaites. Would she be locked up, handcuffed, with chains on
+her ankles? What would they do with the knife? Why should she want to
+kill Mr. Pickering? Wouldn't he marry her? Even so, that was no reason
+he should be stabbed. Where did she stick him? Did he quiver like
+Absalom when Joab thrust the darts into his heart?
+
+At last he ran up the slight incline leading to the White House; there
+was a light in the front kitchen. For one awful moment he paused, with a
+finger on the sneck; then he pressed the latch and entered.
+
+John Bolland, grim as a stone gargoyle, wearing his Sunday coat and
+old-fashioned tall hat, was leaning against the massive chimneypiece.
+Mrs. Bolland, with bonnet awry, was seated. She had been crying. A
+frightened kitchenmaid peeped through the passage leading to the back of
+the house when the door opened to admit the truant. Then she vanished.
+
+There was a period of chill silence while Martin closed the door. He
+turned and faced the elderly couple, and John Bolland spoke:
+
+"So ye've coom yam, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"An' at a nice time, too. Afther half-past ten! An hour sen yer muther
+an' me searched high and low for ye. Where hev ye bin? Tell t' truth,
+ye young scamp. Every lie'll mean more skin off your back."
+
+Mrs. Bolland, drying her eyes, now that Martin had returned, noticed his
+disheveled condition. His face was white as his shirt, and both were
+smeared with blood. A wave of new alarm paled her florid cheeks. She ran
+to him.
+
+"For mercy's sake, boy, what hev ye bin doin'? Are ye hurt?"
+
+"No, mother, not hurt. I fought Frank Beckett-Smythe. That is all."
+
+"T' squire's son. Why on earth----"
+
+"Go to bed, Martha," said John, picking up a riding whip. But Mrs.
+Bolland's sympathies discerned a deeper reason for Martin's escapade
+than a mere boyish frolic which deserved a thrashing. He was unnaturally
+calm. Something out of the common had happened. He did not flinch at the
+sight of the whip.
+
+"John," she said sternly, "ye shan't touch him t'-night."
+
+"Stand aside, Martha. If all my good teachin' is of no avail----"
+
+"Mebbe t' lad's fair sick o' yer good teachin'. You lay a hand on him at
+yer peril. If ye do, I don't bide i' t' house this night!"
+
+Never before, during thirty years of married life, had Martha Bolland
+defied her husband. He glowered with anger and amazement.
+
+"Would ye revile the Word te shield that spawn o' Satan?" he roared.
+"Get away, woman, lest I do thee an injury."
+
+But his wife's temper was fierce as his own when roused. She was a
+Meynell, and there have been Meynells in Yorkshire as long as any
+Bollands.
+
+"Tak' yer threats te those who heed 'em," she retorted bitterly. "D'ye
+think folk will stand by an' let ye raise yer hand te me?... David,
+William, Mary, coom here an' hold yer master. He's like te have a fit
+wi' passion."
+
+There was a shuffling in the passage. The men servants, such as happened
+to be in the house, came awkwardly at their mistress's cry. The farmer
+stood spellbound. What devil possessed the household that his authority
+should be set at naught thus openly?
+
+It was a thrilling moment, but Martin solved the difficulty. He wrenched
+himself free of Mrs. Bolland's protecting arms.
+
+"Father, mother!" he cried. "Don't quarrel on my account. If I must be
+beaten, I don't care. I'll take all I get. But it's only fair that I
+should say why I was not home earlier."
+
+Now, John Bolland, notwithstanding his dealing in the matter of the
+pedigree cow, prided himself on his sense of justice. Indeed, the man
+who does the gravest injury to his fellows is often cursed with a
+narrow-minded certainty of his own righteousness. Moreover, this matter
+had gone beyond instant adjustment by the unsparing use of a whip. His
+wife, his servants, were arrayed against him. By the Lord, they should
+rue it!
+
+"Aye," he said grimly. "Tell your muther why you've been actin' t'
+blackguard. Mebbe she'll understand."
+
+Mrs. Bolland had the sense to pass this taunt unheeded. Her heart was
+quailing already at her temerity.
+
+"Ang�le Saumarez came out without her mother," said Martin. "Mrs.
+Saumarez is ill. I thought it best to remain with her and take her home
+again. Frank Beckett-Smythe joined us, and he--he--insulted her, in a
+way. So I fought him, and beat him, too. And then George Pickering was
+murdered----"
+
+"What?"
+
+Bolland dropped the whip on the table. His wife sank into a chair with a
+cry of alarm. The plowmen and maids ventured farther into the room. Even
+the farmer's relentless jaw fell at this terrific announcement.
+
+"Yes, it is quite true. Frank and I fought in the yard of the 'Black
+Lion.' George Pickering and Kitty Thwaites went down the garden--at
+least, so I was told. I didn't see them. But, suddenly, Kitty came
+screaming along the path, and after her a woman waving a long knife in
+the air. Kitty called her 'Betsy,' and said she had killed George
+Pickering. She said so herself. I heard her. Then some men came with a
+light and caught hold of Betsy. She was going to stab Kitty, too, I
+think; and Jim Bates ran away with my coat and hat, which he was
+holding."
+
+The effect of such a narration on a gathering of villagers, law-abiding
+folk who lived in a quiet nook like Elmsdale, was absolutely paralyzing.
+John Bolland was the first to recover himself. A man of few ideas, he
+could not adjust his mental balance with sufficient nicety to see that
+the tragedy itself in no wise condoned Martin's offense.
+
+"Are ye sure of what ye're sayin', lad?" he demanded, though indeed he
+felt it was absurd to imagine that such a tale would be invented as a
+mere excuse.
+
+"Quite sure, sir. If you walk down to the 'Black Lion,' you'll see all
+the people standing round the hotel and the police keeping them back."
+
+"Well, well, I'll gan this minit. George Pickerin' was no friend o'
+mine, but I'm grieved te hear o' sike deeds as these in oor village. I
+was maist angered wi' you on yer muther's account. She was grievin' so
+when we failed te find ye. She thowt sure you were runned over or
+drownded i' t' beck."
+
+This was meant as a graceful apology to his wife, and was taken in that
+spirit. Never before had he made such a concession.
+
+"Here's yer stick, John," she said. "Hurry and find out what's happened.
+Poor George! I wish my tongue hadn't run so fast t' last time I seed
+him."
+
+Bolland and the other men hastened away, and Martin was called on to
+recount the sensational episode, with every detail known to him, for
+the benefit of the household. No one paid heed to the boy's own
+adventures. All ears were for the vengeance taken by Betsy Thwaites on
+the man who jilted her. Even to minds blunted almost to callousness, the
+_crime passionel_ had a vivid, an entrancing interest. The women were
+quick to see its motive, a passive endurance stung to sudden frenzy by
+the knowledge that the faithless lover was pursuing the younger sister.
+But how did Betsy Thwaites, who lived in far-off Hereford, learn that
+George Pickering was "making up" to Kitty? The affair was of recent
+growth. Indeed, none of those present was aware that Pickering and the
+pretty maid at the "Black Lion" were so much as acquainted with each
+other. And where did Betsy spring from? She could not have been staying
+in the village, or someone aware of her history must have seen her. Did
+Kitty know she was there? If so, how foolish of the younger woman to be
+out gallivanting in the moonlight with Pickering.
+
+The whole story was fraught with deepest mystery. Martin could not
+answer one-tenth of the questions put to him. Boy-like, he felt himself
+somewhat of a hero, until he remembered Ang�le's glee at the "good luck"
+of the occurrence--how she would save herself from blame by telling Miss
+Walker and Fran�oise "all about it."
+
+He flushed deeply. He wished now that Bolland had given him a hiding
+before he blurted out his news.
+
+"Bless the lad, he's fair tired te death!" said Mrs. Bolland. "Here,
+Martin, drink a glass o' port an' off te bed wi' ye."
+
+He sipped the wine, wondering dimly what Frank Beckett-Smythe was
+enduring and how he would explain that black eye. He was about to go
+upstairs, when hasty steps sounded without, and Bolland entered with a
+policeman.
+
+This was the village constable, and, of course, well known to all.
+During the feast other policemen came from neighboring villages, but the
+local officer was best fitted to conduct inquiries into a case requiring
+measures beyond a mere arrest. His appearance at this late hour created
+a fresh sensation.
+
+"Martin," said the farmer gravely, "did ye surely hear Kitty Thwaites
+say that Betsy had killed Mr. Pickering?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did."
+
+"And ye heerd Betsy admit it?"
+
+"Oh, yes--that is, if Betsy is the woman with the knife."
+
+"There!" said Bolland, turning to the policeman. "I telt ye so. T' lad
+has his faults, but he's nae leear; I'll say that for him."
+
+The man took off his helmet and wiped his forehead, for the night was
+close and warm.
+
+"Well," he said, "I'll just leave it for the 'Super' te sattle. Mr.
+Pickerin' sweers that Betsy never struck him. She ran up tiv him wi' t'
+knife, an' they quarrelled desperately. That he don't deny. She
+threatened him, too, an' te get away frev her he was climin' inte t'
+stackyard when he slipped, an' a fork lyin' again' t' fence ran intiv
+his ribs."
+
+"Isn't he dead, then?" exclaimed Mrs. Bolland shrilly.
+
+"Not he, ma'am, and not likely te be. He kem to as soon as he swallowed
+some brandy, an' his first words was, 'Where's Betsy?' He was fair wild
+when they telt him she was arrested. He said it was all the fault of
+that flighty lass, Kitty, an' that a lot of fuss was bein' made about
+nowt. I didn't know what te de�. Be�th women were fair ravin', and said
+all soarts o' things, but t' upshot is that Betsy is nussin' Mr.
+Pickerin' now until t' doctor comes frae Nottonby."
+
+He still mopped his head, and his glance wandered to the goodly cask in
+the corner.
+
+"Will ye hev a pint?" inquired Bolland.
+
+"Ay, that I will, Mr. Bolland, an' welcome."
+
+"An' a bite o' bread an' meat?" added Mrs. Bolland.
+
+"I doan't min' if I do, ma'am."
+
+A glance at a maid produced eatables with lightning speed. Mary feared
+lest she should miss a syllable of the night's marvels.
+
+The policeman had many "bites," and talked while he ate. Gradually the
+story became lucid and consecutive.
+
+Fred, the groom, was jealous of Pickering's admiration for Kitty. Having
+overheard the arrangement for a meeting on Monday, he wrote to Betsy,
+sending her the information in the hope that she would come from
+Hereford and cause a commotion at the hotel.
+
+He expected her by an earlier train, but she did not arrive until 9:20
+P.M., and there was a walk of over two miles from the station.
+
+Meanwhile, he had seen Kitty and Pickering steal off into the garden. He
+knew that any interference on his part would earn him a prompt beating,
+so, when Betsy put in a belated appearance, he met her in the passage
+and told her where she would find the couple.
+
+Instantly she ran through the kitchen, snatching a knife as she went.
+Before the drink-sodden meddler could realize the extent of the mischief
+he had wrought, Kitty was shrieking that Pickering was dead. All this he
+blurted out to the police before the injured man gave another version of
+the affair.
+
+"Martin bears out one side o' t' thing," commented the constable
+oracularly, "but t' chief witness says that summat else happened. There
+was blood on t' knife when it was picked up; but there, again, there's a
+doubt, as Betsy had cut her own arm wi't. Anyhow, Betsy an' Kitty were
+cryin' their hearts out when they kem out of Mr. Pickerin's room for
+towels; and he's bleedin' dreadful."
+
+This final gory touch provided an artistic curtain. The constable
+readjusted his belt and took his departure.
+
+After another half-hour's eager gossip among the elders, in which Fred
+suffered much damage to his character, Martin was hurried off to bed.
+Mrs. Bolland washed his bruised face and helped him to undress. She was
+folding his trousers, when a shower of money rattled to the floor.
+
+"Marcy on us!" she cried in real bewilderment, "here's a sovereign, a
+half-sovereign, an' silver, an' copper! Martin, my boy, whatever...."
+
+"Ang�le gave it to me, mother. She gave me two pounds ten to spend."
+
+"Two pund ten!"
+
+"Yes. I suppose it was very wrong. I'll give back all that is left to
+Mrs. Saumarez in the morning."
+
+Martha Bolland was very serious now. She crept to the door of the
+bedroom and listened.
+
+"I do hope yer father kens nowt o' this," she whispered anxiously.
+
+Then she counted the money.
+
+"You've spent sixteen shillin's and fowerpence, not reckonin' t'
+shillin' I gev ye this mornin'. Seventeen an' fowerpence! Martin,
+Martin, whatever on?"
+
+Such extravagance was appalling. Her frugal mind could not assimilate it
+readily. This sum would maintain a large family for a week.
+
+"We stood treat to a lot of other boys and girls. But don't be vexed
+to-night, mother, dear. I'm so tired."
+
+"Vexed, indeed. What'll Mrs. Saumarez say? There'll be a bonny row i' t'
+mornin'. You tak' it back t' first thing. An', here. If she sez owt
+about t' balance, come an' tell me an' I'll make it up. You fond lad; if
+John knew this, he'd never forgive ye. There, honey, go te sleep."
+
+There were tears in her eyes as she bent and kissed him. But he was
+incapable of further emotion. He was half asleep ere she descended the
+stairs, and his last sentient thought was one of keen enjoyment, for his
+knuckles were sore when he closed his right hand, and he remembered the
+smashing force of that uppercut as it met the aristocratic nose of
+Master Beckett-Smythe.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GEORGE PICKERING PLAYS THE MAN
+
+
+Martin was awakened by the rays of a bright autumn sun. He sprang out of
+bed in a jiffy, lest he should be late for breakfast, a heinous offense
+at the farm; but the sight of William feeding the pigs in the yard
+beneath told him that it was only half-past six.
+
+The first puzzle that presented itself was one of costume. Should he
+wear his commonplace corduroys, or don all that was left of his gray
+tweeds? During the Feast he was supposed to dress in his best each day;
+he decided to obey orders as far as was possible.
+
+He missed the money from his trousers pocket and knew that his mother
+had taken it. Also, he found that she had selected a clean shirt and
+collar from the drawer and placed them ready for use. By degrees his
+active brain recalled the startling events of the previous evening in
+their proper sequence, and he found himself speculating more on the
+reception Mrs. Saumarez might accord than on the attitude John Bolland
+would certainly adopt when the overnight proceedings arranged themselves
+in a slow-moving mind.
+
+He was downstairs long before seven. The farmer was out. Mrs. Bolland,
+immersed in the early cares of the household, showed no traces of the
+excitement of eight hours earlier.
+
+"Martin," she cried as soon as she caught sight of him, "I heerd a hen
+cluckin' a bit sen at t' bottom o' t' garth. Just look i' t' hedge an'
+see if she's nestin'?"
+
+This was a daily undertaking in a house where poultry were plentiful as
+sparrows in Piccadilly.
+
+Martin hailed the mission as a sign that normal times were come again. A
+gate led into the meadow from the garden, but to go that way meant
+walking twenty yards or more, so the boy took a running jump, caught a
+stout limb of a pear tree, swung himself onto a ten-foot pile of wood,
+and dropped over into the field beyond.
+
+Mrs. Bolland witnessed the feat with some degree of alarm. In the course
+of a few hours she had come to see her adopted son passing from
+childhood into vigorous adolescence.
+
+"Drat that lad!" she cried irately. "Does he want to break his neck?"
+
+"He larnt that trick t' other day, missus," commented William, standing
+all lopsided to balance a huge pail of pig's food. "He'll mek a rare
+chap, will your Martin."
+
+"He's larnin' a lot o' tricks that I ken nowt about," cried Mistress
+Martha. "Nice doin's there was last night. How comes it none o' you men
+saw him carryin' on i' t' fair wi' that little French la-di-dah?"
+
+"I dunno, ma'am."
+
+William grinned, though, for some of the men had noted the children's
+antics, and none would "split" to the farmer.
+
+"But I did hear as how Martin gev t' Squire's son a fair weltin'," he
+went on. "One o' t' grooms passed here an oor sen, exercisin' a young
+hoss, an' he said that be�th young gentlemen kem yam at half-past ten.
+Master Frank had an eye bunged up, an' a nose like a bad apple. He was
+that banged about that t' Squire let him off a bastin' an' gev t' other a
+double allowance."
+
+Mrs. Bolland smiled.
+
+"Gan on wi' yer wark," she said. "Here's it's seven o'clock, half t' day
+gone, an' nothin' done."
+
+Martin, searching for stray eggs, suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He
+looked around and saw Jim Bates's head over the top of the lane hedge.
+
+Jim held up a bundle.
+
+"Here's yer coat an' hat," he said. "I dursent bring 'em last neet."
+
+"Why did you run away?" inquired Martin, approaching to take his
+property.
+
+"I was skeert. Yon woman's yellin' was awful. I went straight off yam."
+
+"Did you catch it for being out late?"
+
+"Noa; but feyther gev me a clout this mornin' for not tellin' him about
+t' murder. He'd gone te bed."
+
+"Nobody was murdered," said Martin.
+
+"That wasn't Betsy's fault. It's all my eye about Mr. Pickerin' stickin'
+a fork into hisself. There was noa fork there."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Coss I was pullin' carrots all Saturday mornin' for Mrs. Atkinson, an'
+if there'd bin any fork I should ha' seen it."
+
+"Martin," cried a shrill voice from the garth, "is that lookin' fer
+eggs?"
+
+Jim Bates's head and shoulders shot out of sight instantaneously.
+
+"All right, mother, I'm only getting back my lost clothes," explained
+Martin. He began a painstaking survey of the hedge bottom and was
+rewarded by the discovery of a nest of six hidden away by a hen anxious
+to undertake the cares of maternity.
+
+At breakfast John Bolland was silent and severe. He passed but one
+remark to Martin:
+
+"Happen you'll be wanted some time this mornin'. Stop within hail until
+Mr. Benson calls."
+
+Mr. Benson was the village constable.
+
+"What will he want wi' t' lad?" inquired Mrs. Bolland tartly.
+
+"Martin is t' main witness i' this case o' Pickerin's. Kitty Thwaites
+isn't likely te tell t' truth. Women are main leears when there's a man
+i' t' business."
+
+"More fools they."
+
+"Well, let be. I'm fair vexed that Martin's ne�m should be mixed up i'
+this affair. Fancy the tale that'll be i' t' _Messenger_--John Bolland's
+son fightin' t' young squire at ten o'clock o' t' neet in t' 'Black
+Lion' yard--fightin' ower a lass. What ailed him I cannot tell. He must
+ha' gone clean daft."
+
+The farmer pushed back his chair angrily, and Mrs. Bolland wondered what
+he would say did he know of Martin's wild extravagance. Mother and son
+were glad when John picked up a riding-whip and lumbered out to mount
+Sam, the pony, for an hour's ride over the moor.
+
+Evidently, he had encountered Benson before breakfast, as that worthy
+officer arrived at half-past ten and asked Martin to accompany him.
+
+The two walked solemnly through the fair, in which there was already
+some stir. A crowd hanging around the precincts of the inn made way as
+they approached, and Martin saw, near the door, two saddled horses in
+charge of a policeman.
+
+He was escorted to an inner room, receiving a tremulous, but gracious,
+smile from Evelyn as he passed. To his very genuine astonishment and
+alarm, he was confronted not only by the district superintendent of
+police but also by Mr. Frank Reginald de Courcy Beckett-Smythe, the
+magnate of the Hall.
+
+"This is the boy, your wuship," said Benson.
+
+"Ah. What is his name?"
+
+"Martin Court Bolland, sir."
+
+"One of John Bolland's sons, eh?"
+
+"No, sir. Mr. Bolland has no son. He adopted this lad some thirteen
+years ago."
+
+Had a bolt from the blue struck Martin at that moment he could not have
+been more dumbfounded. Both John and Martha had thought fit to keep the
+secret of his parentage from his knowledge until he was older, as the
+fact might tend to weaken their authority during his boyhood. The adults
+in Elmsdale, of course, knew the circumstances thoroughly, and respected
+Mr. and Mrs. Bolland's wishes, while the children with whom he grew up
+regarded him as village-born like themselves.
+
+It took a good deal to bring tears to Martin's eyes, but they were
+perilously near at that instant. Though the words almost choked him, he
+faltered:
+
+"Is that true, Mr. Benson?"
+
+"True? It's true eneuf, lad. Didn't ye know?"
+
+"No, they never told me."
+
+A mist obscured his sight. The presence of the magistrate and
+superintendent ceased to have any awe-inspiring effect. What disgrace
+was this so suddenly blurted out by this stolid policeman? Whose child
+was he, then, if not theirs? Could he ever hold up his head again in
+face of the youthful host over which he lorded it by reason of his
+advanced intelligence and greater strength? There was comfort in the
+thought that no one had ever taunted him in this relation. The veiled
+hint in Pickering's words to the farmer was the only reference he could
+recall.
+
+Benson seemed to regard the facts as to his birth as matters of common
+knowledge. Perhaps there was some explanation which would lift him from
+the sea of ignominy into which he had been pitched so unexpectedly.
+
+He was aroused by Mr. Beckett-Smythe saying:
+
+"Now, my lad, was it you who fought my son last night?"
+
+"Yes--sir," stammered Martin.
+
+The question sharpened his wits to some purpose. A spice of dread helped
+the process. Was he going to be tried on some dire charge of malicious
+assault?
+
+"Hum," muttered the squire, surveying him with a smile. "A proper
+trouncing you gave him, too. I shall certainly thrash him now for
+permitting it. What was the cause of the quarrel?"
+
+"About a girl, sir."
+
+"You young rascals! A girl! What girl?"
+
+"Perhaps it was all my fault, sir."
+
+"That is not answering my question."
+
+"I would rather not tell, sir."
+
+Then Mr. Beckett-Smythe leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
+
+"'Pon my honor," he said to the superintendent, "these young sparks are
+progressive. They don't care what happens, so long as the honor of the
+lady is safeguarded. My son refused point-blank to say even why he
+fought. Well, well, Martin, I see you did not come out of the fray
+scatheless; but you are not brought here because you decorated Frank's
+ingenuous countenance. I want you to tell me exactly what took place in
+the garden when Mr. Pickering was wounded."
+
+Somewhat reassured, Martin told all he knew, which was not a great deal.
+The magistrate, who, of course, was only assisting the police inquiry,
+was perplexed.
+
+"There were others present?" he commented.
+
+"Yes, sir. Master Frank and Master Ernest----"
+
+"Master Frank could not see much at the moment, eh?"
+
+Martin blushed.
+
+"But Ernest--surely, he might have noted something that you missed?"
+
+"I think not, sir. He was--er--looking after his brother."
+
+"And the other children?"
+
+"Several boys and girls of the village, but they were frightened by the
+screaming, sir, and ran away."
+
+"Including the young lady who caused the combat?"
+
+No answer. Martin thought it best to leave the point open. Again Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe laughed.
+
+"I suppose this village belle is one of Mrs. Atkinson's daughters. Gad!
+I never heard tell of such a thing. All right, Martin, you can go now,
+but let me give you a parting word of advice. Never again fight for a
+woman, unless to protect her from a blackguard, which, I presume, was
+hardly the cause of the dispute with Frank."
+
+"I don't think he was to blame at all, sir."
+
+"Thank you. Good-day, Martin. Here's a half-crown to plaster that
+damaged lip of yours."
+
+Left to themselves, the magistrate and superintendent discussed the
+advisability of taking proceedings against Betsy Thwaites.
+
+"I'm sure Pickering made up his story in order to screen the woman,"
+said the police officer. "A rusty fork was found in the stackyard, but
+it was thirty feet away from the nearest point of the track made by the
+drops of blood, and separated from the garden by a stout hedge.
+Moreover, Pickering and Kitty were undoubtedly standing in the orchard,
+many yards farther on. Then, again, the girl was collared by Thomas
+Metcalfe, of the Leas Farm, and the knife, one of Mrs. Atkinson's, fell
+from her hand; while a dozen people will swear they heard her sister
+calling out that she had murdered George Pickering."
+
+Beckett-Smythe shook his head doubtfully.
+
+"It is a queer affair, looked at in any light. Do you think I ought to
+see Pickering himself? You can arrest Betsy Thwaites without a warrant,
+I believe, and, in any event, I'll not sit on the bench if the case
+comes before the court."
+
+The superintendent was only too glad to have the squire's counsel in
+dealing with a knotty problem. The social position of the wounded man
+required some degree of caution before proceedings were commenced, in
+view of his emphatic declaration that his wound was self-inflicted. If
+his state became dangerous, there was only one course open to the
+representatives of the law; but the doctor's verdict was that
+penetration of the lung had been averted by a hair's breadth, and
+Pickering would recover. Indeed, he might be taken home in a carriage at
+the end of the week. Meanwhile, the hayfork and the blood-stained knife
+were impounded.
+
+The two men went upstairs and were shown to the room occupied by the
+injured gallant. Kitty Thwaites, pale as a ghost, was flitting about
+attending to her work, the hotel being crowded with stock-breeders and
+graziers. Her unfortunate sister, even more woebegone in appearance, was
+nursing the invalid, at his special request. It was a puzzling
+situation, and Mr. Beckett-Smythe, who knew Pickering intimately, was
+inclined to act with the utmost leniency that the law allowed.
+
+Betsy Thwaites, who was sitting at the side of the bed, rose when they
+entered. Her white face became suffused with color, and she looked at
+the police officer with frightened eyes.
+
+The magistrate saw this, and he said quite kindly:
+
+"If Mr. Pickering is able to speak with us for a little while, you may
+leave us with him."
+
+"No, no," interrupted the invalid in an astonishingly strong and hearty
+voice. "There's nothing to be said that Betsy needn't hear. Is there,
+lass?"
+
+She began to tremble, and lifted a corner of her apron. Notwithstanding
+her faithless swain's statement to her sister, she was quite as
+good-looking as Kitty, and sorrow had given her face a pathetic dignity
+that in no wise diminished its charm.
+
+She knew not whether to stay or go. The superintendent took the hint
+given by the squire.
+
+"It would be best, under the circumstances, if we were left alone while
+we talk over last night's affair, Mr. Pickering."
+
+"Not a bit of it. Don't go, Betsy. What is there to talk over? I made a
+fool of myself--not for the first time where a woman was concerned--and
+Betsy here, brought from Hereford by a meddlesome scamp, lost her
+temper. No wonder! Poor girl, she had traveled all day in a hot train,
+without eatin' a bite, and found me squeezing her sister at the bottom
+of the garden. There's no denying that she meant to do me a mischief,
+and serve me right, too. I'll admit I was scared, and in running away I
+got into worse trouble, as, of course, I could easily have mastered her.
+Kitty, too, what between fear and shame, lost her senses, and poor Betsy
+cut her own arm. You see, a plain tale stops all the nonsense that has
+been talked since ten o'clock last night."
+
+"Not quite, George." Mr. Beckett-Smythe was serious and magisterial.
+"You forget, or perhaps do not know, that there were witnesses."
+
+Pickering looked alarmed.
+
+"Witnesses!" he cried. "What d'you mean?"
+
+"Well, no outsider saw the blow, or accident, whichever it was; but a
+number of children saw and heard incidents which, putting it mildly,
+tend to discredit your story."
+
+Betsy began to sob.
+
+"I told you you had better leave the room," went on the squire in a low
+tone.
+
+Pickering endeavored to raise himself in the bed, but sank back with a
+groan. The unfortunate girl forgot her own troubles at the sound, and
+rushed to arrange the pillow beneath his head.
+
+"It comes to this, then," he said huskily; "you want to arrest, on a
+charge of attempting to murder me, a woman whom I intend to marry long
+before she can be brought to trial!"
+
+Betsy broke down now in real earnest. Beckett-Smythe and the
+superintendent gazed at Pickering with blank incredulity. This
+development was wholly unlooked for. They both thought the man was
+light-headed. He smiled dryly.
+
+"Yes, I mean it," he continued, placing his hand on the brown hair of
+the girl, whose face was buried in the bedclothes. "I--I didn't sleep
+much last night, and I commenced to see things in a different light to
+that which presented itself before. I treated Betsy shamefully--not in a
+monied sense, but in every other way. She's not one of the general run
+of girls. I promised to marry her once, and now I'm going to keep my
+promise. That's all."
+
+He was desperately in earnest. Of that there could be no manner of
+doubt. The superintendent stroked his chin reflectively, and the
+magistrate could only murmur:
+
+"Gad, that changes the venue, as the lawyers say."
+
+One thought dominated the minds of both men; Pickering was behaving
+foolishly. He was a wealthy man, owner of a freehold farm of hundreds of
+acres; he might aspire to marry a woman of some position in the county
+and end his days in all the glory of J. P.-dom and County Aldermanship.
+Yet, here he was deliberately throwing himself away on a dairymaid who,
+not many hours since, had striven to kill him during a burst of jealous
+fury. The thing was absurd. Probably when he recovered he would see this
+for himself; but for the time it was best to humor him and give official
+sanction to his version of the overnight quarrel.
+
+"Don't keep us in suspense, squire," cried the wounded man, angered by
+his friend's silence. "What are you going to do?"
+
+"Nothing, George; nothing, I think. I only hope your accident with the
+pitchfork will not have serious results--in any shape."
+
+The policeman nodded a farewell. As they quitted the room they heard
+Pickering say faintly:
+
+"Now, Betsy, my dear, no more crying. I can't stand it. Damn it all, one
+doesn't get engaged to be married and yelp over it!"
+
+On the landing they saw Kitty, a white shadow, anxious, but afraid to
+speak.
+
+"Cheer up," said Beckett-Smythe pleasantly. "This affair looks like
+ending in smoke."
+
+Gaining courage from the magistrate's affability, the girl said
+brokenly:
+
+"Mr. Pickering and--my--sister--are quite friendly. You saw that for
+yourself, sir."
+
+"Gad, yes. They're going to be--well--er--I was going to say we have
+quite decided that an accident took place and there is no call for
+police interference--so long as Mr. Pickering shows progress toward
+recovery, you understand. There, there! You women always begin to cry,
+whether pleased or vexed. Bless my heart, let's get away, Mr.
+Superintendent."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+SHOWING HOW MARTIN'S HORIZON WIDENS
+
+
+The sufferings of the young are strenuous as their joys. When Martin
+passed into the heart of the bustling fair its glamour had vanished. The
+notes of the organ were harsh, the gay canvas of the booths tawdry, the
+cleanly village itself awry. The policeman's surprise at his lack of
+knowledge on the subject of his parentage was disastrously convincing.
+The man treated the statement as indisputable. There was no question of
+hearsay; it was just so, a recognized fact, known to all the grown-up
+people in Elmsdale.
+
+Tommy Beadlam, he of the white head, ran after him to ask why the
+"bobby" brought him to the "Black Lion," but Martin averted eyes laden
+with misery, and motioned his little friend away.
+
+Tommy, who had seen the fight, and knew of the squire's presence this
+morning, drew his own conclusions.
+
+"Martin's goin' to be locked up," he told a knot of awe-stricken
+youngsters, and they thrilled with sympathy, for their champion's
+victory over the "young swell frae t' Hall" was highly popular.
+
+The front door of the White House stood hospitably open. Already a
+goodly number of visitors had gathered, and every man and woman talked
+of nothing but the dramatic events of the previous night. When Martin
+arrived, fresh from a private conversation with the squire and the
+chief of police, they were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Perhaps he
+might add to the store of gossip. Even Mrs. Bolland felt a certain pride
+that the boy should be the center of interest in this _cause c�l�bre_.
+
+But his glum face created alarm in her motherly breast.
+
+"Why, Martin," she cried, "what's gone wrong? Ye look as if ye'd seen a
+ghost wi' two he�ds!"
+
+The all-absorbing topic to Martin just then was his own history and not
+the half-comprehended tragedy of the rural lovers. If his mother's
+friends knew that which was hidden from him, why should he compel his
+tongue to wag falsely? Somehow, the air seemed thick with deception just
+now, but his heart would have burst had he attempted to restrain the
+words that welled forth.
+
+"Mother," he said, and his lips quivered at the remembrance that the
+affectionate title was itself a lie, "Mr. Benson told the squire I was
+not your boy--that father and you adopted me thirteen years ago."
+
+Mrs. Bolland's face glowed with quick indignation. No one spoke.
+Martin's impetuous repudiation of his name was the last thing they
+looked for.
+
+"It is true, I suppose," he went on despairingly. "If I am not your son,
+then whose son am I?"
+
+Martha lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
+
+"Well, of all the deceitful scoundrels!" she gasped. "Te think of me
+fillin' his blue coat wi' meat an' beer last neet, an' all t' return he
+maks is te worry this poor lad's brains wi' that owd tale!"
+
+"Oh, he's sly, is Benson," chimed in stout Mrs. Summersgill. "A
+fortnight sen last Tuesday I caught him i' my dairy wi' one o' t'
+maids, lappin' up cream like a great tomcat."
+
+A laugh went round. None paid heed to Martin's agony. A dullness fell on
+his soul. Even the woman he called mother was angered more by the
+constable's blurting out of a household secret than by the destruction
+of an ideal. Such, in confused riot, was the thought that chilled him.
+
+But he was mistaken. Martha Bolland's denunciations of the policeman
+only covered the pain, sharp as the cut of a knife, caused by the boy's
+cry of mingled passion and sorrow. She was merely biding her time. When
+chance served, she called him into the larder, the nearest quiet place
+in the house, and closed the door.
+
+"Martin, my lad," she said, while big tears shone in her honest eyes,
+"ye are dear to me as my own. I trust I may be spared to be muther te ye
+until ye're a man. John an' me meant no unkindness te ye in not tellin'
+ye we found ye i' Lunnun streets, a poor, deserted little mite, wi'
+nather feyther nor muther, an' none te own ye. What matter was it that
+ye should know sooner? Hev we not done well by ye? When ye come to
+think over 't, ye're angered about nowt. Kiss me, honey, an' if anyone
+says owt cross te ye, tell 'em ye hev both a feyther an' a muther, which
+is more'n some of 'em can say."
+
+This display of feeling applied balm to Martin's wounds. Certainly Mrs.
+Bolland's was the common sense view to take of the situation. He forbore
+to question her further just then, and hugged her contentedly. The very
+smell of her lavender-scented clothes was grateful, and this embrace
+seemed to restore her to him.
+
+His brightened countenance, the vanishing of that unwonted expression of
+resentful humiliation, was even more comforting to Martha herself.
+
+"Here," she said, thrusting a small paper package into his hand, "I
+mayn't hev anuther chance. Ye'll find two pun ten i' that paper. Gie it
+te Mrs. Saumarez an' tell her I'll be rale pleased if there's no more
+talk about t' money. An' mebbe, later i' t' day, I'll find a shillin' fer
+yersen. But, fer goodness' sake, come an' tell t' folk all that t'
+squire said te ye. They're fair crazed te hear ye."
+
+"Mother, dear!" he cried eagerly, "I was so--so mixed up at first that I
+forgot to tell you. Mr. Beckett-Smythe gave me half a crown."
+
+"Ye doan't say! Well, I can't abide half a tale. Let's hae t' lot i' t'
+front kitchen."
+
+It was noon, and dinner-time, before Martin could satisfy the cackling
+dames as to all within his cognizance concerning Betsy Thwaites's
+escapade. Be it noted, they unanimously condemned Fred, the groom;
+commiserated with Betsy, and extolled George Pickering as a true
+gentleman.
+
+P. C. Benson, all unconscious of the rod in pickle for his broad back,
+strolled in about the eating hour. Mrs. Bolland, brindling with
+repressed fury, could scarce find words wherewith to scold him.
+
+"Well, of all the brazen-faced men I've ever met--" she began.
+
+"So you've heerd t' news?" he interrupted.
+
+"Heerd? I should think so, indeed! Martin kem yam----"
+
+"Martin! Did he know?"
+
+"Know!" she shrilled. "Wasn't it ye as said it?"
+
+"No, ma'am," he replied stolidly. "Mrs. Atkinson told me, and she said
+that Mr. Pickerin' had ta'en his solemn oath te do't in t' presence of
+t' super and t' squire!"
+
+"Do what?" was the chorus.
+
+"Why, marry Betsy, to be sure, as soon as he can be led te t' church.
+What else is there?"
+
+This stupendous addition to the flood of excitement carried away even
+Martha Bolland for the moment. In her surprise she set a plate for
+Benson with the others, and, after that, the paramount rite of
+hospitality prevented her from "having it out wi' him" until hunger was
+sated. Then, however, she let him "feel the edge of her tongue"; he was
+so flustered that John had to restore his mental poise with another pint
+of ale.
+
+Meanwhile, Martin managed to steal out unobserved, and made the best of
+his way to The Elms. Although in happier mood, he was not wholly pleased
+with his errand. He was not afraid of Mrs. Saumarez--far from it, but he
+did not know how to fulfill his mission and at the same time exonerate
+Ang�le. His chivalrous nature shrank from blaming her, yet his unaided
+wits were not equal to the task of restoring so much money to her mother
+without answering truthfully the resultant deluge of questions.
+
+He was battling with this problem when, near The Elms, he encountered
+the Rev. Charles Herbert, M.A., vicar of Elmsdale, and his daughter
+Elsie.
+
+Martin doffed his straw hat readily, and would have passed, but the
+vicar hailed him.
+
+"Martin, is it correct that you were in the stableyard of the 'Black
+Lion' last night and saw something of this sad affair of Mr.
+Pickering's?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Martin blushed. The girl's blue eyes were fixed on his with the innocent
+curiosity of a fawn. She knew him well by sight, but they had never
+exchanged a word. He found himself wondering what her voice was like.
+Would she chatter with the excited volubility of Ang�le? Being better
+educated than he, would she pour forth a jargon of foreign words and
+slang? Ang�le was quiet as a mouse under her mother's eye. Was Elsie
+aping this demure demeanor because her father was present? Certainly,
+she looked a very different girl. Every curve of her pretty face, each
+line in her graceful contour, suggested modesty and nice manners. Why,
+he couldn't tell, but he knew instinctively that Elsie Herbert would
+have drawn back horrified from the mad romp overnight, and he was
+humbled in spirit before her.
+
+The worthy vicar never dreamed that the farmer's sturdy son was capable
+of deep emotion. He interpreted Martin's quick coloring to knowledge of
+a discreditable episode. He said to the girl:
+
+"I'll follow you home in a few minutes, my dear."
+
+Martin thought that an expression of disappointment swept across the
+clear eyes, but Elsie quitted them instantly. The boy had endured too
+much to be thus humiliated before one of his own age.
+
+"I would have said nothing to offend the young lady," he cried hotly.
+
+Very much taken aback, Mr. Herbert's eyebrows arched themselves above
+his spectacles.
+
+"My good boy," he said, "I did not choose that my daughter should hear
+the--er--offensive details of this--er--stabbing affray, or worse, that
+took place at the inn."
+
+"But you didn't mind slighting me in her presence, sir," was the
+unexpected retort.
+
+"I am not slighting you. Had I met Mr. Beckett-Smythe and sought
+information as to this matter, I would still have asked her to go on to
+the Vicarage."
+
+This was a novel point of view for Martin. He reddened again.
+
+"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "Everything has gone wrong with me to-day. I
+didn't mean to be rude."
+
+The vicar deemed him a strange youth, but tacitly accepted the apology,
+and drew from Martin the story of the night's doings.
+
+It shocked him to hear that Martin and Frank Beckett-Smythe were
+fighting in the yard of the "Black Lion" at such an hour.
+
+"How came you to be there?" he said gently. "You do not attend my
+church, Martin, but I have always regarded Mr. Bolland as a God-fearing
+man, and your teacher has told me that you are gifted with intelligence
+and qualities beyond your years or station in life."
+
+"I was there quite by accident, sir, and I couldn't avoid the fight."
+
+"What caused it?"
+
+"We fought to settle that question, sir, and it's finished now."
+
+The vicar laughed.
+
+"Which means you will not tell me. Well, I am no disbeliever in a manly
+display of fisticuffs. It breaks no bones and saves many a boy from the
+growth of worse qualities. I suppose you are going to the fair this
+afternoon?"
+
+"No, sir. I'm not."
+
+"Would you mind telling me how you will pass the time between now and
+supper?"
+
+"I am taking a message from my mother to Mrs. Saumarez, and then I'll go
+straight to the Black Plantation"--a dense clump of firs situate at the
+head of the ghylls, or small valleys, leading from the cultivated land
+up to the moor.
+
+"Dear me! And what will you do there?"
+
+The boy smiled, somewhat sheepishly.
+
+"I have a nest in a tree there, sir, where I often sit and read."
+
+"What do you read?"
+
+"Just now, sir, I am reading Scott's poems."
+
+"Indeed. What books do you favor, as a rule?"
+
+Delighted to have a sympathetic listener, Martin forgot his troubles in
+pouring forth a catalogue of his favorite authors. The more Mr. Herbert
+questioned him the more eager and voluble he became. The boy had the
+rare faculty of absorbing the joys and sorrows, the noble sentiments,
+the very words of the heroes of romance, and in this scholarly gentleman
+he found an auditor who appreciated all that was hitherto dumb thought.
+
+Several people passing along the road wondered what "t' passon an' oad
+John Bolland's son were makkin' sike deed about," and the conversation
+must have lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, when the vicar heard the
+chimes of the church clock.
+
+He laughed genially. Although, on his part, there was an underlying
+motive in the conversation, Martin had fairly carried it far afield.
+
+"You have had your revenge on me for sending my daughter away," he
+cried. "My lunch will be cold. Now, will you do me a favor?"
+
+"Of course, sir; anything you ask."
+
+"Nay, Martin, make that promise to no man. But this lies within your
+scope. About four o'clock leave your crow's nest and drop over to Thor
+ghyll. I may be there."
+
+Overjoyed at the prospect of a renewed chat on topics dear to his heart,
+the boy ran off, light-heartedly, to The Elms. His task seemed easier
+now. The wholesome breeze of intercourse with a cultivated mind had
+momentarily swept into the background a host of unpleasing things.
+
+He found he could not see Mrs. Saumarez, so he asked for Miss Walker.
+The lady came. She was prim and severe. Instantly he detected a note of
+hostility which her first words put beyond doubt.
+
+"My mother sent me to return some money to Mrs. Saumarez," he explained.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez is ill. Mrs. Bolland must wait until she recovers. As for
+you, you bad boy, I wonder you dare show your face here."
+
+Martin never flinched from a difficulty.
+
+"Why?" he demanded. "What have I done?"
+
+"Can you ask? To drag that poor little mite of a girl into such horrible
+scenes as those which took place in the village? Be off! You just wait
+until Mrs. Saumarez is better, and you will hear more of it."
+
+With that, she slammed the door on him.
+
+So Ang�le had posed as a simpleton, and he was the villain. This phase
+of the medley amused him. He was retreating down the drive, when he
+heard his name called. He turned. A window on the ground floor opened,
+and Mrs. Saumarez appeared, leaning unsteadily on the sill.
+
+"Come here!" she cried imperiously.
+
+Somehow she puzzled, indeed flustered, him. For one thing, her attire
+was bizarre. Usually dressed with unexceptionable taste, to-day she wore
+a boudoir wrap--a costly robe, but adjusted without care, and all untidy
+about neck and breast. Her hair was coiled loosely, and stray wisps hung
+out in slovenly fashion. Her face, deathly white, save for dull red
+patches on the cheeks, served as a fit setting for unnaturally brilliant
+eyes which protruded from their sockets in a manner quite startling,
+while the veins on her forehead stood out like whipcord.
+
+Martin was utterly dismayed. He stood stock-still.
+
+"Come!" she said again, glaring at him with a curious fixity. "I want
+you. Fran�oise is not here, and I wish you to run an errand."
+
+Save for a strange thickness in her speech, she had never before
+reminded him so strongly of Ang�le. She had completely lost her
+customary air of repose. She spoke and acted like a peevish child.
+
+Anyhow, she had summoned him, and he could now discharge his trust. In
+such conditions, Martin seldom lacked words.
+
+"I asked for you at the door, ma'am," he explained, drawing nearer,
+"but Miss Walker said you were ill. My mother sent me to give you this."
+
+He produced the little parcel of money and essayed to hand it to her.
+She surveyed it with lackluster eyes.
+
+"What is it?" she said. "I do not understand. Here is plenty of money. I
+want you to go to the village, to the 'Black Lion,' and bring me a
+sovereign's worth of brandy."
+
+She held out a coin. They stood thus, proffering each other gold.
+
+"But this is yours, ma'am. I came to return it. I--er--borrowed some
+money from Ang--from Miss Saumarez--and mother said----"
+
+"Cease, boy. I do not understand, I tell you. Keep the money and bring
+me what I ask."
+
+In her eagerness she leaned so far out of the window that she nearly
+overbalanced. The sovereign fell among some flowers. With an effort she
+recovered an unsteady poise. Martin stooped to find the money. A door
+opened inside the house. A hot whisper reached him.
+
+"Tell no one. I'll watch for you in half an hour--remember--a
+sovereign's worth."
+
+The boy, not visible from the far side of the room, heard the voice of
+Fran�oise. The window closed with a bang. He discovered the coin and
+straightened himself. The maid was seating her mistress in a chair and
+apparently remonstrating with her. She picked up from the floor a
+wicker-covered Eau de Cologne bottle and turned it upside down with an
+angry gesture. It was empty.
+
+Martin, whose experience of intoxicated people was confined to the
+infrequent sight of a village toper, heavy with beer, lurching homeward
+in maudlin glee or fury, imagined that Mrs. Saumarez must be in some
+sort of fever. Obviously, those in attendance on her should be consulted
+before he brought her brandy secretly.
+
+Back he marched to the front door and rang the bell. Lest Miss Walker
+should shut him out again, he was inside the hall before anyone could
+answer his summons, for the doors of country houses remain unlocked all
+day. The elder sister reappeared, very starchy at this unheard-of
+impertinence.
+
+"I was forced to return, ma'am," he said civilly. "Mrs. Saumarez saw me
+in the drive and asked me to buy her some brandy. She gave me a
+sovereign. She looked very ill, so I thought it best to come and tell
+you."
+
+The lady was thoroughly nonplussed by this plain statement.
+
+"Oh," she stammered, so confused that he did not know what to make of
+her agitation, "this is very nice of you. She must not have brandy. It
+is--quite unsuitable--for her illness. It is really very good of you to
+tell me. I--er--I'm sorry I spoke so harshly just now, but--er----"
+
+"That's all right, ma'am. It was all a mistake. Will you kindly take
+charge of this sovereign, and also of the two pounds ten which Miss
+Ang�le lent me?"
+
+"Which Miss Ang�le lent you! Two pounds ten! I thought you said your
+mother----"
+
+"It is mine, please," said a voice from the broad landing above their
+heads. Ang�le skipped lightly down the stairs and held out her hand.
+Martin gave her the money.
+
+"I don't understand this, at all," said the mystified Miss Walker. "Does
+Mrs. Saumarez know----"
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez knows nothing. Neither does Martin."
+
+With wasp-like suddenness, the girl turned and faced a woman old enough
+to be her grandmother. Their eyes clashed. The child's look said
+plainly:
+
+"Dare to utter another word and I'll disgrace your house throughout the
+village."
+
+The woman yielded. She waved a protesting hand. "It is no business of
+mine. Thank you, Martin, for coming back."
+
+Ang�le lashed out at him next.
+
+"Allez, donc! I'll never speak to you again."
+
+She ran up the stairs. He stood irresolute.
+
+"Anyhow, not now," she added. "I may be out in an hour's time."
+
+Miss Walker was holding the door open. He hurried away, and Fran�oise
+saw him, wondering why he had called.
+
+And for hours thereafter, until night fell, a white-faced woman paced
+restlessly to and fro in the sitting-room, ever and anon raising the
+window, and watching for Martin's return with a fierce intensity that
+rendered her almost maniacal in appearance.
+
+Happily, the boy was unaware of the pitiful tragedy in the life of the
+rich and highly placed Mrs. Saumarez. While she waited, with a rage
+steadily dwindling into a wearied despair, he was passing, all
+unconsciously, into the next great phase of his career.
+
+He took one forward step into the unknown before leaving the tree-lined
+drive. He met Fritz, the chauffeur, who was so absorbed in the study of
+a folding road-map that he did not see Martin until the latter hailed
+him.
+
+"Hello!" was the boy's cheery greeting. "That affair is ended. Please
+don't say anything to Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+The German closed the map.
+
+"Whad iss ented?" he inquired, surveying Martin with a cool hauteur rare
+in chauffeurs.
+
+"Why, last night's upset in the village."
+
+"Ah, yez. Id iss nod my beeznez."
+
+"I didn't quite mean that. But there's no use in getting Miss Ang�le
+into a row, is there?"
+
+"Dat iss zo. Vere do you leeve?"
+
+"At the White House Farm."
+
+"Vere de brize caddle are?"
+
+Martin smiled. He had never before heard English spoken with a strong
+German accent. Somehow he associated these resonant syllables with a
+certain indefinite stress which Mrs. Saumarez laid on a few words.
+
+"Yes," he said. "My father's herd is well known."
+
+Fritz's manner became genial.
+
+"Zome tay you vill show me, yez?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll be very pleased. And will you explain your car to me--the engine,
+I mean?"
+
+"Komm now."
+
+"Sorry, but I have an engagement."
+
+There was plenty of time at Martin's disposal, but he did not want to
+loiter about The Elms that afternoon. This man was a paid servant who
+could hardly refuse to carry out any reasonable order, and it would have
+been awkward for Martin if Mrs. Saumarez asked him to give Fritz the
+sovereign she had intrusted to his keeping.
+
+"All aright," agreed the chauffeur, whose strong, intellectual face was
+now altogether amiable; in fact, a white scar on his left cheek creased
+so curiously when he grinned that his aspect was almost comical. "We
+vill meed when all dis noise sdops, yez?" and he waved a hand toward the
+distant drone of the fair.
+
+Thus began for Martin another strange friendship--a friendship destined
+to end so fantastically that if the manner of its close were foretold
+then and there by any prophet, the mere telling might have brought the
+seer to the madhouse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE WILDCAT
+
+
+It was nearly three o'clock when Martin re-entered the village. Outside
+the boxing booth a huge placard announced, in sprawling characters, that
+the first round of the boxing competition would start punctually at 3
+P.M. "Owing to the illness of Mr. George Pickering, deeply regretted,"
+another referee would be appointed.
+
+It cost the boy a pang to stride on. He would have dearly liked to watch
+the display of pugilism. He might have gone inside the tent for an hour
+and still kept his tryst with Mr. Herbert, but John Bolland's dour
+teaching had scored grooves in his consciousness not readily effaced.
+The folly of last night must be atoned in some way, and he punished
+himself deliberately now by going straight home.
+
+The house was only a little less thronged than the "Black Lion," so he
+made his way unobserved to the great pile of dry bracken in which he hid
+books borrowed from the school library. Ten minutes later he was seated
+in the fork of a tree full thirty feet from the ground and consoling
+himself for loss of the reality by reading of a fight far more
+picturesque in detail--the Homeric combat between FitzJames and Roderick
+Dhu.
+
+From his perch he could see the church clock. Shortly before the
+appointed hour he climbed down and surmounted the ridge which divided
+the Black Plantation from Thor ghyll. It was a rough passage, naught
+save gray rock and flowering ling, or heather, growing so wild and bushy
+that in parts it overtopped his height. But Martin was sure-footed as a
+goat. Across the plateau and down the tree-clad slope on the other side
+he sped, until he reached a point whence he could obtain a comprehensive
+view of the winding glen.
+
+On a stretch of turf by the side of the silvery beck that rushed so
+frantically from the moorland to the river, he spied a small garden
+tent. In front was a table spread with china and cakes, while a copper
+kettle, burnished so brightly that it shone like gold in the sunlight,
+was suspended over a spirit lamp. Mr. Herbert was there, and an elderly
+lady, his aunt, who acted as his housekeeper--also Elsie and her
+governess and two young gentlemen who "read" with the vicar during the
+long vacation. Evidently a country picnic was toward; Martin was at a
+loss to know why he had been invited.
+
+Perhaps they wished him to guide them over the moor to some distant glen
+or to the early British camp two miles away. Sometimes a tourist
+wandering through Elmsdale called at the farm for information, and
+Martin would be dispatched with the inquirer to show the way.
+
+It was a pity that Mr. Herbert had not mentioned his desire, as the
+daily reading of the Bible was due in an hour, and most certainly,
+to-day of all days, Martin must be punctual.
+
+If his brain were busy, his eye was clear. He sprang from rock to rock
+like a chamois. Once he swung himself down a small precipice by the
+tough root of a whin. He knew the root was there, and had already tested
+its capabilities, but the gathering beneath watched him with dismay,
+for the feat looked hazardous in the extreme. In a couple of minutes he
+had descended two hundred feet of exceedingly rough going. He stopped at
+the beck to wash his hands and dry them on his handkerchief. Then he
+approached the group.
+
+"Do you always descend the ghyll in that fashion, Martin?" cried the
+vicar.
+
+"Yes, sir. It is the nearest way."
+
+"A man might say that who fell out of a balloon."
+
+"But I have been up and down there twenty times, sir."
+
+"Well, well; my imaginary balloonist could make no such answer. Sit down
+and have some tea. Elsie, this is young Martin Bolland, of whom I have
+been telling you."
+
+The girl smiled in a very friendly way and brought Martin a cup of tea
+and a plate of cakes. So he was a guest, and introduced by the vicar to
+his daughter! How kind this was of Mr. Herbert! How delighted Mrs.
+Bolland would be when she heard of it, for, however strict her
+Nonconformity, the vicar was still a social power in the village, and
+second only to the Beckett-Smythes in the estimation of the parish.
+
+At first poor Martin was tongue-tied. He answered in monosyllables when
+the vicar or Mrs. Johnson, the old lady, spoke to him; but to Elsie he
+said not a word. She, too, was at a loss how to interest him, until she
+noticed a book in his pocket. When told that it was Scott's poems she
+said pleasantly that a month ago she went with her father to a place
+called Greta Bridge and visited many of the scenes described in
+"Rokeby."
+
+Unhappily, Martin had not read "Rokeby." He resolved to devour it at the
+first opportunity, but for the nonce it offered no conversational
+handle. He remained dumb, yet all the while he was comparing Elsie with
+Ang�le, and deciding privately that girls brought up as ladies in
+England were much nicer than those reared in the places which Ang�le
+named so glibly.
+
+But his star was propitious that day. One of the young men happened to
+notice a spot where a large patch of heather had been sliced off the
+face of the moor.
+
+He asked Mr. Herbert what use the farmers made of it.
+
+"Nothing that I can recall," said the vicar, a man who, living in the
+country, knew little of its ways; "perhaps Martin can tell you."
+
+"We make besoms of it, sir," was the ready reply, "but that space has
+been cleared by the keepers so that the young grouse may have fresh
+green shoots to feed on."
+
+Here was a topic on which he was crammed with information. His face grew
+animated, his eyes sparkled, the words came fast and were well chosen.
+As he spoke, the purple moor, the black firs, the meadows, the corn land
+red with poppies, became peopled with fur and feather. On the hilltops
+the glorious black cock, in the woods the dandy pheasant and swift
+pigeon, among the meadows and crops the whirring partridge, became
+actualities, present, but unseen. There were plenty of hares on the
+arable land and the rising ground; as for rabbits, they swarmed
+everywhere.
+
+"This ghyll will be alive with them in little more than an hour," said
+Martin confidently. "I shouldn't be surprised, if we had a dog and put
+him among those whins, but half-a-dozen rabbits would bolt out in all
+directions."
+
+"Please, can I be a little bow-wow?" cried Elsie. She sprang to her feet
+and ran toward the clump of gorse and bracken he had pointed out,
+imitating a dog's bark as she went.
+
+"Take care of the thorns," shouted Martin, making after her more
+leisurely.
+
+She paused on the verge of the tangled mass of vegetation and said,
+"Shoo!"
+
+"That's no good," he laughed. "You must walk through and kick the thick
+clumps of grass--this way."
+
+He plunged into the midst of the gorse. She followed. Not a rabbit
+budged.
+
+"That's odd," he said, rustling the undergrowth vigorously. "There ought
+to be a lot here."
+
+"You know Ang�le Saumarez?" said the girl suddenly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He ceased beating the bushes and looked at her fixedly, the question was
+so unexpected. Yet Ang�le had asked him the selfsame question concerning
+Elsie Herbert. One girl resembled another as two peas in a pod.
+
+"Do you like her?"
+
+"I think I do, sometimes."
+
+"Do you think she is pretty?"
+
+"Yes, often."
+
+"What do you mean by 'sometimes,' 'often?' How can a girl be
+pretty--'often'?"
+
+"Well, you see, I think she is nice in many ways, and that if--she knew
+you--and copied your manner--your voice, and style, and behavior--she
+would improve very greatly."
+
+Martin had recovered his wits. Elsie tittered and blushed slightly.
+
+"Really!" she said, and recommenced the kicking process with ardor.
+
+Suddenly, with a fierce snarl, an animal of some sort flew at her. She
+had a momentary vision of a pair of blazing eyes, bared teeth, and
+extended claws. She screamed and turned her head. In that instant a
+wildcat landed on her back and a vicious claw reached for her face. But
+Martin was at her side. Without a second's hesitation he seized the
+growling brute in both hands and tore it from off her shoulders. His
+right hand was around its neck, but he strove in vain to grasp the small
+of its back in the left. It wriggled and scratched with the ferocity of
+an undersized tiger. Martin's coat sleeves and shirt were slashed to
+shreds, his waistcoat was rent, and deep gashes were cut in his arms,
+but he held on gamely.
+
+Mr. Herbert and the others ran up, but came unarmed. They had not even a
+stick. The vicar, with some presence of mind, rushed back and wrenched a
+leg from the camp table, but by the time he returned the cat was moving
+its limbs in its final spasms, for Martin had choked it to death.
+
+The vicar danced about with his improvised weapon, imploring the boy to
+"throw it down and let me whack the life out of it," but Martin was
+enraged with the pain and the damage to his clothing. In his anger he
+felt that he could wrench the wretched beast limb from limb, and he
+might have endeavored to do that very thing were it not for the presence
+of Elsie Herbert. As it was, when the cat fell to the ground its
+struggles had ended, but Mr. Herbert gave it a couple of hearty blows to
+make sure.
+
+It was a tremendous brute, double the size of its domestic progenitors.
+At one period in its career it had been caught in a rabbit trap, for one
+of its forelegs was removed at the joint, and the calloused stump was
+hard as a bit of stone.
+
+A chorus of praise for Martin's promptitude and courage was cut short
+when he took the table leg and went back to the clump of gorse.
+
+"I thought it was curious that there were no rabbits here," he said.
+"Now I know why. This cat has a litter of kittens hidden among the
+whins."
+
+"Are you gug-gug-going to kuk-kuk-kill them?" sobbed Elsie.
+
+He paused in his murderous search.
+
+"It makes no matter now," he said, laughing. "I'll tell the keeper.
+Wildcats eat up an awful lot of game."
+
+His coolness, his absolute disregard of the really serious cuts he had
+received, were astounding to the town-bred men. The vicar was the first
+to recover some degree of composure.
+
+"Martin," he cried, "come this instant and have your wounds washed and
+bound up. You are losing a great deal of blood, and that brute's claws
+may have been venomous."
+
+The boy obeyed at once. He presented a sorry spectacle. His arms and
+hands were bathed in blood and his clothes were splashed with it.
+
+Elsie Herbert's eyes filled with tears.
+
+"This is nothing," he said to cheer her. "They're only scratches, but
+they look bad."
+
+As a matter of fact, he did not realize until long afterwards that were
+it not for the fortunate accident which deprived the cat of her off
+foreleg, some of the tendons of his right wrist might have been severed.
+From the manner in which he held her she could not get the effective
+claws to bear crosswise.
+
+The vicar looked grave when a first dip in the brook revealed the extent
+of the boy's injuries.
+
+"You are plucky enough to bear the application of a little brine,
+Martin?" he said.
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he emptied the contents of a paper of
+salt into a teacup and dissolved it in hot water. Then he washed the
+wounds again in the brook and bound them with handkerchiefs soaked in
+the mixture. It was a rough-and-ready cauterization, and the pain made
+Martin white, but later on it earned the commendation of the doctor. Mr.
+Herbert was pallid himself when Elsie handed him the last handkerchief
+they could muster, while Mrs. Johnson was already tearing the tablecloth
+into strips.
+
+"It is bad enough to have your wrists scored in this way, my lad," he
+murmured, "but it will be some consolation for you to know that
+otherwise these cuts would have been in my little girl's face, perhaps
+her eyes--great Heaven!--her eyes!"
+
+The vicar could have chosen no better words. Martin's heart throbbed
+with pride. At last the bandages were secured and the tattered sleeve
+turned down. All this consumed nearly half an hour, and then Martin
+remembered a forgotten duty.
+
+"What time is it?" he said anxiously.
+
+"A quarter past five."
+
+"Oh, bother!" he murmured. "I'll get into another row. I have missed my
+Bible lesson."
+
+"Your Bible lesson?"
+
+"Yes, sir. My father makes me read a portion of Scripture every day."
+
+The vicar passed unnoticed the boy's unconsciously resentful tone. He
+sighed, but straightway resumed his wonted cheeriness.
+
+"There will be no row to-day, Martin," he promised. "We shall escort you
+home in triumphal procession. We leave the things here for my man, who
+will bring a pony and cart in a few minutes. Now, you two, tie the hind
+legs of that beast with a piece of string and carry it on the stick. The
+cat is Martin's _spolia opima_. Here, Elsie, guide your warrior's
+faltering footsteps down the glen."
+
+They all laughed, but by the time they reached the White House the boy
+was ready to drop, for he had lost a quantity of blood, and the torment
+of the saline solution was becoming intolerable.
+
+John Bolland, after waiting with growing impatience long after the
+appointed time, closed the Bible with a bang and went downstairs.
+
+"What's wrang wi' ye now?" inquired his spouse as he dropped morosely
+into a chair and answered but sourly a hearty greeting from a visitor.
+
+"Where's that lad?" he growled.
+
+"Martin. Hasn't he come yam?"
+
+She trembled for her adopted son's remissness on this, the first day
+after the great rebellion.
+
+"Yam!"--with intense bitterness--"he's not likely te hearken te t' Word
+when he's encouraged in guile."
+
+"Eh, but there's some good cause this time," cried the old lady, more
+flustered than she cared to show. "Happen he's bin asked to see t'
+squire again."
+
+"T' squire left Elmsdale afore noon," was the gruff reply.
+
+Then the vicar entered, and Elsie, leading Martin, and the two pupils
+carrying the gigantic cat. Mrs. Johnson and the governess-companion had
+remained with the tent and would drive home in the dogcart.
+
+Mr. Herbert's glowing account of Martin's conduct, combined with a
+judicious reference to his anxiety when he discovered that the hour for
+his lesson had passed, placed even Bolland in a good humor. Once again
+the boy filled the mouths of the multitude, since nothing would serve
+the farmhands but they must carry off the cat to the fair for exhibition
+before they skinned it.
+
+The doctor came, waylaid on his return from the "Black Lion." He removed
+the salt-soaked bandages, washed the wounds in tepid water, examined
+them carefully, and applied some antiseptic dressing, of which he had a
+supply in his dogcart for the benefit of George Pickering.
+
+"An' how is Mr. Pickerin' te-night?" inquired Mrs. Bolland, who was
+horrified at first by the sight of Martin's damages, but reassured when
+the doctor said the boy would be all right in a day or two.
+
+"Not so well, Mrs. Bolland," was the answer.
+
+"Oh, ye don't say so. Poor chap! Is it wuss than ye feared for?"
+
+"No; the wound is progressing favorably, but he is feverish. I don't
+like that. Fever is weakening."
+
+No more would the doctor say, and Mrs. Bolland soon forgot the
+sufferings of another in her distress at Martin's condition. She
+particularly lamented that he should be laid up during the Feast.
+
+At that the patient laughed.
+
+"Surely I can go out, doctor!" he cried.
+
+"Go out, you imp! Of course, you can. But, remember, no larking about
+and causing these cuts to reopen. Better stay in the house until I see
+you in the morning."
+
+So Martin, fearless of consequences, hunted up "Rokeby," and read it
+with an interest hardly lessened by the fact that that particular poem
+is the least exciting of the magician's verse. At last the light failed
+and the table was laid for supper, so the boy's reading was disturbed.
+More than once he fancied he had heard at the back of the house a long,
+shrill whistle which sounded familiar. Curiosity led him to the meadow.
+He waited a little while, and again the whistle came from the lane.
+
+"Who is it?" he called.
+
+"Me. Is that you, Martin?"
+
+"Me" was Tommy Beadlam, but his white top did not shine in the dark.
+
+"What's up?"
+
+"Come nearer. I mustn't shout."
+
+Wondering what mystery was afoot, Martin approached the hedge.
+
+"Yon lass," whispered Tommy--"I can't say her name, but ye ken fine
+whe� 'tis--she's i' t' fair age�n."
+
+"What! Ang�le?"
+
+"That's her. She gemme sixpence te coom an' tell yer. I've bin whistlin'
+till me lips is sore."
+
+"You tell her from me she is a bad girl and ought to go home at once."
+
+"Not me! She'd smack my fe�ce."
+
+"Well, I can't get out. I've had an accident and must go to bed soon."
+
+"There's a rare yarn about you an' a cat. I seed it. Honest truth--did
+you really kill it wi' your hands?"
+
+"Yes; but it gave me something first. Can you see? My arms and left hand
+are all bound up."
+
+"An' it jumped fust on Elsie Herbert?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"An' yer grabbed it offen her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Gosh! Yon lass is fair wild te hear all about it. She greeted when
+Evelyn Atkinson telt her yer were nearly dead, but yan o' t' farmhands
+kem along an' we axed him, an' he said ye were nowt worse."
+
+Martin's heart softened when he heard of Ang�le's tears, but he was
+sorry she should have stolen out a second time to mix with the rabble of
+the village.
+
+"I can't come out to-night," he said firmly.
+
+"Happen ye'd be able to see her if I browt her here?"
+
+The white head evidently held brains, but Martin had sufficient strength
+of character to ask himself what his new friends, the Herbert family,
+would think if they knew he was only too willing to dance to any tune
+the temptress played.
+
+"No, no," he cried, retreating a pace or two. "You must not bring her.
+I'm going to supper and straight to bed. And, look here, Tommy. Try and
+persuade her to go home. If you and Jim Bates and the others take her
+round the fair to-night you'll all get into trouble. You ought to have
+heard the parson to-day, and Miss Walker, too. I wouldn't be in your
+shoes for more than sixpence."
+
+This was crafty counsel. Beadlam, after consulting Jim Bates,
+communicated it to Ang�le. She stared with wide-open eyes at the
+doubting pair.
+
+"Misericorde!" she cried. "Were there ever such idiots! Because he
+cannot come himself, he doesn't want me to be with you."
+
+There was something in this. Their judgment wavered, and--and--Ang�le
+had lots of money.
+
+But she laughed them to scorn.
+
+"Do you think I want you!" she screamed. "Bah! I spit at you. Evelyn, ma
+ch�rie, walk with me to The Elms. I want to hear all about the man who
+was stabbed and the woman who stabbed him."
+
+Thereupon, Evelyn and one of her sisters went off with a girl whom they
+hated. But she was clever, in their estimation, and pretty, and well
+dressed, and, oh, so rich! Above all, she was not "stuck up" like Elsie
+Herbert, but laughed at their simple wit, and was ready to sink to their
+level.
+
+Martin, taking thought before he slept, wondered why Ang�le had not come
+openly to the farm. It did not occur to him that Ang�le dared not face
+John Bolland. The child feared the dour old farmer. She dreaded a single
+look from the shrewd eyes which seemed to search her very soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+DEEPENING SHADOWS
+
+
+The doctor came late next morning. He did not reach Elmsdale until after
+eleven o'clock. He called first at the White House and handed Mrs.
+Bolland a small package.
+
+"These are the handkerchiefs I took away yesterday," he said. "I suppose
+they belong to Mr. Herbert's household. My servant has washed them. Will
+you see that they are returned?"
+
+"Mercy o' me!" cried Martha. "I nivver knew ye took 'em. What did ye
+want 'em for, docthor?"
+
+"There might have been some malignant substance--some poisonous
+matter--in the cat's claws, and as the county analyst was engaged at my
+place on some other business I--Oh, come now, Mrs. Bolland, there's no
+need to be alarmed. Martin's wounds were cleansed, and the salt applied
+to the raw edges so promptly, that any danger which might have existed
+was stopped effectually."
+
+Yet the doctor's cheery face was grave that morning and his brow was
+wrinkled as he unfastened the bandages. Beyond a slight stiffness of
+certain sinews and the natural soreness of the cut flesh, Martin had
+never felt better in his life. After a disturbed slumber, when he
+dreamed that he was choking a wildcat--a cat with Ang�le's face which
+changed suddenly in death to Elsie Herbert's smiling features--he lay
+awake for some hours. Then the pain in his wrists abated gradually, he
+fell sound asleep, and Mrs. Bolland took care that he was left alone
+until he awoke of his own accord at half-past eight, an unprecedented
+hour.
+
+So the boy laughed at his mother's fears. Her lips quivered, and she
+tried to choke back a sob. The doctor turned on her angrily.
+
+"Stop that!" he growled. "I suppose you think I'm hoodwinking you. It is
+not so. I am very much worried about another matter altogether, so
+please accept my assurance that Martin is all right. He can run about
+all day, if he likes. The only consequence of disturbing these cuts will
+be that they cannot heal rapidly. Otherwise, they will be closed
+completely by the end of the week."
+
+While he talked he worked. The dressings were changed and fresh lint
+applied. He handed Mrs. Bolland a store of materials.
+
+"There," he said, "I need not come again, but I'll call on Monday, just
+to satisfy you. Apply the lotion morning and night. Good-by, Martin. You
+did a brave thing, I hear. Good-by, Mrs. Bolland."
+
+He closed his bag hurriedly and rushed away. Mrs. Bolland, drying her
+eyes, and quite satisfied now, went to the door and gazed after him.
+
+"He's fair rattled wi' summat," she told another portly dame who labored
+up the incline at the moment. "He a'most snapped my head off. Did he
+think a body wouldn't be scared wi' his talk about malignous p'ison i'
+t' lad's bluid, I wonder?"
+
+The doctor did not pull up outside the "Black Lion." He drove to the
+Vicarage--a circumstance which would most certainly have given Mrs.
+Bolland renewed cause for alarm, were she aware of it--and asked Mr.
+Herbert to walk in the garden with him for a few minutes.
+
+The two conversed earnestly, and the vicar seemed to be greatly shocked
+at the outcome of their talk. At last they arrived at a decision. The
+doctor hastened back to the "Black Lion." He did not remain long in the
+sick room, but scribbled a note downstairs and gave it to his man.
+
+"Take that to Mr. Herbert," he said. "I'll make a few calls on foot and
+meet you at the bridge in a quarter of an hour."
+
+The note read:
+
+"There is no hope. Things are exactly as I feared."
+
+The vicar, looking most woebegone, murmured that there was no answer. He
+procured his hat and walked slowly to the inn, which was crowded, inside
+and out. Nearly every man knew him and spoke to him, and many noted that
+"t' passon looked varra down i' t' mooth this mornin'."
+
+He went upstairs. The conjecture flew around at once that Pickering was
+worse. Someone remembered that Kitty Thwaites said the patient had
+experienced a touch of fever overnight. Surely, his wound had not
+developed serious symptoms. The chief herd of his Nottonby estate had
+seen him during the preceding afternoon and found his master looking
+wonderfully well. Indeed, Pickering spoke of attending to some business
+matter in person on Saturday, or on Monday for certain. Why, then, the
+vicar's visit? What did it portend? People gathered in small groups and
+their voices softened. By contrast, the blare of lively music and the
+whistle of the roundabout were intolerably loud.
+
+In the quiet room at the back of the hotel, with its scent of iodoform
+mingling with the sweet breath of the garden wafted in through an open
+window, Pickering moved restlessly in bed. His face was flushed, his
+eyes singularly bright, with a glistening sheen that was abnormal.
+
+By his side sat the pallid Betsy, reading a newspaper aloud. She
+followed the printed text with difficulty. Her mind was troubled. The
+fatigue of nursing was nothing to one of her healthy frame, but her
+thoughts were terrifying. She lived in a waking nightmare. Had she dared
+to weep, she might have felt relief, but this sure solace of womankind
+was denied her.
+
+The vicar's entrance caused a sensation. Betsy, in a quick access of
+fear, dropped the paper, and Pickering's face blanched. Some secret
+doubt, some inner monitor, brought a premonition of what was to come. He
+flinched from the knowledge, but only for a moment.
+
+Mr. Herbert essayed most gallantly to adopt his customary cheerful mien.
+
+"Dr. MacGregor asked me to call and see you, George," he said. "I hope
+you are not suffering greatly."
+
+"Not at all, thanks, vicar. Just a trifle restless with fever, perhaps,
+but the wound is nothing, a mere cut. I've had as bad a scratch and much
+more painful when thrusting through a thorn hedge after hounds."
+
+"Ah. That is well."
+
+The reverend gentleman seemed to be strangely at a loss for words. He
+glanced at Betsy.
+
+"Would you mind leaving me alone with Mr. Pickering for a little while?"
+he said.
+
+The wounded man laughed, and there was a note in his voice that showed
+how greatly the tension had relaxed.
+
+"If that's what you're after, Mr. Herbert," he said promptly, "you may
+rest assured that the moment I'm able to stir we'll be married. I told
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe so yesterday."
+
+"Indeed; I am glad to hear it. Nevertheless, I want to talk with you
+alone."
+
+The vicar's insistence was a different thing to the wish expressed by a
+magistrate and a police superintendent. Betsy went out at once.
+
+For an appreciable time after the door had closed no word was spoken by
+either of the men. The vicar's eyes were fixed mournfully on the valley,
+through which a train was winding its way. The engine left in its track
+white wraiths of steam which vanished under the lusty rays of the sun.
+The drone of the showman's organ playing "Tommy Atkins" reached the
+hardly conscious listeners as through a telephone. From a distant
+cornfield came the busy rattle of a reaping machine. The harvest had
+commenced a fortnight earlier than usual. Once again was the bounteous
+earth giving to man a hundredfold what he had sown. "As ye sow, so shall
+ye reap." Out there in the field were garnered the wages of honest
+endeavor; here in the room, with its hospital perfume, were being
+awarded the wages of sin, for George Pickering was condemned to death,
+and it was the vicar's most doleful mission to warn him of his doom.
+
+"Now, Mr. Herbert, pitch into me as much as you like," said the patient,
+breaking an uneasy silence. "I've been a bad lot, but I'll try to make
+amends. Betsy's case is a hard one. You're a man of the world and you
+know what the majority of these village lasses are like; but Betsy----"
+
+The vicar could bear the suspense no longer. He must perform his task,
+no matter what the cost.
+
+"George," he broke in tremulously, "my presence here to-day is due to a
+very sad and irrevocable fact. Dr. MacGregor tells me that your
+condition is serious, most serious. Indeed--indeed--there is no hope of
+your recovery."
+
+Pickering, who had raised himself on an elbow, gazed at the speaker for
+an instant with fiery eyes. Then, as though he grasped the purport of
+the words but gradually, he sank back on the pillow in the manner of one
+pressed down by overwhelming force. The vicar moved his chair nearer and
+grasped his friend's right hand.
+
+"George," he murmured, "bear up, and try to prepare your soul for that
+which is inevitable. What are you losing? A few years of joys and
+sorrows, to which the end must come. And the end is eternity, compared
+with which this life is but a passing shadow."
+
+Pickering did not answer immediately. He raised his body again. He moved
+his limbs freely. He looked at a square bony wrist and stretched out the
+free hand until he caught an iron rail, which he clenched fiercely. In
+his veins ran the blood of a race of yeomen. His hardy ancestors had
+exchanged blow for blow with Scottish raiders who sought to steal their
+cattle. They had cracked the iron rind of many a marauder, broken many
+a border skull in defense of their lives and property. Never had they
+feared death by flood or field, and their descendant scoffed at the grim
+vision now.
+
+"What nonsense is this MacGregor has been talking?" he shouted. "Die! A
+man like me! By gad, vicar, I'd laugh, if I wasn't too vexed!"
+
+"Be patient, George, and hear me. Things are worse than you can guess.
+Your wound alone is a small matter, but, unfortunately, the knife----"
+
+"There was no knife! It was a pitchfork!"
+
+"Bear with me, I pray you. You will need to conserve your energy, and
+your protest only makes my duty the harder. The knife has been submitted
+to analysis, as well as corpuscles of your blood. Alas, that it should
+fall to me to tell it! Alas, for the poor girl whom you have declared
+your intention to marry! The knife had been used to carve grouse, and
+some putrid matter from a shot wound had dried on the blade. This was
+communicated to your system. The wound was cleansed too late. Your blood
+was poisoned before the doctor saw you, and--and--there is no hope now."
+
+The vicar bowed his head. He dared not look in the eyes of the man to
+whom he was conveying this dire sentence. He felt Pickering subsiding
+gently to the pillow and straightening his limbs.
+
+"How long?"
+
+The words were uttered in a singularly calm voice--so calm that the
+pastor ventured to raise his sorrow-laden face.
+
+"Soon. Perhaps three days. Perhaps a week. But you will be delirious.
+You have little time in which to prepare."
+
+Again a silence. A faint shriek reached them from afar, the whistle of
+the train entering Nottonby, the pleasant little town which Pickering
+would never more see.
+
+"What a finish!" he muttered. "I'd have liked it better in the saddle. I
+wouldn't have cared a damn if I broke my neck after hounds."
+
+Another pause, and the vicar said gently:
+
+"Have you made your will?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then it must be attended to at once."
+
+"Yes, of course. Then, there's Betsy. Oh, God, I've treated her badly.
+Now, help me, won't you? There's a hundred pounds in notes and some
+twenty-odd in gold in that drawer. Telegraph first to Stockwell, my
+lawyer in Nottonby. Bring him here. Then, spare no money in getting a
+license for my marriage. I can't die unless that is put right. Don't
+delay, there's a good chap. You have to apply to the Archbishop, don't
+you? You'll do everything, I know. Will you be a trustee under my will?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish it."
+
+"It'll please me more than anything. Of course, I'll make it worth your
+while. I insist, I tell you. Go, now! Don't lose a moment. Send Betsy.
+And, vicar, for Heaven's sake, not a word to her until we are married.
+I'll tell her the fever is serious; just that, and no more."
+
+"One other matter, George. Mr. Beckett-Smythe will come here to-day or
+to-morrow to take your sworn deposition. You must not die with a lie on
+your conscience, however good the motive."
+
+"I'll jump that fence when I reach it, Mr. Herbert. Meanwhile, the
+lawyer and the license. They're all-important."
+
+The vicar left it at that. He deemed it best to take the urgent measures
+of the hour off the man's mind before endeavoring to turn his thoughts
+toward a fitting preparation for the future state. With a reassuring
+handclasp, he left him.
+
+The two sisters waylaid him in the passage.
+
+"Ye had but ill news, I fear, sir," said Betsy despairingly, catching
+Mr. Herbert by the arm.
+
+The worried man stooped to deception.
+
+"Now, why should you jump to conclusions?" he cried. "Dr. MacGregor
+asked me to look up his patient. Am I a harbinger of disaster, like
+Mother Carey's chickens?"
+
+"Oh, parson," she wailed, "I read it i' yer face, an' in t' doctor's.
+Don't tell me all is well. I know better. Pray God I may die----"
+
+"Hush, my poor girl, you know not what you say. Go to Mr. Pickering. He
+wants you."
+
+He knew the appeal would be successful. She darted off. Before Kitty, in
+turn, could question him, he escaped.
+
+It was easier to run the gantlet of friendly inquirers outside. He
+telegraphed to the solicitor and sent a telegraphic remittance of the
+heavy fees demanded for the special license. Within two hours he had the
+satisfaction of knowing that the precious document was in the post and
+would reach him next morning.
+
+Mr. Stockwell's protests against Pickering's testamentary designs were
+cut short by his client.
+
+"Look here, Stockwell," was the irritated comment, "you are an old
+friend of mine and I'd like this matter to remain in your hands, but if
+you say another word I'll be forced to send for someone else."
+
+"If you put it that way----" began the lawyer.
+
+"I do, most emphatically. Now, what is it to be? Yes or no?"
+
+For answer the legal man squared some foolscap sheets on a small table
+and produced a stylographic pen.
+
+"Let me understand clearly," he said. "You intend to marry
+this--er--lady, and mean to settle four hundred a year on her for life?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Suppose she marries again?"
+
+"God in heaven, man, do you think I want to play dog-in-the-manger in my
+grave?"
+
+"Then it had better take the form of a marriage settlement. It is the
+strongest instrument known in the law and avoids the death duties."
+
+Pickering winced, but the lawyer went on remorselessly. He regarded the
+marriage as a wholly quixotic notion, and knew only too well that Betsy
+Thwaites would be tried for murder if Pickering died.
+
+"Have you no relatives?" he said. "I seem to recollect----"
+
+"My cousin Stanhope? He's quite well off, an M.P., and likely to be made
+a baronet."
+
+"He will not object to the chance of dropping in for �1,500 a year."
+
+"Do you think the estate will yield so much?"
+
+"More, I imagine. Did you ever know what you spent?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, is it to be this Mr. Stanhope?"
+
+"No. He never gave me a thought. Why should I endow him and his whelps?
+Let the lot go to the County Council in aid of the county orphanage. By
+Jove, that's a good idea! I like that."
+
+"Anything else?" demanded the lawyer.
+
+"Yes. You and Mr. Herbert are to be the trustees."
+
+"The deuce we are. Who said so?"
+
+"I say so. You are to receive �50 a year each from the estate for
+administering it."
+
+"Ah. That gilds the pill. Next?"
+
+"I have nearly a thousand in the bank. Keep half as working capital,
+give a hundred to my company in the Territorials, and divide the
+balance, according to salary, among all my servants who have more than
+five years' service. And--Betsy is to have the use of the house and
+furniture, if she wishes it."
+
+"Anything else?"
+
+Pickering was exhausted, but continued to laugh weakly.
+
+"Yes; I had almost forgotten. I bequeath to John Bolland the shorthorn
+cow he sold me, and to that lad of his--you must find out his proper
+name--my pair of hammerless guns and my sword. He frames to be a
+sportsman, and I think he'll make a soldier. He picked up a poker like a
+shot the other day when I quarreled with old John."
+
+"What was the quarrel about?"
+
+"When you send back the cow, you'll be told."
+
+Mr. Stockwell scanned his notes rapidly.
+
+"I'll put my clerks to work at this to-night," he said. "As I am a
+trustee, my partner will attend to-morrow to get your signature. Of
+course, you know you must be married before you make your will, or it
+will be invalid? Before I go, George, are you sure it is all over with
+you?"
+
+"MacGregor says so. I suppose he knows."
+
+"Yes, he knows, if any man does. Yet I can't believe it. It seems
+monstrous, incredible."
+
+They gazed fixedly at each other. Of the two, the man of law was the
+more affected. Before either could speak again they heard Betsy's
+agonized cry:
+
+"Oh, for God's sake, miss, don't tell me I may not be with him always!
+I've done my best; I have, indeed. I'll give neither him nor you any
+trouble. Don't keep me away from him now, or I'll go mad!"
+
+The lawyer, wondering what new frenzy possessed the woman who had struck
+down his friend, opened the door. He was confronted by a hospital nurse
+sent by Dr. MacGregor. She looked like a strong-minded person and was
+probably a stickler for the etiquette of the sick room. He took in the
+situation at a glance.
+
+"There need be no difficulty, nurse, where Miss Thwaites is concerned,"
+he said. "She is to be married to Mr. Pickering to-morrow, and as he has
+only a few days to live they should see as much of each other as
+possible. Any other arrangement would irritate your patient greatly, and
+be quite contrary to Dr. MacGregor's wishes, I am sure."
+
+The nurse bowed, and Betsy sobbed as the secret that was no secret to
+her was revealed. None of the three realized that several men standing
+in the hall beneath, whose talk had been silenced by Betsy's frenzied
+exclamation, must have heard every word the lawyer uttered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+ FOR ONE, THE NIGHT; FOR ANOTHER,
+ THE DAWN
+
+
+So Elmsdale was given another thrill, and a lasting one. The Feast was
+ruined. Not a man or a woman had heart for enjoyment. If a child sought
+a penny, it was chided sharply and asked what it meant by gadding about
+"when poor George Pickerin' an' that lass of his were in such trouble."
+
+Martin heard the news while standing outside the boxing booth, waiting
+for the sparring competition to commence. He went in, it is true, and
+saw some hard hitting, but the tent was nearly empty. When he and Jim
+Bates came out an hour later, Elmsdale was a place of mourning.
+
+A series of exciting events, each crowding on its predecessor's heels as
+though some diabolical agency had resolved to disturb the community, had
+roused the hamlet from its torpor.
+
+Five slow-moving years had passed since the village had been stirred so
+deeply. Then it endured a fortnight's epidemic of suicide. A traveling
+tinker began the uncanny cycle. On a fine summer's day he was repairing
+his kettles on a corner of the green, when he was observed to leave his
+little handcart and to go into a neighboring wood. He did not return.
+Search next day discovered him swaying from a branch of a tall tree,
+looking like some forlorn scarecrow suspended there by a practical
+joker.
+
+The following morning a soldier on furlough, one of the very men who
+helped to cut down the tinker's body, went into a cow-house at the back
+of his mother's cottage and suspended himself from a rafter. An odd
+feature of this man's exit was that the rope had yielded so much that
+his feet rested on the ground. Before the hanging he had actually cut
+letters out of his red-cloth tunic and formed the word, "Farewell" in a
+semicircle on the stable floor. A girl soon afterwards selected the
+mill-dam for a consoling plunge; and, to crown all, the vicar, Mr.
+Herbert's forerunner, having received a telegram announcing the failure
+of a company in which he had invested some money, opened his jugular
+vein with a sharp scissors. That these tragedies should happen within a
+fortnight in a community of less than three hundred people was enough to
+give a life-insurance actuary an attack of hysteria.
+
+But each lacked the dramatic flavor attached to the ill-governed passion
+of Betsy Thwaites and her fickle swain. Kitty was known to all in
+Elmsdale, Betsy to few, but George Pickering was a popular man
+throughout the whole countryside. It was sensation enough that one of
+his many amours should result in an episode more typical of Paris than
+of an English Sleepy Hollow. But the sequel--the marriage of this
+wealthy gentleman-farmer to a mere dairymaid, followed by his death from
+a wound inflicted by the bride-to-be--this was undiluted melodrama drawn
+from the repertoire of the Petit Guignol.
+
+That night the story spread over England. A reporter from the
+_Messenger_ came to Elmsdale to glean the exact facts as to Mr.
+Pickering's "accident." Owing to the peculiar circumstances, he,
+perforce, showed much discretion in compiling the story telegraphed to
+the Press Association. Not even the use of that magic word "alleged"
+would enable him to charge Betsy Thwaites with attempted murder, after
+the police had apparently withdrawn the accusation. But he contrived to
+retail the legend by throwing utter discredit on it, and the rest was
+plain sailing. Moreover, he was a smart young man. He pondered deeply
+after dispatching the message. He was employed on the staff of a local
+weekly newspaper, so his traveling allowance was limited to a
+third-class return ticket and a shilling for "tea." Yet he decided to
+remain in Elmsdale at his own expense. The departure of the German
+Government agent for another horse-fair left a vacant bedroom at the
+"Black Lion." This he secured. He foresaw a golden harvest.
+
+Luck favored him. Conversing with a village Solon in the bar, he caught
+a remark that "John Bolland's lad" would be an important witness at the
+inquest. Of course, he made inquiries and was favored with a full and
+accurate account of the wanderings of the farmer and his wife in London
+thirteen years earlier, together with their adoption of the baby which
+had literally fallen from the skies. To the country journalist, Fleet
+Street is the Mecca of his earthly pilgrimage, and St. Martin's Court,
+Ludgate Hill, was near enough to newspaperdom to be sacred ground. The
+very name of the boy smacked of "copy."
+
+John Bolland, lumbering out of the stockyard at tea-time, encountered
+Dr. MacGregor. The farmer had been thinking hard while striding through
+his diminished cornfields, and crumbling ears of wheat, oats, and barley
+in his strong hands to ascertain the exact date when they would be ripe.
+Already some of his neighbors were busy, but John was more anxious about
+the condition of the straw than the forwardness of the grain; moreover,
+men and women did not work so well during feast-time. Next week he would
+obtain full measure for his money.
+
+"I reckon Martin'll soon be fit?" he said.
+
+The doctor nodded.
+
+"He's a bright lad, yon?" went on the farmer.
+
+"Yes. What are you going to make of him?"
+
+Dr. MacGregor knew the ways of Elmsdale folk. They required leading up
+to a subject by judicious questioning. Rarely would they unburden their
+minds by direct statements.
+
+"That's what's worryin' me," said John slowly. "What d'ye think yersen,
+docthor?"
+
+"It is hard to say. It all hinges on what you intend doing for him,
+Bolland. He is not your son. If he has to depend on his own resources
+when he's a man, teach him a useful trade. No matter how able he may be,
+that will never come amiss."
+
+The farmer gazed around. As men counted in that locality, he was rich,
+not in hard cash, but in lands, stock, and tenements. His expenses did
+not grow proportionately with his earnings. He ate and dressed and
+economized now as on the day when Martha and he faced the world
+together, with the White House and its small meadows their only
+belongings. In a few years the produce of his shorthorn herd alone
+would bring in hundreds annually, and his Cleveland bays were noted
+throughout the county.
+
+He took the doctor's hint.
+
+"I've nayther chick nor child but Martin," he said. "When Martha an' me
+are gone te t' Lord, all that we hev'll be Martin's. That's settled lang
+syne. I med me will four years agone last Easter."
+
+There was something behind this, and MacGregor probed again.
+
+"Isn't he cut out for a farmer?"
+
+"I hae me doots," was the cautious answer.
+
+The doctor waited, so John continued.
+
+"I was sair set on t' lad being a minister. But I judge it's not t'
+Lord's will. He's of a rovin' stock, I fancy. When he's a man, Elmsdale
+won't be big eneuf te hold him. He cooms frae Lunnon, an' te Lunnon
+he'll gang. It's in his fe�ce. Lunnon's a bad ple�ce for a youngster
+whe� kens nowt but t' ways o' moor folk, docthor."
+
+Then the other laughed.
+
+"In a word, Bolland, you have made up your mind, and want me to agree
+with you. Of course, if Martin succeeds you, and you have read his
+character aright, there is but one line open. Send him to a good school,
+leave the choice of a profession to his more cultivated mind, and tie up
+your property so that it cannot be sold and wasted in a young man's
+folly. When he is forty he may be glad to come back to Elmsdale and give
+thanks for your foresight on his bended knees. In any event, a little
+extra book lore will make him none the worse stock-raiser. Eh, is that
+what you think?"
+
+"You're a sound man, docthor. There's times I wunner hoo it happens ye
+cling te sike nonsense as that mad Dutchman----"
+
+MacGregor laughed again, and nudged his groom's arm as a signal to drive
+on. He favored neither church nor chapel, but claimed a devoted
+adherence to the doctrines of Emanuel Swedenborg, thus forming a sect
+unto himself. There was not a Swedenborgian temple within a hundred
+miles. Mayhap the doctor's theological views had a geographical
+foundation.
+
+The farmer lumbered across the street and took a corner of the crowded
+tea-table. Mrs. Summersgill was entertaining the company with a
+description of George Pickering's estate.
+
+"It's a meracle, that's what it is!" she exclaimed. "Te think of Betsy
+Thwaites livin' i' style in yon fine hoos! There's a revenue o' trees
+quarther of a mile long, an' my husband sez t' high-lyin' land grows t'
+best wuts (oats) i' t' county. An' she's got it by a prod wi' a
+carving-knife, while a poor body like me hez te scrat sae hard for a
+livin' that me fingers are worn te t' bone!"
+
+Mrs. Summersgill weighed sixteen stone, but she was heedless of satire.
+Her eye fell on Martin, eating silently, but well.
+
+"Some folks git their bread easy, I'm sure," she went on. "Ivver sen I
+was a bit lass I've tewed and wrowt an' mead sike deed ower spendin'
+hawpenny, whiles uthers hev a silver spoon thrust i' their gob frae t'
+time they're born!"
+
+"T' Lord gives, an' t' Lord taks away. Ye munnot fly i' t' fe�ce o' t'
+Lord," said Bolland.
+
+"I'm not built for flyin' anywhere," cried the old lady. "I wish I was.
+'Tis flighty 'uns as wins nowadays. Look at Betsy Thwaites! Look at Mrs.
+Saumarez! She mun hae gotten her money varra simple te fling it about as
+she does. My man telt me that her little gal, t' other neet----"
+
+"Yer cup's empty, Mrs. Summersgill," put in Martha quickly. "Bless my
+heart, ye talk an' eat nowt. Speakin' o' Mrs. Saumarez, hez anyone heerd
+if she's better? One o' Miss Walker's maids said she was poorly."
+
+Martin caught his mother's eye, and rose. He went upstairs; the farmer
+followed him. The two sat near the window; on the broad ledge reposed
+the Bible; but Bolland did not open the book. He laid his hand on it
+reverently and looked at the boy.
+
+"Martin," he began, "yer muther tells me that Benson med yer mind sair
+by grabbin' te t' squire aboot yer bringin' up. Nay, lad, ye needn't say
+owt. 'Tis no secret. We on'y kept it frae ye for yer good. Anyhow, 'tis
+kent noo, an' there's nae need te chew on 't. What troubled me maist was
+yer muther's defiance when I was minded te punish ye for bein' out
+late."
+
+"It won't occur again, sir," said Martin quietly.
+
+"Mebbe. T' spirit is willin', but t' flesh is wake. Noo, I want a
+straight answer te a straight question. Are these Bible lessons te yer
+likin'?"
+
+It was so rare for the farmer to speak in this downright fashion that
+the boy was alarmed. He knew not what lay behind; but he had not earned
+his reputation for honesty on insufficient grounds.
+
+"No, they're not," he said.
+
+Bolland groaned. "T' minister said so. Why not?"
+
+"I can hardly explain. For one thing, I don't understand what I read.
+And often I would like to be out in the fields or on the moor when I'm
+forced to be here. All the same, I do try hard, and if I thought it
+would please you and mother, I'd do much more than give up half an hour
+a day."
+
+"Ay, ay. 'Tis compulsion, not love. I telt t' minister that Paul urged
+insistence in season an' out o' season, but he held that the teachin'
+applied te doctrine, an' not te Bible lessons for t' young. Well,
+Martin, I've weighed this thing, an' not without prayer. I've seen many
+a field spoiled by bad farmin', an', when yer muther calls my own hired
+men te help her age�n me; when a lad like you goes fightin' young
+gentlemen aboot a lass; when yon Frenchified ninny eggs ye on te spend
+money like watter, an' yer muther gies ye t' brass next day te pay Mrs.
+Saumarez, lest it should reach my ears--why, I've coom te believe that
+my teachin' is mistakken."
+
+Martin was petrified at hearing his delinquencies laid bare in this
+manner. He had not realized that the extravagant display of Monday must
+evoke comment in a small village, and that Bolland could not fail to
+interpret correctly his wife's anxiety to hush up all reference to it.
+He blushed and held his tongue, for the farmer was speaking again.
+
+"T' upshot of all this is that I've sought counsel. Ye're an honest lad,
+I will say that fer ye, but ye're a lad differin' frae those of yer age
+i' Elmsdale. If all goes well wi' me, ye'll nivver want food nor
+lodgin', but an idle man is a wicked man, nine times out o' ten, an'
+I'd like te see ye sattled i' summat afore I go te my rest. You're not
+cut out fer t' ministry, ye're none for farmin', an' I'd sooner see ye
+dead than dancin' around t' countryside after women, like poor George
+Pickerin'. Soa ye mun gang te college an' sharpen yer wits, an' happen
+fower or five years o' delvin' i' books'll shape yer life i' different
+gait te owt I can see at this minnit. What think you on't?"
+
+"Oh, I should like it better than anything else in the world."
+
+The boy's eyes sparkled at this most unlooked-for announcement. Never
+before had his heart so gone out to the rugged old man whose stern
+glance was now searching him through the horn-rimmed spectacles.
+
+What magician had transformed John Bolland? Was it possible that beneath
+the patriarchial inflexibility of the rugged farmer's character there
+lay a spring of human tenderness, a clear fountain hidden by half a
+century of toil and narrow religion, but now unearthed forcibly by
+circumstances stronger than the man himself? The boy could not put these
+questions into words. He was too young to understand even the meaning of
+psychological analysis. He could only sit there mute, stunned by the
+glory of the unexpected promise.
+
+Of course, if a thinker like Dr. MacGregor were aware of all the facts,
+he would have seen that the rebellion of Martha had been a lightning
+stroke. The few winged words she shot at her husband on that memorable
+night had penetrated deeper than she thought. It chanced, too, that the
+revivalist preacher whom Bolland took into his confidence was a man of
+sound common sense, and much more acute in private life than anyone
+could imagine who witnessed his methods of hammering the Gospel into
+the dullards of the village. He it was who advised a timely diminution
+of devotional exercises which were likely to become distasteful to a
+spirited lad. He recommended the farmer to educate Martin beyond the
+common run, while the choice of a profession might be left to maturer
+consideration. Among the many influences conspiring in that hour to mold
+the boy's future life, none was more wholesome than that of the
+tub-thumping preacher.
+
+Bolland seemed to be gratified by Martin's tongue-tied enthusiasm.
+
+"Well," he said, rising. "Noo my hand's te t' plow I'll keep it there.
+Remember, Martin, when ye tak te study t' Word o' yer own accord, ye can
+start at t' second chapter o' t' Third Book o' Kings. I'll be throng wi'
+t' harvest until t' middle o' September, but I'll ax Mr. Herbert te
+recommend a good school. He's a fair man, if he does lean ower much te
+t' Romans. Soa, fer t' next few days, run wild an' enjoy yersen. Happen
+ye'll never hae as happy a time again."
+
+He patted the boy's head, a rare sign of sentiment, and walked heavily
+out of the room. Martin saw him cross the road and clout a stable-boy's
+ears because the yard was not swept clean. Then he called to his
+foreman, and the two went off to the low-lying meadows. Bolland had been
+turning over in his mind Mrs. Saumarez's remarks about draining; they
+were worthy of consideration and, perhaps, of experiment.
+
+Martin remained standing at the window. So he was to leave Elmsdale, go
+out into the wide world beyond the hills, mix with people who spoke and
+acted and moved like the great ones of whom he had read in books. He
+was glad of it; oh, so glad! He would learn Greek and Latin, French and
+German. No longer would the queer-looking words trouble his eyes. Their
+meaning would be made clear to his understanding. He would soon acquire
+that nameless manner of which the squire, the vicar, Mrs. Saumarez, the
+young university students he met yesterday, possessed the secret. Elsie
+Herbert had it, and Ang�le was veneered with it, though in her case he
+knew quite well that the polish was only skin deep.
+
+It was what he had longed for with all his heart, yet now that the
+longing was to be appeased he had never felt more drawn to his parents;
+his only by adoption, it was true; but nevertheless father and mother by
+every tie known to him.
+
+By the way, whose child was he? No one had told him the literal manner
+in which he fell into the hands of the Bollands. Probably his real
+progenitors were dead long since. Were it not for the kindness of the
+farmer and his wife he might have been reared in that awful place, the
+"Union," of which the poverty-stricken old people in the parish spoke
+with such dread. His own folk must have been poor. Those who were well
+off were fond of their children and loth to part from them. Well, he
+must be a real son to John and Martha Bolland. They should have reason
+to be proud of him. He would do nothing to disgrace their honored name.
+
+What was it his father said just now? When he studied the Bible of his
+own accord he might begin at the second chapter of the Second Book of
+Kings.
+
+It would please the old man to know that he gave the first moment of
+liberty to reading the Word which was held so precious. He opened the
+book at the page where the long, narrow strip of black silk marked the
+close of the last lesson. For the first time in his life the boy brought
+to bear on the task an unaided and sympathetic intelligence, and this is
+what he read:
+
+     "Now the days of David drew nigh that he should die; and he charged
+     Solomon his son, saying,
+
+     "I go the way of all the earth: be thou strong therefore, and shew
+     thyself a man;
+
+     "And keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, to
+     keep his statutes, and his commandments, and his judgments, and his
+     testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, that thou mayest
+     prosper in all that thou doest, and whithersoever thou turnest
+     thyself:
+
+     "That the Lord may continue his word which he spake concerning me,
+     saying, If thy children take heed to their way, to walk before me
+     in truth with all their heart and with all their soul, there shall
+     not fail thee (said he) a man on the throne of Israel."
+
+Not even a boy of fourteen could peruse these words unmoved, coming, as
+they did, after the memorable interview with Bolland. The black letters
+seemed to Martin to have fiery edges. They burnt themselves into his
+brain. In years to come they were fated to stand out unbidden before the
+eyes of his soul many a time and oft.
+
+He read on, but soon experienced the old puzzled feeling when he
+encountered the legacy of revenge which David bequeathed to his son
+after delivering that inspired message. It reminded Martin of the
+farmer's dignified and quite noble-hearted renunciation of his own
+dreams in order to follow what he thought was the better way, to be
+succeeded by his passage to the farm buildings across the road in order
+to box the ears of a lazy hind.
+
+Ere he closed the book, Martin went over the opening verses of the
+chapter. He promised himself to obey the injunctions therein contained,
+and it was with a host of unformed ideals churning in his brain that he
+descended the stairs.
+
+Mrs. Bolland was gazing through the front door.
+
+"Mercy on us," she cried, "if there isn't Mrs. Saumarez coomin' doon t'
+road wi' t' nuss an' her little gell. An' don't she look ill, poor
+thing! I'll lay owt she hez eaten summat as disagreed wi' her, an' it
+gev her a bilious attack."
+
+"Dod, ay," said Mrs. Summersgill. "Some things are easy te swallow, but
+hard te digest. Ye could hev knocked me down wi' a feather when our
+Tommy bolted a glass ally last June twelve months."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT
+
+
+Mrs. Saumarez did indeed look unwell. It was not that her pallor was
+marked or her gait feeble; obviously, she had applied cosmetics to her
+face, and her carriage was as imposing and self-possessed as ever. But
+her cheeks were swollen, her eyes bloodshot, her eyelids puffy and
+discolored. To a certain extent, too, she simulated the appearance of
+illness by wearing a veil of heliotrope tint, for it was part of her
+intent to-day to persuade Elmsdale that her complete seclusion from its
+society during the past forty-eight hours was due to a cause beyond her
+own control.
+
+In very truth this was so; she suffered from a malady far worse than any
+case of dyspepsia ever diagnosed by doctor. The unfortunate woman was an
+erratic dipsomaniac. She would exist for weeks without being troubled by
+a craving for drink; then, without the slightest warning or contributory
+error on her part, the demon of intoxication would possess her, and she
+yielded so utterly as to become a terror to her immediate associates.
+
+The Normandy nurse, Fran�oise, exercised a firmer control over her than
+any other maid she had ever employed; hence, Fran�oise's services were
+retained long after other servants had left their mistress in disgust or
+fright. This distressing form of lunacy seemed also to account for the
+roving life led by Mrs. Saumarez. She was proud, with the inbred
+arrogance of the Junker class from which she sprang. She would not
+endure the scorn, or, mayhap, the sympathy of her friends or dependants.
+Whenever she succumbed to her malady she usually left that place on the
+first day she was able to travel.
+
+But the Elmsdale attack, thanks to a limited supply of brandy and Eau de
+Cologne, was of brief duration. Fran�oise knew exactly what to do. Every
+drop of alcoholic liquor--even the methylated spirit used for heating
+curling-irons--must be kept out of her mistress's way during the ensuing
+twenty-four hours, and a deaf ear turned to frantic pleadings for the
+smallest quantity of any intoxicant. Threats, tears, pitiable requests,
+physical violence at times, must be disregarded callously; then would
+come reaction, followed by extreme exhaustion. Fran�oise, despising her
+German mistress, nevertheless had the avaricious soul of a French
+peasant, and was amassing a small fortune by attending to her.
+
+The Misses Walker were so eager to retain their wealthy guest that they
+pretended absolute ignorance of her condition. They succeeded so
+well--their own dyspeptic symptoms were described with such ingenuous
+zeal--that the lady believed her secret was unknown to the household at
+The Elms.
+
+Oddly enough, certain faculties remained clear during these attacks. She
+took care that the chauffeur should not see her, and remembered also
+that young Martin Bolland had conversed with her while she was in the
+worst paroxysm of drink-craving. He was a quick boy, observant beyond
+his age. What did he know? What wondrous tale had he spread through the
+village? A visit to his mother, a meeting with the gossip-loving women
+sure to be gathered beneath the farmer's hospitable roof, would tell her
+all. She nerved herself for the ordeal, and approached slowly,
+fearfully, but outwardly dignified as ever.
+
+Mrs. Bolland's hearty greeting was reassuring.
+
+"Eh, my lady, but ye do look poorly, te be sure. I've bin worritin' te
+think ye've mebbe bin upset by all this racket i' t' place, when ye kem
+here for rest an' quiet."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled.
+
+"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Bolland," she said. "I cannot blame Elmsdale,
+except, perhaps, that your wonderful air braced up my appetite too
+greatly, and I had to pay the penalty for so many good things to eat."
+
+"Ay, I said so," chimed in Mrs. Summersgill, in the accents of deep
+conviction. "Ower much grub an' nowt te do is bad for man or beast."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez laughed frankly at that.
+
+"In which category do you place me, Mrs. Summersgill?" she inquired.
+Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to where Martin stood. She was asking
+herself why the boy should gaze so fixedly at Ang�le.
+
+The stout party did not know what a category was. She thought it was
+some species of malady.
+
+"Well, ma'am," she cried, "if I was you, I'd try rabbit meat for a few
+days. Eat plenty o' green stuff an' shun t' teapot. It's slow p'ison."
+
+She stretched out a huge arm and poured out a cup of tea. There was a
+general laugh at this forgetfulness. Mrs. Summersgill waved aside
+criticism.
+
+"Ay, ay!" she went on, "it's easier te preach than te practice, as t'
+man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv him
+te ho'd fast."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why did
+Martin avoid her?
+
+"Martin, my little friend," she said, "why did you not come in and see
+me yesterday when you called at The Elms?"
+
+"Miss Walker did not wish it," was the candid answer. "I suppose she
+thought I might be in the way when you were so ill."
+
+"There nivver was sike a bairn," protested Martha Bolland. "He's close
+as wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well,
+Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+The lady's glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed his
+bandaged arms and hands.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked. "Have you been scalding yourself?"
+
+Martin reddened. It was Ang�le who answered quickly:
+
+"You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, ch�re maman. It
+was all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin saved
+Elsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces."
+
+And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic of
+Mrs. Saumarez's sudden ailment. She praised Martin's bravery in her
+polished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat's skin was
+brought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, that
+she actually asked Mrs. Bolland for some tea, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Summersgill's earnest warnings.
+
+She made a hearty meal. Fran�oise, too, joined in the feast, her homely
+Norman face perceptibly relaxing its grim vigilance. Her mistress was
+safe now, for a month, two months, perchance six. The desire for food
+was the ultimate sign of complete recovery--for the time. Had Mrs.
+Saumarez dared ask for a glass of beer from the majestic cask in the
+corner, Fran�oise would have prevented her from taking it, using force
+if necessary. The sturdy peasant from Tinchebrai was of stronger moral
+fiber than the born aristocrat, and her mistress knew it.
+
+Martin stood somewhat shyly near the broad ingle. Ang�le approached. She
+caressed his lint-wrapped arms, saying sweetly:
+
+"Do they pain you a great deal?"
+
+"Of course not. They're just a bit sore to the touch--that's all."
+
+His manner was politely repellant. He wished she would not pat him with
+her nervous fingers. She pawed him like a playful cat. To-day she wore
+the beautiful muslin frock he had admired so greatly on the first day of
+the fair. The deep brim of her hat concealed her eyes from all but his.
+
+"I am quite jealous of Elsie," she murmured. "It must be simply lovely
+to be rescued in that way. Poor little me! At home nursing mamma, while
+you were fighting for another girl!"
+
+"The thing was not worth so much talk. I did nothing that any other boy
+would not have done."
+
+"My wud," cried Mrs. Summersgill suddenly, "it'd do your little lass a
+power o' good te git some o' that fat be�can intiv her, Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+From the smoke-blackened rafters over the spacious fireplace were
+hanging a dozen sides of home-cured bacon, huge toothsome slabs
+suggesting mounds of luscious rashers. The sturdy boy beneath gave proof
+that there was good nutriment in such ample store, but the girl was so
+fragile, so fairy-like in her gossamer wings, that she might have been
+reared on the scent of flowers.
+
+The attention thus drawn to the two caused Martin to flush again, but
+Ang�le wheeled round.
+
+"Do all pigs grow fat when they are old?" she asked.
+
+"Nay, lass, that they don't. We feed 'em te mak' 'em fat while they're
+young, but some pigs are skinny 'uns always."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled indulgently at this passage between two such
+sharp-tongued combatants. Ang�le's eyes blazed. Fran�oise, eating
+steadily, wondered what had been said to make the women laugh, the child
+angry.
+
+Ang�le caught the astonished expression on the nurse's face. Quickly her
+mood changed. Fran�oise sat near. She bent over and whispered:
+
+"Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!"
+
+Fran�oise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs.
+Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgill
+described "an old sow who talks like one of us!" Ang�le cried airily to
+Martin:
+
+"Take me to the stables. I haven't seen the pony and the dogs for days
+and days."
+
+He was glad to escape. He dreaded Mrs. Summersgill's mordant humor if a
+war of wits broke out between her and the girl.
+
+"All right," he said. "I'll whistle for Curly and Jim at the back and
+join you at the gate."
+
+But Ang�le skipped lightly toward her hostess.
+
+"Please, Mrs. Bolland," she said coaxingly, "may I not go through the
+back kitchen, too?"
+
+"Sure-ly, honey," cried Martha. "One way's as good as another. Martin,
+tak t' young leddy anywheres she wants te go, an' dinnat be so gawky.
+She won't bite ye."
+
+The two passed into the farmyard.
+
+"You see, Martin," explained Ang�le coolly, "I must find out how Jim
+Bates and Tommy Beadlam always get hold of you without other people
+being the wiser. Show me the lane and the paddock they tell me of."
+
+"I don't see why it should interest you," was the ungracious reply.
+
+"You dear boy! Are you angry yet because I wouldn't let you kiss me the
+other night?"
+
+He was compelled to laugh at the outrageous untruth.
+
+"I'm afraid I spoke very crossly then," he admitted, thinking it best to
+avoid argument.
+
+"Oh, yes. I wept for hours. My poor little eyes were sore yesterday.
+Look and see if they are red now."
+
+They were standing behind the woodpile. She thrust her face temptingly
+near. Her beautiful eyes, clear and limpid in their dark depths, blinked
+saucily. Her parted lips revealed two rows of white, even teeth, and her
+sweet breath mingled with the fragrance that always clung to her
+garments. He experienced a new timidity now; he was afraid of her in
+this mood, though secretly flattered by the homage she was paying.
+
+"Martin," she whispered, "I like you better than any of the other boys,
+oh, a great deal better, even though Evelyn Atkinson does say you are a
+milksop."
+
+What a hateful word to apply to one whose flesh was scarred by the claws
+of an infuriated wildcat conquered in fair fight. Milksop, indeed! He
+knew Ang�le's ways well enough by this time to give convincing proof
+that he was no milksop.
+
+He placed his bandaged right arm around her waist, boldly drew her
+toward him, and kissed her three times--on the lips.
+
+"That is more than I ever did to Evelyn Atkinson," he said.
+
+She returned the embrace with ardor.
+
+"Oh, Martin, I do love you," she sighed. "And you fought for me as well
+as for Elsie, didn't you?"
+
+If the thought were grateful to Ang�le, it stung the boy's conscience.
+Under what different circumstances had he defended the two girls! He
+grew scarlet with confusion and sought to unclasp those twining arms.
+
+"Someone may see us," he protested.
+
+"I don't care," she cooed. "Tommy Beadlam is watching us now over the
+hedge. Tell him to go away."
+
+He wrenched himself free. True enough, "White Head" was gazing at them,
+eyes and mouth wide open.
+
+"Hello, Tommy!" shouted Martin.
+
+"By gum!" gasped Tommy.
+
+But the spell was broken, and the three joined company to make a tour of
+the farm. Ang�le was quite unembarrassed and promptly rescued both boys
+from sheepishness. She knew that the observant "White Head" would
+harrow Evelyn Atkinson's soul with a full description of the tender
+episode behind the big pile of wood. This pleased her more than Martin's
+gruff "spooning."
+
+Inside the farmhouse conversation progressed vigorously. Mrs. Saumarez
+joined in the talk with zest. The quaint gossip of the women interested
+her. She learnt, seemingly with surprise, that these, her humble
+sisters, were swayed by emotions near akin to her own. Some quiet
+chronicle of a mother's loss by the death of a soldier son in far-off
+South Africa touched a dormant chord in her heart.
+
+"My husband was killed in that foolish war," she said. "I never think of
+it without a shudder."
+
+"I reckon he'd be an officer, ma'am," said Martha.
+
+"Yes; he was shot while leading his regiment in a cavalry charge at the
+Modder River."
+
+"It's a dreadful thing, is war," observed the bereaved mother. "My lad
+wouldn't hurt a fly, yet his capt'in wrote such a nice letter, sayin' as
+how Willie had killed four Boers afore he was struck down. T' capt'in
+meant it kindly, no doot, but it gev me small consolation."
+
+"It is the wives and mothers who suffer most. Men like the army. I
+suppose if my child were a boy he would enter the service."
+
+"Thank the Lord, Martin won't be a sojer!" cried Martha fervently.
+
+"You're going to make him a minister, are you not?"
+
+"Noa," said John Bolland's deep voice from the door. "He's goin' to
+college. I've settled it to-day."
+
+None present appreciated the force of this statement like Martha, and
+she resented such a momentous decision being arrived at without her
+knowledge. Her head bent, and twitching fingers sought the ends of her
+apron. John strode ponderously forward and placed a huge hand on her
+shoulder.
+
+"Dinnat be vexed, Martha," he said gently. "I hadn't a chance te speak
+wi' ye sen Dr. MacGregor an' me had a bit crack about t' lad. I didn't
+need te coom te you for counsel. Who knew better'n me that yer heart was
+set on Martin bein' browt up a gentleman?"
+
+This recognition of motherly rights somewhat mollified his wife.
+
+"Eh, but I'm main pleased, John," she said. "Yet I'll be sorry to lose
+him."
+
+"Ye'll wear yer knuckles te t' bone makkin' him fine shirts an' fallals,
+all t' same," laughed her husband.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez had seen the glint of tears in Mrs. Bolland's eyes, and
+came to the rescue with a request for a second cup of tea.
+
+"England is fortunate in being an island," she said. "Now, in my native
+land every man has to serve in the army. It cannot be avoided, you know.
+Germany has France on the one hand and Russia on the other, each ready
+to spring if she relaxes her vigilance for a moment."
+
+"Is that so?" inquired Bolland. "I wunner why?"
+
+The lady smiled.
+
+"That is a wide political question," she replied. "To give one reason
+out of many, look at our--at Germany's thousand miles of open frontier."
+
+"Right enough, ma'am. But why is Jarmany buildin' such a big fleet?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette. She had not expected so apt a
+retort.
+
+"She is gathering colonies, and already owns a huge mercantile marine.
+Surely, these interests call for adequate protection?"
+
+"Nobody's threatenin' 'em, so far as I can see," persisted Bolland.
+
+"Not at present. But a wise government looks ahead of the hour.
+Germany's aim is to educate the world by her culture. She is doing it
+already, as any of your own well-informed leading men will tell you; but
+the time may come when, in her zeal for advancement, she may tread on
+somebody's toes, so she must be prepared, both on land and sea.
+Fortunately, this is the one country she will never attack."
+
+John shook his head.
+
+"I'm none so sure," he said slowly. "I hevn't much time fer readin', but
+I did happen t' other day on a speech by Lord Roberts which med me scrat
+me head. Beg pardon, ma'am. I mean it med me think."
+
+"Lord Roberts!" began the lady scornfully. Then she sipped her tea, and
+the pause gave time to collect her wits. "You must remember that he is a
+professional soldier, and his views are tainted by militarism."
+
+"Isn't that the trouble i' Jarmany?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez drank more tea.
+
+"Circumstances alter cases," she said. "The broad fact remains that
+Germany harbors no evil designs against Great Britain. She believes the
+world holds plenty of room for both powers. And, when all is said and
+done, why should the two nations quarrel? They are kith and kin. They
+look at life from the same viewpoints. Even their languages are alike.
+Hardly a word in your quaint Yorkshire dialect puzzles me now, because I
+recognize its source in the older German and in the current speech of
+our Baltic provinces. Germany and England should be friends, not
+enemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worrying
+about German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate her
+wonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who uses
+fabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how to
+make aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-time
+theories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, can
+surely bear out that contention?"
+
+"Steady on, ma'am," said Bolland, leaning forward, with hands on knees,
+and with eyes fixed on the speaker in an almost disconcerting intensity.
+"T' Jarmans hev med all t' wo'ld _buy_ their dyes, but there hezn't been
+much _teachin'_, as I've heerd tell of. As for farmin', they coom here
+year after year an' snap up our best stock i' horses an' cattle te
+improve their own breeds. _I_ can't grummel at that. They compete wi' t'
+Argentine an' t' United States, an' up go my prices. Still, I do think
+our government is te blame for lettin' our finest stallions an' brood
+mares leave t' country. They differ frae cattle. They're bowt for use i'
+t' army, an' we're bein' drained dhry. That's bad for us. An' why are
+they doin' it?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez pushed away her cup and saucer. She laughed nervously,
+with the air of one who had gone a little further than was intended.
+
+"There, there!" she cried pleasantly. "I am only trying to show you
+Germany's open aims, but some Englishmen persist in attributing a
+hostile motive to her every act. You see, I know Germany, and few people
+here trouble either to learn the language or visit the country."
+
+"Likely not, ma'am," was the ironical answer. "Mr. Pickerin' went te
+some ple�ce--Bremen, I think they call it--two year sen this July, te
+see a man who'd buy every Cleveland bay he could offer. George had just
+been med an officer i' t' Territorials--which meant a week's swankin'
+aboot i' uniform at a camp, an' givin' his men free beer an' pork pies
+te attend a few drills--an' he was fule enough te carry a valise wi' his
+rank an' regiment painted on it. Why, they watched him like a cat
+watchin' a mouse. He couldn't eat a bite or tak a pint o' their light
+beer that a 'tec wasn't sittin' at t' next table. They fairly chased him
+away. Even his friend, the hoss-buyer, got skeered at last, an' advised
+him te quit te avoid arrest."
+
+"That must have been a wholly exceptional case," said Mrs. Saumarez,
+speaking in a tone of utter indifference. "Had _I_ known him, for
+instance, and given him a letter of introduction, he would have been
+welcomed, not suspected. By the way, how is he? I hear----"
+
+The conversation was steered into a safer channel. They were discussing
+the wounded man's condition when Mrs. Saumarez's car passed. The door
+stood open, so they all noted that the vehicle was white with dust, but
+the chauffeur was the sole occupant.
+
+"Her ladyship" was pleased to explain.
+
+"It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day," she said.
+"You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself,
+as the phrase goes."
+
+"Expensive work, ma'am," smiled John, rising. "An' now, good folk," he
+continued, "whe�'s coomin' te t' love feast?"
+
+There was a general movement. The assembly dear to old-time Methodism
+appealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised her
+lorgnette once more.
+
+"What is a love feast?" she asked.
+
+"It's a gathering o' members o' our communion, ma'am," was Bolland's
+ready answer.
+
+"May I come, too?"
+
+Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even John
+Bolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the lady
+seemed to be in earnest.
+
+"I really mean it," she went on. "I have a spare hour, and, as I don't
+care for dinner to-night, I'll be most pleased to attend--that is, if I
+may?"
+
+The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenly
+tinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps saw
+more than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.
+
+"Happen it'll be an hour well spent, ma'am," he said quietly. "Admission
+is by membership ticket, but t' minister gev' me a few 'permits' for
+outside friends, an' I'll fill yan in for ye wi' pleasure."
+
+He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, "Admit
+Brother" or "Sister ----," and signed, "Eli Todd." With a stubby pencil
+he scrawled "Saumarez" in a blank space. The lady thanked him, and gave
+some instructions in French to Fran�oise. Five minutes later "Sister
+Saumarez," escorted by "Brother" and "Sister" Bolland, entered the
+village meetinghouse.
+
+The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mild
+sensation among the small congregation already collected. They were
+mostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by their
+absence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field close
+to the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be fought
+for the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions the
+Gospel was not a "draw."
+
+Gradually the spacious but bare room--so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarez
+knew of churches--became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimed
+the half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboring
+classroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but his
+bell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer.
+He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from the
+people. The first time John Bolland cried "Amen!" Mrs. Saumarez started.
+She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge.
+But the next period produced a hearty "Hallelujah!" and others joined in
+with "Glory be!" "Thy will, O Lord!" and kindred ejaculations.
+
+One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord's
+Prayer.
+
+"Give us this day our daily bread," he said.
+
+"And no baccy, Lord!" growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.
+
+The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding the petition, and
+a broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learned
+subsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandoned
+his pipe, together with gun and beer jug, "when he found Christ." Eli
+Todd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on the
+point.
+
+All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:
+
+     _O what a joyful meeting there,
+       In robes of white arrayed;
+     Palms in our hands we all shall bear
+       And crowns upon our heads._
+
+The joyous energy of his declamation, the no less eager volume of sound
+that arose from the congregation, atoned for any deficiencies of meter
+or rhyme. The village worshipers lost themselves in the influence of the
+moment. With spiritual vision they saw the last great meeting, and
+thundered vociferously the closing lines of the chorus:
+
+     _And then we shall in Heaven reign,
+     And never, never part again._
+
+"Grace before meat" was sung, and, to Mrs. Saumarez's great
+discomfiture, bread and water were passed round. Each one partook save
+herself; Bolland, with real tact, missed her in handing the tray and
+pitcher to the other occupants of their pew.
+
+"Grace after meat" followed, and forthwith Eli Todd began to deliver an
+address. His discourse was simple and well reasoned, dealing wholly
+with the sustenance derived from God's saving spirit. It may be that the
+unexpected presence of a stranger like Mrs. Saumarez exercised a
+slightly unnerving influence, as he spoke more seriously and with less
+dramatic intensity than was his wont.
+
+Suddenly he rebelled against this sensation of restraint. Changing, with
+the skill of a born revivalist, from the rounded periods of ordinary
+English to the homely vernacular of the district, he thundered out:
+
+"There's noa cittidell o' sin 'at God cannot destroy. Ay, friends, t'
+sword o' t' Spirit s'all oppen a way through walls o' brass an' iron
+yats (gates). We�n't ye jine His conquerin' army? He's willin' te list
+ye noo. There's none o' yer short service whilst ye de� t' Lord's
+work--it's for ivver an' ivver, an' yer pension is life ivverlastin'."
+
+And so the curious service went to its end, which came not until various
+members of the congregation made public confession of faith, personal
+statements which often consisted of question and answer between pastor
+and penitent. It was a strange interrogatory. Eli Todd had a ready quip,
+a quick appreciation, an emphatic or amusing disclaimer, for each and
+every avowal of broad-minded Christianity or intolerant views. For these
+dalesfolk did not all think alike. Some were inclined to damn others who
+did not see through the myopic lenses of their own spiritual spectacles.
+
+The preacher would have none of this exclusive righteousness. As he
+said, in his own strenuous way:
+
+"The Lord is ivverywhere. He isn't a prisoner i' this little room
+te-night. He's yonder i' t' street amang t' organs an' shows. He's
+yonder i' t' tent where foolish youths an' maidens cannot see Him. If ye
+seek Him ye'll find Him, ay, in the abodes of sin and the palaces of
+wantonness. No door can be closed to His saving mercy, no heart too
+hardened to resist His love."
+
+As it happened, his glance fell on Mrs. Saumarez as he uttered the
+concluding words, and his voice unconsciously tuned itself to suit her
+understanding. She dropped her eyes, and the observant minister thought
+that she was reading a personal meaning into his address.
+
+At once he began the "Doxology," which was sung with great fervor, and
+the love feast broke up after a brief prayer. Mr. Todd overtook Mrs.
+Saumarez on the green. Bolland and his wife were escorting her to The
+Elms.
+
+"I hope you liked the service, madam," he said politely.
+
+"I thought it most interesting," she answered slowly. "I think I shall
+come again."
+
+He took off his hat and assured her that she would always be welcome at
+Bethel Chapel. He, worthy man, no less than the Bollands, could little
+guess this woman's motives in thus currying favor with the villagers.
+Had an angel from Heaven laid bare her intent, they would scarce have
+believed, or, if conviction came, they would only have deemed her mad.
+
+A breathless Fran�oise met her mistress at the gate. Ang�le was not to
+be found anywhere, and it was so late, nearly eight o'clock. Nor was
+Martin to be seen. Madam would remember, they had gone off together.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez explained what all the gesticulation was about.
+
+"If she's wi' Martin, she'll be all right," said Bolland. "He'll bring
+her yam afore ye git yer things off, ma'am."
+
+He was right. Ang�le had discovered that Elsie Herbert would be at the
+church bazaar that evening, and planned the ramble with Martin so that
+the vicar's daughter might meet them together on the high road.
+
+It delighted her to see the only rival she feared flash a quick side
+glance as she bowed smilingly and passed on, for Mr. Herbert did not
+wholly approve of Ang�le, so Elsie thought it best not to stop for a
+chat. Martin, too, was annoyed as he doffed his cap. He thought Elsie
+would surely ask how he was. Moreover, those hot kisses were burning yet
+on his lips; the memory made him profoundly uncomfortable.
+
+That was all. When he left Ang�le at the gate she did not suggest a
+rendezvous at a later hour. Not only would it be useless, but she had
+seen Frank Beckett-Smythe earlier in the day, and he said there was a
+dinner party at the Hall.
+
+Perhaps he might be able to slip away unnoticed about nine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A DYING DEPOSITION
+
+
+Before Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down to dinner that evening a very
+unpleasant duty had been thrust on him.
+
+The superintendent of police drove over from Nottonby to show him the
+county analyst's report. Divested of technicalities, this document
+proved that George Pickering's dangerous condition arose from blood
+poisoning caused by a stab from a contaminated knife. It was admitted
+that a wound inflicted by a rusty pitchfork might have had equally
+serious results, but the analysis of matter obtained from both
+instruments proved conclusively that the knife alone was impregnated
+with the putrid germs found in the blood corpuscles, which also
+contained an undue proportion of alcohol.
+
+Moreover, Dr. MacGregor's statement on the one vital point was
+unanswerable. Pickering was suffering from an incised wound which could
+not have been inflicted by the rounded prongs of a fork. The doctor was
+equally emphatic in his belief that the injured man would succumb
+speedily.
+
+In the face of these documents it was necessary that George Pickering's
+depositions should be taken by a magistrate. Most unwillingly, Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe accompanied the superintendent to the "Black Lion Hotel"
+for the purpose.
+
+They entered the sick room about the time that Mrs. Saumarez was
+crossing the green on her way to the Methodist Chapel. A glance at
+Pickering's face showed that the doctor had not exaggerated the gravity
+of the affair. He was deathly pale, save for a number of vivid red spots
+on his skin. His eyes shone with fever. Were not his malady identified,
+the unskilled observer might conclude that he was suffering from a
+severe attack of German measles.
+
+Betsy was there, and the prim nurse. The contrast between the two women
+was almost as startling as the change for the worse in Pickering's
+appearance. The nurse, strictly professional in deportment, paid heed to
+naught save the rules of treatment. The word "hospital," "certificate,"
+"method," shrieked silently from her flowing coif and list slippers,
+from the clinical thermometer on the table, and the temperature chart on
+the mantelpiece.
+
+Poor Betsy was sitting by the bedside, holding her lover's hand. She was
+smiling wistfully, striving to chatter in cheerful strain, yet all the
+time she wanted to wail her despair, to petition on her knees that her
+crime might be avenged on herself, not on its victim.
+
+When the magistrate stepped gingerly forward, Pickering turned
+querulously to see who the visitor was, for the nurse had nodded
+permission to enter when the two men looked through the half-open door.
+
+"Oh, it's you, squire," he said in a low voice. "I thought it might be
+MacGregor."
+
+"How are you feeling now, George?"
+
+"Pretty sick. I suppose you've heard the verdict?"
+
+"The doctor says you are in a bad state."
+
+"Booked, squire, booked! And no return ticket. I don't care. I've made
+all arrangements--that is, I'll have a free mind this time
+to-morrow--and then, well, I'll face the music."
+
+He caught sight of the police officer.
+
+"Hello, Jonas! You there? Come for my last dying depositions, eh? All
+right. Fire away! Betsy, my lass, leave us for a bit. The nurse can
+stay. The more witnesses the merrier."
+
+Betsy arose. There was no fear in her eyes now--only dumb agony. She
+walked steadily from the room. While Mr. Beckett-Smythe was thanking
+Providence under his breath that a most distressing task was thus being
+made easy for him, they all heard a dreadful sob from the exterior
+landing, followed by a heavy thud. The nurse hurried out. Betsy had
+fainted.
+
+With a painful effort Pickering raised himself on one arm. His forced
+gayety gave place to loud-voiced violence.
+
+"Confound you all!" he roared. "Why come here to frighten the poor
+girl's life out of her?"
+
+He cursed both the magistrate and Superintendent Jonas by name; were he
+able to rise he would break their necks down the stairs. The policeman
+crept out on tip-toe; Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down. Pickering stormed
+away until the nurse returned.
+
+"Miss Thwaites is better," she said. "She was overcome by the long
+strain, but she is with her sister now, and quite recovered."
+
+Betsy was crying her heart out in Kitty's arms: fortunately, the sounds
+of her grief were shut out from their ears. Jonas came back and closed
+the door. The doomed man sank to the pillow and growled sullenly:
+
+"Now, get on with your business, and be quick over it. I'll not have
+Betsy worried again while I have breath left to protest."
+
+"I am, indeed, very sorry to disturb you, George," said the magistrate
+quietly. "It is a thankless office for an old friend. Try and calm
+yourself. I do not ask your forbearance toward myself and Mr. Jonas, but
+there are tremendous issues at stake. For your own sake you must help us
+to face this ordeal."
+
+"Oh, go ahead, squire. My bark is worse than my bite--not that I have
+much of either in me now. If I spoke roughly, forgive me. I couldn't
+bear to hear yon lass suffering."
+
+Thinking it best to avoid further delay, Mr. Beckett-Smythe nodded to
+the police officer, who drew forward a small table, which, with writing
+materials, he placed before the magistrate.
+
+A foolscap sheet bore already some written words. The magistrate bent
+over it, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion:
+
+"Listen, George. I have written here: 'I, George Pickering, being of
+sound mind, but believing myself to be in danger of death, solemnly take
+oath and depose as follows': Now, I want you to tell me, in your own
+words, what took place last Monday night. You are going to the awful
+presence of your Creator. You must tell the truth, fully and fearlessly,
+not striving to determine the course of justice by your own judgment,
+but leaving matters wholly in the hands of God. You are conscious of
+what you are doing, fully sensible that you will soon be called on to
+meet One who knoweth all things. I hope, I venture to pray, that you
+will give testimony in all sincerity and righteousness.... I am ready."
+
+Pickering heard this solemn injunction with due gravity. His features
+were composed, his eyes fixed on the distant landscape through the open
+window. No disturbing noise reached him save the lowing of cattle and
+the far-off rattle of a reaping machine, for the police had ordered the
+removal of the shooting gallery and roundabout to the other end of the
+green.
+
+He remained silent so long that the two men glanced at him anxiously,
+but were reassured by the belief that he was only collecting his
+thoughts. Indeed, it was not so. He was striving to bridge that dark
+chasm on whose perilous verge he tottered--striving to frame an excuse
+that would not be uttered by his mortal lips.
+
+At last he spoke.
+
+"On Monday night, about five minutes past ten, I met Kitty Thwaites, by
+appointment, at the wicket gate which opens into the garden from the
+bowling green of the 'Black Lion Hotel,' Elmsdale. We walked down the
+garden together. We were talking and laughing about the antics of a
+groom in this hotel, a fellow named Fred--I do not know his surname--who
+was jealous of me because I was in the habit of chaffing Kitty and
+placing my arm around her waist if I encountered her on the stairs. This
+man Fred, I believe, endeavored to pay attentions to Kitty, which she
+always refused to encourage. Kitty and I stopped at the foot of the
+garden beneath a pear tree which stands in the boundary fence of the
+paddock.
+
+"I had my arm around her neck, but was only playing the fool, which
+Kitty knew as well as I. There was a bright moon, and, although almost
+invisible ourselves in the shadow of the hedge and tree, we could see
+clearly into both paddock and garden. My back was toward the hotel.
+Suddenly, we heard someone running down the gravel path. I turned and
+saw that it was Betsy Thwaites, Kitty's sister, a girl whom I believed
+to be then in a situation at Hereford. I had promised to marry Betsy,
+and was naturally vexed at being caught in an apparently compromising
+attitude with her sister. Betsy had a knife in her hand. I could see it
+glittering in the moonlight."
+
+He paused. He was corpse-like in color. The red spots on his face were
+darker than before by contrast with the wan cheeks. He motioned to the
+nurse, who gave him a glass of barley water. He emptied it at a gulp.
+Catching Mr. Beckett-Smythe's mournful glance, he smiled with ghastly
+pleasantry.
+
+"It sounds like a coroner's inquest, doesn't it?" he said.
+
+Then, while his eyes roved incessantly from the face of the policeman to
+that of the magistrate, he continued:
+
+"I imagined that Betsy meant to do her sister some harm, so sprang
+forward to meet her. Then I saw that she was minded to attack me, for
+she screamed out: 'You have ruined my life. I'll take care you do not
+ruin Kitty's.'"
+
+The words, of course, were spoken very slowly. They alternated with the
+steady scratching of the pen. Others in the room were pallid now. Even
+the rigid nurse yielded to the excitement of the moment. Her linen
+bands fluttered and her bosom rose and fell with the restraint she
+imposed on her breathing.
+
+George Pickering suddenly became the most composed person present. His
+hearers were face to face with a tragedy. After all, did he mean to tell
+the truth? Ah, it was well that his affianced wife was weeping in an
+adjoining room, that her soul was not pierced by the calm recital which
+would condemn her to prison, perchance to the scaffold.
+
+"Her cry warned me," he went on. "I knew she could not hurt me. I was a
+strong and active man, she a weak, excited woman. She was very near,
+advancing down the path which runs close to the dividing hedge of the
+garden and the stackyard. To draw her away from Kitty, I ran toward this
+hedge and jumped over. It was dark there. I missed my footing and
+stumbled. I felt something run into my left breast. It was the prong of
+a pitchfork."
+
+The pen ceased. A low gasp of relief came from the nurse, for she was a
+woman. The superintendent looked gravely at the floor. But the
+magistrate faltered:
+
+"George--remember--you are a dying man!"
+
+Pickering again lifted his body. His face was convulsed with a spasm of
+pain, but the strong voice cried fearlessly:
+
+"Write what I have said. I'll swear it with my last breath. I'll tell
+the same story to either God or devil. Write, I say, or shall I finish
+it with my own hand?"
+
+They thought that by some superhuman effort he would rise forthwith to
+reach the table. The nurse, the policeman, leaped to restrain him.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe was greatly agitated.
+
+"If I cannot persuade you--" he began.
+
+"Persuade me to do what? To bolster up a lying charge against the woman
+I am going to marry? By the Lord, do you think I'm mad?"
+
+They released him. The set intensity of his face was terrible. It is
+hard to say what awful power could have changed George Pickering's
+purpose in that supreme moment. Yet he clenched his hands in the
+bedclothes, as if he would choke some mocking fiend that grinned at him,
+and his voice was hoarse as he murmured:
+
+"Oh, man, if you have a heart, end your inquisition, or I'll die too
+soon!"
+
+Again the pen resumed its monotonous scrape. It paused at last. The
+fateful words were on record.
+
+"And then what happened?"
+
+The magistrate's question was judicially cold. He held strong
+convictions regarding the deeper mysteries of life; his faculties were
+benumbed by this utter defiance of all that he believed most firmly.
+
+"I said something, swore very likely, and staggered into the moonlight,
+at the same time tearing the fork from my breast. Betsy saw what I was
+doing, and screamed. I managed to get over the hedge again, and she ran
+away in mortal fright, for I had pulled open my waistcoat, and she could
+see the blood on my shirt. She fell as she ran, and cut herself with the
+knife. By that time Kitty had reached the hotel, screaming wildly that
+Betsy was trying to murder me. That is all. Betsy never touched me. The
+wound I am suffering from was inflicted by myself, accidentally. It was
+not caused by the knife, as is shown by the fact that I am dying of
+blood poisoning, while Betsy's cuts are healing and have left her
+unharmed otherwise."
+
+His hearers were greatly perturbed, but they knew that further protest
+would be unavailing. And there was an even greater shock in store.
+
+Pickering turned in the bed and poised his pain-racked frame so as to
+reach the manuscript placed before him for signature. With unwavering
+hand he added the words:
+
+"So help me God!"
+
+Then he wrote his name.
+
+"Now, sign that, all of you, as witnesses," he commanded, and they did
+not gainsay him. It was useless. Why prolong his torture and their own?
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe handed the sheets of paper to Jonas. He seemed
+inclined to leave the room without another spoken word, but humane
+impulse was stronger than dogma; he held out his hand.
+
+"Good-by, George," he said brokenly. "'Judge not,' it is written. Let my
+farewell be a prayer that you may die peacefully and painlessly, if,
+indeed, God in His mercy does not grant your recovery."
+
+"Good-by, squire. You've got two sons. Find 'em plenty of work; they'll
+have less time for mischief. Damn it all, hark to that reaper! It'll
+soon be time to rouse the cubs. I'll miss the next hunt breakfast, eh?
+Well, good luck to you all! I've had my last gallop. Good-by, Jonas! Do
+you remember the fight we had that morning with the poachers? Look here!
+When you meet Rabbit Jack, tell him to go to Stockwell for a sovereign
+and swim in beer for a week. Nurse, where's Betsy? I want her before it
+is dark."
+
+And in a few minutes Betsy, the forlorn, was bending over him and
+whispering:
+
+"I'll do it for your sake, George! But, oh, it will be hard to face
+everybody with a lie in my mouth. The hand that struck you should
+wither. Indeed, indeed, I shall suffer worse than death. If the Lord
+took pity on me, He would let me be the first to go."
+
+He stroked her hair gently, and there were tears in his eyes.
+
+"Never cry about spilt milk, dearie. At best, or worst, the whole thing
+was an accident. Come, now, no more weeping. Sit down there and write
+what I tell you. I can remember every word, and Kitty and you must just
+fit in your stories to suit mine. Stockwell will defend you. He's a
+smart chap, and you need have no fear. Bless your heart, you'll be twice
+married before you know where you are!"
+
+She obeyed him. With careful accuracy he repeated the deposition. He
+rehearsed the evidence she would give. When the nurse came in, he bade
+her angrily to leave them alone, but recalled her in the next breath. He
+wanted Kitty. She, too, must be coached. At his command she had placed
+the fork where it was found. But she must learn her story with
+parrot-like accuracy. There must be no contradiction in the sisters'
+evidence.
+
+Martin was eating his supper when Mrs. Bolland, bustling about the
+kitchen, made a discovery.
+
+"I must be fair wool-gatherin'," she said crossly. "Here's a little pile
+o' handkerchiefs browt by Dr. MacGregor, an' I clean forgot all about
+'em. Martin, it's none ower le�t, an' ye can bide i' bed i' t' mornin'.
+Just run along te t' vicarage wi' these, there's a good lad. They'll
+mebbe be wantin' 'em."
+
+He hailed the errand not the less joyfully that it led him through the
+fair. But he did not loiter. Perhaps he gazed with longing eyes at its
+vanishing glories, for some of the showmen were packing up in disgust,
+but he reached the vicarage quickly. It lay nearer the farm than The
+Elms, and, like that pretentious mansion, was shrouded from the highroad
+by leafy trees and clusters of laurels.
+
+A broad drive led to the front door. The night was drawing in rapidly,
+and the moon would not rise until eleven o'clock. In the curving avenue
+it was pitch-dark, but a cheerful light shone from the drawing-room, and
+through an open French window he could see Elsie bending over a book.
+
+She was not deeply interested, judging by the listless manner in which
+she turned the leaves. She was leaning with her elbows on the table,
+resting one knee on a chair, and the attitude revealed a foot and ankle
+quite as gracefully proportioned as Ang�le's elegant limbs, though Elsie
+was more robust.
+
+Hearing the boy's firm tread on the graveled approach, she straightened
+herself and ran to the window.
+
+"Who is there?" she said. Martin stepped into the light.
+
+"Oh, it's you!"
+
+"Yes, Miss Herbert. Mother sent me with these."
+
+He held out the parcel of linen.
+
+"What is it?" she asked, extending a hesitating hand.
+
+"It is perfectly harmless, if you stroke it gently."
+
+She could see the mischief dancing in his eyes, and grabbed the package.
+Then she laughed.
+
+"Our handkerchiefs! It was very kind of Mrs. Bolland----"
+
+"I think Dr. MacGregor had them washed."
+
+This puzzled her, but a more personal topic was present in her mind.
+
+"I saw you a little while ago," she said. "You were engaged, or I would
+have asked you if you were recovering all right. Your hands and arms are
+yet bound up, I see. Do they hurt you much?"
+
+"No. Not a bit."
+
+He felt absurdly tongue-tied, but bravely continued:
+
+"I was told to take Miss Saumarez home. That is how you happened to meet
+us together."
+
+"Indeed," she said, drawing back a little. Her tone conveyed that any
+explanation of Miss Saumarez's companionship was unnecessary. No other
+attitude could have set Martin's wits at work more effectually. He, too,
+retreated a pace.
+
+"I'm very sorry if I disturbed you," he said. "I was going to ring for
+one of the servants."
+
+She tittered.
+
+"Then I am glad you didn't. They are both out, and auntie would have
+wondered who our late visitor was. She has just gone to bed."
+
+"But isn't your--isn't Mr. Herbert at home?"
+
+"No; he is at the bazaar. He asked me to sit up until one of the maids
+returns."
+
+Again she approached the window. One foot rested on the threshold.
+
+"I've been reading 'Rokeby,'" ventured Martin.
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"It must be very interesting when you know the place. Just imagine how
+nice it would be if Sir Walter had seen Elmsdale and written about the
+moor, and the river, and the ghylls."
+
+"Do you think he would have found a wildcat in Thor ghyll?"
+
+"I hope not. It might have spoiled the verse; and Thor ghyll is
+beautiful."
+
+"I'll never forget that cat. I can see it yet. How its eyes blazed when
+it sprang at me! Oh, I don't know how you dared seize it in your hands."
+
+She was outside the window now, standing on a strip of turf that ran
+between house and drive.
+
+"I didn't give a second thought to it," said Martin in his offhand way.
+
+"I can never thank you enough for saving me," she murmured.
+
+"Then I'll tell you what," he cried. "To make quite sure you won't
+forget, I'll try and persuade mother to have the skin made into a muff
+for you. One of the men is curing it, with spirits of ammonia and
+saltpeter."
+
+"Do you think I may need to have my memory jogged?"
+
+"People forget things," he said airily. "Besides, I'm going away to
+school. When I come back you'll be a grown-up young lady."
+
+"I'm nearly as tall as you."
+
+"Indeed you are not."
+
+"Well, I'm much taller than Ang�le Saumarez, at any rate."
+
+"There's no comparison between you in any respect."
+
+And this young spark three short hours ago, behind the woodpile, had
+gazed into Ang�le's eyes!
+
+"Do you remember--we were talking about her when that creature flew at
+me?"
+
+He laughed. It was odd how Ang�le's name kept cropping up. The church
+clock struck nine. They listened to the chimes. Neither spoke until the
+tremulous booming of the bell ceased.
+
+"I'm afraid I must be going," said Martin, without budging an inch.
+
+"Did you--did you--find any difficulty--in opening the gate? It is
+rather stiff. And your poor hands must be so sore."
+
+From excessive politeness, or shyness, Elsie's tongue tripped somewhat.
+
+"It was a bit stiff," he admitted. "I had to reach up, you know."
+
+"Then I think I ought to come and open it for you."
+
+"But you will be afraid to return alone."
+
+"Afraid! Of what?"
+
+"I really don't know," he said, "but I thought girls were always scared
+in the dark."
+
+"Then I am an exception."
+
+She cast a backward glance into the room.
+
+"The lamp is quite safe. It will not take me a minute."
+
+They walked together down the short avenue. The gate was standing open.
+
+"Really," laughed Martin, "I had quite forgotten."
+
+"So boys have weak memories, too?"
+
+"Of gates, perhaps."
+
+"Well, now, I must be off. Good-night, and thank you so much."
+
+She held out her hand. He took it in both of his.
+
+"I do hope Mr. Herbert will ask me to another picnic," he said.
+
+A boy on a bicycle rode past slowly. Instinctively, they shrank into the
+shadow of a tree.
+
+"Wasn't that Frank Beckett-Smythe?" whispered Elsie, forgetting to
+withdraw her imprisoned hand, and turning a startled face to Martin.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where can he be going at this time?"
+
+Martin guessed accurately, but sheer chivalry prevented him from saying
+more than:
+
+"To the fair, I suppose."
+
+"At this hour; after nine o'clock?"
+
+"S-s-h. He's coming back."
+
+She drew closer. There was an air of mystery in this nocturnal bicycle
+ride that induced bewilderment. Martin's right hand still inclosed the
+girl's. What more natural than that his left arm should go around her
+waist, merely to emphasize the need for caution, concealment, secrecy?
+Most certainly his knowledge of womankind was striding onward in
+seven-leagued boots.
+
+The trot of a horse sounded sharply on the hard road. It was being
+ridden by someone in a hurry. The young scion of the Hall, who appeared
+to be killing time, inclined his machine to the opposite hedge.
+
+But the rider pulled up with the skill of a practiced horseman. Even in
+the dim light the boy and girl recognized one of Mr. Beckett-Smythe's
+grooms.
+
+"Is that you, Master Frank?" they heard him say.
+
+"Hello, Williams! What's up?"
+
+"What's up, indeed! T' Squire has missed ye. A bonny row there'll be. Ye
+mun skip back lively, let me tell ye."
+
+"Oh, the deuce!"
+
+"Better lose nae mair time, Master Frank. I'll say I found ye yon side
+o' T' Elms."
+
+"What has The Elms got to do with it?"
+
+The man grinned.
+
+"Noo, Master Frank, just mount an' be off in front. T' Squire thinks
+ye're efther that black-eyed lass o' Mrs. Saumarez's. Don't try an'
+humbug him. He telt me te lay my huntin'-crop across yer shoulders, but
+that's none o' my business. Off ye go!"
+
+The heir, sulky and in deep tribulation, obeyed. They heard the horse's
+hoofbeats dying away rapidly.
+
+Elsie, an exceedingly nice-mannered girl, was essentially feminine. The
+episode thrilled her, and pleased her, too, in some indefinable way, for
+her companion was holding her tightly.
+
+"Just fancy that!" she whispered.
+
+"Oh, he will only get a hiding."
+
+"But, surely, he could not expect to meet Ang�le?"
+
+"It looks like it. But why should we trouble about it?"
+
+"I think it is horrid. But I must be going. Good-night--Martin."
+
+He felt a gentle effort to loosen his clasp.
+
+"Good-night, Elsie."
+
+Their faces were very close. Assuredly, the boy must have been a trifle
+light-headed that day, for he bent and kissed her.
+
+She tore herself from the encircling arm. Her cheeks were burning. At a
+little distance--a few feet--she halted.
+
+"How dare you?" she cried.
+
+He came to her with hands extended.
+
+"Forgive me, Elsie; I couldn't help it."
+
+"You must never, never do such a thing again."
+
+He had nothing to say.
+
+"Promise!" she cried, but her voice was less emphatic than she imagined.
+
+"I won't," he said, and caught her arm.
+
+"You--won't! How can you say such a thing?"
+
+"Because I like you. I have known you for years, though we never spoke
+to each other until yesterday."
+
+"Oh, dear! This is terrible! You frightened me so! I hope I didn't hurt
+your poor arms?"
+
+"The pain was awful," he laughed.
+
+The girl's heart was beating so frantically that she could almost hear
+its pulsations. The white bandages on Martin's wrists and hands aroused
+a tumult of emotion. The scene in the ghyll flashed before her eyes; she
+saw again the wild struggles of the snarling, tearing, biting animal,
+the boy's cool daring and endurance until he crushed the raging thing's
+life out of it and flung it away contemptuously.
+
+An impulse came to her, and it was not to be repelled. She placed both
+hands on his shoulders and kissed him, quite fearlessly, on the lips.
+
+"I think I owed you that," she said, with a little sob, and then ran
+away in good earnest, never turning her head until she was safe within
+the drawing-room.
+
+Martin, his brain in a whirl and his blood on fire, closed the gate for
+himself. When the vicar came, half an hour later, his daughter was busy
+over the same book.
+
+"What, Elsie! None of the maids home yet?" he cried.
+
+"No, father, dear. But Martin Bolland brought these."
+
+"Oh, our handkerchiefs. What did he say?"
+
+"Nothing--of any importance. I understood that Dr. MacGregor caused the
+linen to be washed, but forgot to ask him why."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"Practically all, except that his arms and hands are all bound up, so I
+went with him as far as the gate. It is stiff, you know. And--yes--he
+has been reading 'Rokeby.' He likes it."
+
+The vicar filled his pipe. He had had a trying day.
+
+"Martin is a fine lad," he said. "I hope John Bolland will see fit to
+educate him. Such a youngster should not be allowed to vegetate in a
+village like this."
+
+"Ah!" said Elsie, "that reminds me. He told me he was going away to
+school."
+
+"Capital!" agreed the vicar. "Out of evil comes good. It required an
+earthquake to move a man like Bolland!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE STORM
+
+
+On the morrow rain fell. At first the village regarded the break in the
+weather as a thunderstorm, and harvesters looked to an early resumption
+of work. "A sup o' wet'll do nowt any harm," they said. But a steadily
+declining "glass" and a continuous downpour that lost nothing in volume
+as the day wore caused increasing headshakes, anxious frowns, revilings
+not a few of the fickle elements.
+
+The moorland becks became raging torrents. The gorged river rose until
+all the low-lying land was flooded, hundreds of pounds' worth of corn in
+stook swept away, and all standing crops were damaged to an enormous
+extent. Cattle, sheep, poultry, even a horse or two, were caught by the
+rushing waters and drowned. A bridge became blocked by floating debris
+and crumbled before the flood. Three men were standing on the structure,
+idly watching the articles whirling past in the eddies; one, given a
+second's firm footing, jumped for dear life and saved himself; the
+bodies of the others were found, many days afterwards, jammed against
+stakes placed in the stream a mile lower down to prevent fish poachers
+from netting an open reach.
+
+This deluge, if indeed aught else were needed, wrecked the Feast. Every
+booth was dismantled, each wagon and caravan packed. The van dwellers
+only ceased their labors when all was in readiness for a move to the
+next fair ground; the Elmsdale week, usually a bright spot in their
+migratory calendar, was marked this year with absolute loss. At the
+best, and in few instances, it yielded a bare payment of expenses.
+
+Farmers, of course, toiled early and late to avert further disaster.
+Stock were driven from pastures where danger threatened; cut corn was
+rescued in the hope that the next day's sun might dry it; choked ditches
+were raked with long hoes to permit the water to flow off.
+
+At last, when night fell, and the rain diminished to a thin drizzle,
+though the barometer gave no promise of improvement, men gathered in the
+village street and began comparing notes. Everyone had suffered in some
+degree; even the shopkeepers and private residents complained of ruined
+goods, gardens rooted up, houses invaded by the all-pervading floods.
+
+But the farmers endured the greatest damage. Some had lost their
+half-year's rent, many would be faced with privation and bankruptcy.
+Thrice fortunate now were the men with capital--those who could look
+forward with equanimity to another season when the wanton havoc
+inflicted by this wild raging of the waters should be recouped.
+
+John Bolland, protected by an oilskin coat, crossed the road between the
+stockyard and the White House about eight o'clock.
+
+"Eh, Mr. Bollan', but this is a sad day's wark," said a friend who
+encountered him.
+
+"Ah, it's bad, very bad, an' likely te be worse," replied John, lifting
+his bent head and casting a weather-wise glance over the northerly moor.
+
+"I've lost t' best part o' six acres o' wuts," (oats) growled his
+neighbor. "It's hard to know what spite there was in t' clouds te burst
+i' that way."
+
+"Times an' seasons aren't i' man's hands," was the quiet answer.
+"There'd be ill deed if sunshine an' storm were settled by voates, like
+a county-council election."
+
+"Mebbe, and mebbe nut," cried the other testily. "'Tis easy to leave
+ivvrything te Providence when yer money's mostly i' stock. Mine happens
+te be i' crops."
+
+"An' if mine were i' crops, Mr. Pattison, I sud still thry te desarve
+well o' Providence."
+
+This shrewd thrust evoked no wrath from Pattison, who was not a
+chapel-goer.
+
+"Gosh!" he laughed, "some folks are lucky. They pile up riches both i'
+this wulld an' t' wulld te come. Hooivver, we won't argy. Hev ye heerd
+t' news fra' te t' 'Black Lion'?"
+
+"Aboot poor George Pickerin'? Noa. I've bin ower thrang i' t' cow-byre."
+
+"He's married, an' med his will. Betsy is Mrs. Pickerin' noo. But she'll
+be a widdy afore t' mornin'."
+
+"Is he as bad as all that?"
+
+"Sinkin' fast, they tell me. He kep' up, like the game 'un he allus was,
+until Mr. Croft left him alone wi' his wife. Then he fell away te nowt.
+He's ravin', I hear."
+
+"Croft! I thowt Stockwell looked efther his affairs."
+
+"Right enough! But Stockwell's ya (one) trustee, Mr. Herbert's t' other.
+So Croft had te act."
+
+"Well, I'm rale sorry for t' poor chap. He's coom tiv a bad end."
+
+"Ye'll be t' foreman o' t' jury, most like?"
+
+"Noa. I'll be spared that job. Martin is a witness, more's t' pity.
+Good-night, Mr. Pattison. It'll hu't none if y' are minded te offer up a
+prayer for betther weather."
+
+But the prayers of many just men did not avail to save Elmsdale that
+night. After a brief respite, the storm came on again with gusty
+malevolence. Black despair sat by many a fireside, and in no place was
+its grim visage seen more plainly than in the bedroom where George
+Pickering died.
+
+Dr. MacGregor watched the fitful flickering of the strong man's life,
+until, at last, he led the afflicted wife from the room and consigned
+her to the care of her weeping sister and the hardly less sorrowful
+landlady.
+
+At the foot of the stairs were waiting P. C. Benson and the reporter of
+the _Messenger_.
+
+"It is all over," said the doctor. "He died at a quarter past ten."
+
+"The same hour that he was--wounded," commented the reporter. "What was
+the precise cause of death?"
+
+"Failure of the heart's action. It was a merciful release. Otherwise, he
+might have survived for days and suffered greatly."
+
+The policeman adjusted his cape and lowered his chin-strap.
+
+"I mun start for Nottonby," he said. "T' inquest'll likely be oppenned
+o' Satherday at two o'clock, doctor."
+
+"Yes. By the way, Benson, you can tell Mr. Jonas that the county analyst
+and I are ready with our evidence. There is no need for an adjournment,
+unless the police require it."
+
+The constable saluted and set off on a lonely tramp through the rain. He
+crossed the footbridge over the beck--the water was nearly level with
+the stout planks.
+
+"I haven't seen a wilder night for monny a year," he muttered. "There'll
+be a nice how-d'ye-do if t' brig is gone afore daylight."
+
+He trudged the four miles to Nottonby. Nearing the outskirts of the
+small market town, he was startled by finding the body of a man lying
+face down in the roadway. The pelting gale had extinguished his lamp. He
+managed to turn the prostrate form and raise the man's head. Then, after
+several failures, he induced a match to flare for a second. One glance
+sufficed.
+
+"Rabbit Jack!" he growled. "And blind as a bat! Get up, ye drunken
+swine. 'Twould be sarvin' ye right te lave ye i' the road until ye were
+runned over or caught yer death o' cold."
+
+From the manner of P. C. Benson's language it may be inferred that his
+actions were not characterized by extreme gentleness. He managed to
+shake the poacher into semi-consciousness. Rabbit Jack, wobbling on his
+feet, lurched against the policeman.
+
+"Hello, ole fell', coom along wi' me," he mumbled amiably. "Nivver mind
+t' brass. I've got plenty. Good soart, George Pickerin'. Gimme me a
+sov', 'e did. Fo-or, 'e's a jolly good feller----"
+
+A further shaking was disastrous. He collapsed again. The perplexed
+policeman noted a haymew behind a neighboring gate. He dragged the
+nondescript thither by the scruff of his neck and threw him on the lee
+side of the shelter.
+
+"He'll be sober by mornin'," he thought. "I hev overmuch thrubble aboot
+te tew mysen wi' this varmint."
+
+And so ended the first of the dead man's bequests.
+
+The gathering of a jury in a country village for an important inquest
+like that occasioned by George Pickering's death is a solemn function.
+Care is exercised in empaneling men of repute, and, in the present
+instance, several prominent farmers were debarred from service because
+their children would be called as witnesses.
+
+The inquest was held, by permission, in the National schoolhouse. No
+room in the inn would accommodate a tithe of the people who wished to
+attend. Many journalists put in an appearance, the _Messenger_
+reporter's paragraphs having attracted widespread attention.
+
+It was noteworthy, too, that Superintendent Jonas did not conduct the
+case for the police. He obtained the aid of a solicitor, Mr. Dane, with
+whom the coroner, Dr. Magnus, drove from Nottonby in a closed carriage,
+for the rain had not ceased, save during very brief intervals, since the
+outbreak on Thursday morning.
+
+The jury, having been sworn, elected Mr. Webster, grocer, as their
+foreman, and proceeded to view the body. When they reassembled in the
+schoolroom it was seen that Betsy, now Mrs. Pickering, was seated next
+her sister. With them were two old people whom a few persons present
+recognized as the girls' parents, and by Betsy's side was Mr. Stockwell.
+Among the crowd of witnesses were Martin, Frank and Ernest
+Beckett-Smythe, and Ang�le.
+
+The mortification, the angry dismay of Mrs. Saumarez when her daughter
+was warned to attend the inquest may well be imagined. The police are no
+respecters of persons, and P. C. Benson, of course, ascertained easily
+the name of the girl concerning whom Martin and young Beckett-Smythe
+fought on the eventful night. She might be an important witness, so her
+mother was told to send her to the court.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez disdained to accompany the girl in person, and Fran�oise
+was deputed to act as convoy. The Normandy nurse's white linen bands
+offered a quaint contrast to the black robes worn by the other women and
+gave material for a descriptive sentence to every journalist in the
+room.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe, the vicar, Dr. MacGregor, and the county analyst
+occupied chairs beside the Coroner. The latter gentleman described the
+nature of the inquiry with businesslike brevity, committing himself to
+no statements save those that were obvious. When he concluded, Mr. Dane
+rose.
+
+"I appear for the police," he said.
+
+"And I," said Mr. Stockwell, "am here to watch the interests of Mrs.
+Pickering, having received her husband's written instructions to that
+effect."
+
+A deep hush fell on the packed assembly. The curious nature of the
+announcement was a surprise in itself. The reporters' pencils were busy,
+and the Coroner adjusted his spectacles.
+
+"The written instructions of the dead man?" he exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, sir. My friend, my lifelong friend, Mr. George Pickering, was but
+too well aware of the fate that threatened him. I have here a letter,
+written and signed by him on Thursday morning. With your permission, I
+will read it."
+
+"I object," cried Mr. Dane.
+
+"On what grounds?" asked the Coroner.
+
+"Such a letter may have a prejudicial effect on the minds of the jury.
+They are here to determine, with your direction, a verdict to be arrived
+at on certain evidence. This letter cannot be regarded as evidence."
+
+Mr. Stockwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I do not press the point," he said. "I fail to see any harm in showing
+a husband's anxiety that his wife should be cleared of absurd
+imputations."
+
+Mr. Dane reddened.
+
+"I consider that a highly improper remark," he cried.
+
+The other only smiled. He had won the first round. The jury knew what
+the letter contained, and he had placed the case for the police in an
+unfavorable light.
+
+The first witness, Pickering's farm bailiff, gave formal evidence of
+identity.
+
+Then the Coroner read the dead man's deposition, which was attested by
+the local justice of the peace. Dr. Magnus rendered the document
+impressively. Its concluding appeal to the Deity turned all eyes on
+Betsy. She was pale, but composed. Since her husband's death she had
+cried but little. Her mute grief rendered her beautiful. Sorrow had
+given dignity to a pretty face. She was so white, so unmoved outwardly,
+that she resembled a clothed statue. Kitty wept quietly all the time,
+but Betsy sat like one in a dream.
+
+"Catherine Thwaites," said the Coroner's officer, and Kitty was led by
+Mr. Jones to the witness stand. The girl's evidence, punctuated by
+sobs, was practically a r�sum� of Pickering's sworn statement.
+
+From Mr. Dane's attitude it was apparent that he regarded this witness
+as untruthful.
+
+"Of course," he said, with quiet satire in word and look, "as Mr.
+Pickering impaled himself on a fork, you did not see your sister plunge
+a knife into his breast?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Nor did you run down the garden shrieking: 'Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you've
+killed him.' You did not cry 'Murder, murder! Come, someone, for God's
+sake'?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did."
+
+This unexpected admission puzzled the solicitor. He darted a sharp side
+glance at Stockwell, but the latter was busy scribbling notes. Every
+pulse in court quickened.
+
+"Oh, you did, eh? But why charge your sister with a crime you did not
+see her commit?"
+
+"Because she had a knife in her hand, and I saw Mr. Pickering stagger
+across the garden and fall."
+
+"In what direction did he stagger?"
+
+"Away from the stackyard hedge."
+
+"This is a serious matter. You are on your oath, and there is such a
+thing as being an accessory after----"
+
+Up sprang Stockwell.
+
+"I protest most strongly against this witness being threatened," he
+shouted.
+
+"I think Mr. Dane is entitled to warn the witness against false
+testimony," said the Coroner. "Of course, he knows the grave
+responsibility attached to such insinuations."
+
+Mr. Dane waved an emphatic hand.
+
+"I require no threats," he said. "I have evidence in plenty. Do you
+swear that Mr. Pickering did not lurch forward from beneath the pear
+tree at the foot of the garden after being stabbed by your sister, who
+surprised him in your arms, or you in his arms? It is the same thing."
+
+"I do," was the prompt answer.
+
+The lawyer sat down, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"Any questions to put to the witness, Mr. Stockwell?" said the Coroner.
+
+"No, sir. I regard her evidence as quite clear."
+
+"Will you--er--does your client Mrs. Pickering wish to give evidence?"
+
+"My client--she is not my client of her own volition, but by the
+definite instructions of her dead husband--will certainly give evidence.
+May I express the hope that my learned friend will not deal with her too
+harshly? She is hardly in a fit state to appear here to-day."
+
+Mr. Dane smiled cynically, but made no reply. He declined to help his
+adversary's adroit maneuvers by fiery opposition, though again had Mr.
+Stockwell succeeded in playing a trump card.
+
+Betsy was duly warned by the Coroner that she might be charged with the
+wilful murder of George Pickering, notwithstanding the sworn deposition
+read in court. She could exercise her own judgment as to whether or not
+she would offer testimony, but anything she said would be taken down in
+writing, and might be used as evidence against her.
+
+She never raised her eyes. Not even those terrible words, "wilful
+murder," had power to move her. She stood like an automaton, and seemed
+to await permission to speak.
+
+"Now, Mrs. Pickering," said Dr. Magnus, "tell us, in your own words,
+what happened."
+
+She began her story. No one could fail to perceive that she was reciting
+a narrative learnt by heart. She used no words in the vernacular. All
+was good English, coherent, simple, straightforward. On the Monday
+morning, she said, she received a letter at Hereford from Fred Marshall,
+ostler at the "Black Lion Hotel."
+
+"Have you that letter?" asked the Coroner.
+
+"Yes," interposed Mr. Stockwell. "Here it is."
+
+He handed forward a document. A buzz of whispered comment arose. In
+compliance with Dr. Magnus's request, Betsy identified it listlessly.
+Then it was read aloud. Apart from mistakes in spelling, it ran as
+follows:
+
+     "Dear Miss Thwaites.--This is to let you know that George Pickering
+     is carrying on with your sister Kitty. He has promised to meet her
+     here on Monday. He has engaged a bedroom here. You ought to come
+     and stop it. I inclose P.O. for one pound toward your fare.--Yours
+     truly, Fred Marshall, groom, 'Black Lion,' Elmsdale."
+
+The fact that this meddlesome personage had sent Betsy her railway fare
+became known now for the first time. A hiss writhed through the court.
+
+"Silence!" yelled a police sergeant, glaring around with steely eyes.
+
+"There must be no demonstrations of any sort here," said the Coroner
+sternly. "Well, Mrs. Pickering, you traveled to Elmsdale?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"With what purpose in view?"
+
+"George had promised to marry me. Kitty knew this quite well. I thought
+that my presence would put an end to any courtship that was going on. It
+was very wrong."
+
+"None will dispute that. But I prefer not to question you. Tell us your
+own story."
+
+"I traveled all day," she recommenced, "and reached Elmsdale station by
+the last train. I was very tired. At the door of the inn I met Fred
+Marshall. He was waiting, I suppose. He told me George and Kitty were at
+the bottom of the garden."
+
+A quiver ran through the audience, but the police sergeant was watching,
+and they feared expulsion.
+
+"He said they had been there ten minutes. I ran through the hotel
+kitchen. On a table was lying a long knife near a dish of grouse. I
+picked it up, hardly knowing what I was doing, and went into the garden.
+When I was halfway down Kitty saw me and screamed. George turned round
+and backed away toward the middle hedge. I remember crying
+out--some--things--but I do not--know--what I said."
+
+She swayed slightly, and everyone thought she was about to faint. But
+she clutched the back of a chair and steadied herself. Mr. Jones offered
+her a glass of water, but she refused it.
+
+"I can go on," she said bravely.
+
+And she persevered to the end, substantially repeating her sister's
+evidence.
+
+When Mr. Dane rose to cross-examine, the silence in court was appalling.
+The girl's parents were pallid with fear. Kitty sat spellbound. Mr.
+Stockwell pushed his papers away and gazed fixedly at his client.
+
+"Why did you pick up the knife, Mrs. Pickering?" was the first question.
+
+"I think--I am almost sure--I intended to strike my sister with it."
+
+This was another bombshell. Mr. Dane moved uneasily on his feet.
+
+"Your sister!" he repeated in amazement.
+
+"Yes. She was aware of my circumstances. What right had she to be
+flirting with my promised husband?"
+
+"Hum! You have forgiven her since, no doubt?"
+
+"I forgave her then, when I regained my senses. She was acting
+thoughtlessly. I believe that George and she went into the garden only
+to spite Fred Marshall."
+
+Mr. Dane shook his head.
+
+"So, if we accept your statement, Mrs. Pickering, you harmed no one with
+the knife except yourself?"
+
+"That is so."
+
+He seemed to hesitate a moment, but seemingly made up his mind to leave
+the evidence where it stood.
+
+"I shall not detain you long," said Mr. Stockwell when his legal
+opponent desisted from further cross-examination. "You were married to
+Mr. Pickering on Thursday morning by special license?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He had executed a marriage settlement securing you �400 a year for
+life?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And, after the accident, you remained with him until he died?"
+
+"Yes--God help me!"
+
+"Thank you. That is all."
+
+"Just one moment," interposed the Coroner. "Were you previously
+acquainted with this man, Marshall, the groom?"
+
+"No, sir. I saw him for the first time in my life when he met me at the
+hotel door and asked me if I was Miss Thwaites."
+
+"How did he obtain your Hereford address? It appears to be given in full
+on the envelope."
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+Fred Marshall was the next witness. He was sober and exceedingly
+nervous. He had been made aware during the past week that public opinion
+condemned him utterly. His old cronies refused to drink with him. Mrs.
+Atkinson had dismissed him; he was a pariah, an outcast, in the village.
+
+His evidence consisted of a disconnected series of insinuations against
+Kitty's character, interlarded with protests that he meant no harm. Mr.
+Stockwell showed him scant mercy.
+
+"You say you saw Mrs. Pickering, or Betsy Thwaites, as she was at that
+time, seize a knife from the table?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"What did you think she meant to do with it?"
+
+"What she did do--stick George Pickerin'. I heerd her bawlin' that oot
+both afore an' efther."
+
+The man was desperate. In his own parlance, he might as well be hanged
+for a sheep as a lamb, and he would spare no one.
+
+"Oh, indeed! You knew she intended to commit murder?"
+
+"I thowt so."
+
+"Then why did you not follow her?"
+
+"I was skeered."
+
+"What! Afraid of a weak woman?"
+
+"Well, I didn't give a damn if she did stab him! There, ye hev it
+straight!"
+
+Mr. Stockwell turned to Mr. Dane.
+
+"If you are looking for accessories in this trumped-up case, you have
+one ready to hand," he exclaimed.
+
+"You must be careful what you are saying, Marshall," observed the
+Coroner severely. "And moderate your language, too. This court is not a
+stable."
+
+"He shouldn't badger me," cried the witness in sullen anger.
+
+"I'll treat you with great tenderness," said Mr. Stockwell suavely, and
+a general smile relieved the tension.
+
+"How did you obtain Miss Thwaites's address at Hereford?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Come, now. Where are your wits? Will you accuse me of badgering you, if
+I suggest that you stole a letter from Kitty Thwaites's pocket?"
+
+"I didn't steal it. It was in a frock of hers, hangin' in her bedroom."
+
+"You are most obliging. And the sovereign you sent her? Did you, by any
+chance, borrow it from Mrs. Atkinson?"
+
+"Frae Mrs. Atkinson? Whe� said that?"
+
+"Oh, I mean without her knowledge, of course. From Mrs. Atkinson's till,
+I should have said."
+
+The chance shot went home. The miserable groom growled a denial, but no
+one believed him. Quite satisfied that he had destroyed the man's
+credibility, Mr. Stockwell sat down.
+
+"Martin Court Bolland!" said the Coroner's officer, and a wave of
+renewed interest galvanized the court. Mr. Dane arranged his papers and
+looked around with the air of one who says:
+
+"Now we shall hear the truth of this business."
+
+Martin came forward. It chanced that the first pair of eyes he
+encountered were Ang�le's. The girl was gazing at him with a spiteful
+intensity he could not understand. He did not know then of the painful
+expos� which took place at The Elms when Mrs. Saumarez learnt on the
+preceding day that her daughter was a leading figure among the children
+in the "Black Lion" yard on the night of the tragedy.
+
+Ang�le blamed Martin for having betrayed her to the authorities. She did
+not know how resolutely he had declined to mention her name; he loomed
+large in her mind, to the exclusion of the others.
+
+She regarded him now with a venomous malice all the more bitter because
+of the ultra-friendly relations she had forced on him.
+
+He looked at her with genuine astonishment. She reminded him of the
+wildcat he choked to death in Thor ghyll. But he had to collect his
+wandering faculties, for the Coroner was speaking.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE UNWRITTEN LAW
+
+
+Martin's evidence was concise. He happened to be in the "Black Lion"
+yard with other children at a quarter past ten on Monday night. He heard
+a woman's scream, followed by a man's loud cry of pain, and both sounds
+seemed to come from the extreme end of the garden.
+
+Kitty Thwaites ran toward the hotel shrieking, "Oh, Betsy, Betsy,
+you've killed him!" She screamed "Murder" and called for someone to
+come, "for God's sake!" She fell exactly opposite the place where he
+was standing. Then he saw Betsy Thwaites--he identified her now as
+Mrs. Pickering--running after her sister and brandishing a knife. She
+appeared to be very excited, and cried out, "I'll swing for him. May
+the Lord deal wi' him as he dealt wi' me!" She called her sister a
+"strumpet," and said it would "serve her right to stick her with the
+same knife." He was quite sure those were the exact words. He was not
+alarmed in any way, only surprised by the sudden uproar, and he saw
+the two women and the knife as plainly as if it were broad daylight.
+
+Mr. Dane concluded the examination-in-chief, which he punctuated with
+expressive glances at the jury, by touching on a point which he expected
+his acute rival to raise.
+
+"What were you doing in the 'Black Lion' yard at that hour, Bolland?"
+
+"I was having a dispute with Master Frank Beckett-Smythe."
+
+"What sort of a dispute?"
+
+"Well, we were fighting."
+
+A grin ran through the court.
+
+"He is an intelligent boy and older than you. Can you suggest any reason
+why he should have failed to see and hear all that you saw and heard?"
+
+Martin paused. He disliked to pose as a vainglorious pugilist, but there
+was no help for it.
+
+"I got the better of him," he said quietly. "One, at least, of his eyes
+were closed, and I had just given him an uppercut on the nose."
+
+"But his brother was there, too?"
+
+"Master Ernest was looking after him."
+
+"How about the other children?"
+
+"They ran away."
+
+"All of them?"
+
+"Well, nearly all. I can only speak for myself, sir. No doubt the others
+will tell you what they saw."
+
+Obviously, Mr. Dane was unprepared for the cool self-possession
+displayed by this farmer's son. He nodded acquiescence with Martin's
+views and sat down.
+
+Mr. Stockwell, watching the boy narrowly, had caught the momentary gleam
+of surprise when his look encountered that of the pretty dark-eyed child
+whose fashionable attire distinguished her from the village urchins
+among whom she was sitting.
+
+"By the way," he began, "why do you call yourself Bolland?"
+
+"That is my name, sir."
+
+"Are you John Bolland's son?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Then whose son are you?"
+
+"I do not know. My father and mother adopted me thirteen years ago."
+
+The lawyer gathered by the expression on the stolid faces of the jury
+that this line of inquiry would be fruitless.
+
+"What was the cause of the fight between you and young Beckett-Smythe?"
+
+This was the signal for an interruption from the jury. Mr. Webster, the
+foreman, did not wish any slight to be placed on Mrs. Saumarez. The
+upshot might be that he would lose a good customer. The Squire dealt at
+the Stores. Let him protect his own children. But Mrs. Saumarez needed a
+champion.
+
+"May I ask, sir," he said to the Coroner, "what a bit of a row atween
+youngsters hez te do wi' t' case?"
+
+"Nothing that I can see," was the answer.
+
+"It has a highly important bearing," put in Mr. Stockwell. "If my
+information is correct, this witness is the only one whose evidence
+connects Mrs. Pickering even remotely with the injuries received by her
+husband. I assume, of course, that Marshall's testimony is not worth a
+straw. I shall endeavor to elicit facts that may tend to prove the boy's
+statements unreliable."
+
+"I cannot interfere with your discretion, Mr. Stockwell," was the
+ruling.
+
+"Now, answer my question," cried the lawyer.
+
+Martin's brown eyes flashed back indignantly.
+
+"We fought because I wished to take a young lady home, and he tried to
+prevent me."
+
+"A young lady! What young lady?"
+
+"I refuse to mention her name. You asked why we fought, and I've told
+you."
+
+"Why this squeamishness, my young squire of dames? Was it not Ang�le
+Saumarez?"
+
+Martin turned to the Coroner.
+
+"Must I reply, sir?"
+
+"Yes.... I fail still to see the drift of the cross-examination, Mr.
+Stockwell."
+
+"It will become apparent quickly. Yes, or no, Bolland?"
+
+"Yes; it was."
+
+"Was she committed to your care by her mother?"
+
+"No. She came out to see the fair. I promised to look after her."
+
+"Were you better fitted to protect this child than the two sons of Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe?"
+
+"I thought so."
+
+"From what evil influences, then, was it necessary to rescue her?"
+
+"That's not a fair way to put it. It was too late for her to be out."
+
+"When did you discover this undeniable fact?"
+
+"Just then."
+
+"Not when you were taking her through the fair in lordly style?"
+
+"No. There was no harm in the shows, and I realized the time only when
+the clock struck ten."
+
+Every adult listener nodded approval. The adroit lawyer saw that he was
+merely strengthening the jury's good opinion of the boy. He must strike
+hard and unmercifully if he would shake their belief in Martin's good
+faith.
+
+"There were several other children there--a boy named Bates, another
+named Beadlam, Mrs. Atkinson's three girls, and others?"
+
+"Bates was with me. The others were in the yard."
+
+"Ah, yes; they had left you a few minutes earlier. Now, is it not a fact
+that these children, and you with them, had gone to this hiding-place to
+escape being caught by your seniors?"
+
+"No; it is a lie."
+
+"Is that your honest belief? Do you swear it?"
+
+"I shirked nothing. Neither did the others. Hundreds of people saw us.
+As for Miss Saumarez, I think she went there for a lark more than
+anything else."
+
+"A questionable sort of lark. It is amazing to hear of respectable
+children being out at such an hour. Did your parents--did the parents of
+any of the others realize what was going on?"
+
+"I think not. The whole thing was an accident."
+
+"But, surely, there must be some adequate explanation of this fight
+between you and Beckett-Smythe. It was no mere scuffle, but a severe
+set-to. He bears even yet the marks of the encounter."
+
+Master Frank was supremely uncomfortable when the united gaze of the
+court was thus directed to him. His right eye was discolored, as all
+might see, but his nose was normal.
+
+"I have told you the exact truth. I wished her to go home----"
+
+"Did she wish it?"
+
+"She meant to tease me, and said she would remain. Frank Beckett-Smythe
+and I agreed to fight, and settle whether she should go or stay."
+
+"So you ask us to believe that not only did you engage in a bout of
+fisticuffs in order to convoy to her home a girl already hours too late
+abroad, but that you alone, of all these children, can give us a correct
+version of occurrences on the other side of the hedge?"
+
+"I don't remember asking you that, sir," said Martin seriously, and the
+court laughed.
+
+Mr. Stockwell betrayed a little heat.
+
+"You know well what I mean," he said. "You are a clever boy. Are you not
+depending on your imagination for some of your facts?"
+
+"I wish I were, sir," was the sorrowful answer.
+
+Quite unconsciously, Martin looked at Betsy. Some magnetic influence
+caused her to raise her eyes for the first time, and each gazed into the
+soul of the other.
+
+Mr. Stockwell covered his retreat by an assumption of indifference.
+
+"Fortunately, there is a host of witnesses to be heard in regard to
+these particular events," he exclaimed, and Martin's inquisition ceased.
+
+The superintendent whispered something to Mr. Dane, who rose.
+
+"A great deal has been made out of this quarrel about a little girl," he
+said to the boy. "Is it not the fact that you have endeavored
+consistently to keep her name out of the affair altogether?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because Mrs. Saumarez is only a visitor here, and her daughter could
+not know anything of village ways. I was mostly to blame for allowing
+her to be there at all, so I tried to take it onto my shoulders."
+
+It was interesting to note how Ang�le received this statement. Her black
+eyes became tearful. Her hero was rehabilitated. She worshiped him again
+passionately. Someone else had peached. She brushed away the tears and
+darted a quick look at the Squire's eldest son.
+
+He was the next witness. He saw George Pickering and Kitty go down the
+garden, the man's arm being around Kitty's neck. Then he fought with
+Martin. Afterwards he heard some screaming, but could not tell a word
+that was said--he was too dazed.
+
+"Is it not possible the hubbub was too confused that you should gain any
+intelligible idea of it?" asked Mr. Stockwell.
+
+"Yes, that might be so."
+
+"You are a bigger boy than young Bolland. Surely he could not pummel the
+wits out of you?"
+
+"I don't think he will next time. He caught me a stinger by chance."
+
+A roar of laughter greeted this candid confession of future intentions.
+Even Mr. Beckett-Smythe and the vicar joined in.
+
+"Why did you wish to keep this girl, Ang�le Saumarez, away from her
+residence?"
+
+"She's a jolly sort of girl, and I think we were all a bit off our
+heads," said Frank ruefully.
+
+"But you had some motive, some design. Remember, you fought to retain
+her."
+
+"I wish I hadn't," said the boy, glancing at his father. His most
+active memory was of a certain painful interview on Wednesday night.
+
+"_You_ were not groggy on your legs," was Mr. Stockwell's first remark
+to Ernest. "What did you hear or see beyond the garden hedge?"
+
+"There was a lot of yelling, and two women ran toward the hotel. The
+woman with a knife was threatening to stick it into somebody, but I
+couldn't tell who."
+
+"Ah. She was running after the other woman. Don't you think she might
+have been threatening her only?"
+
+"It certainly looked like it."
+
+"Can't you help us by being more definite?"
+
+"No. Frank was asking for a pump. I was thinking of that more than of
+the beastly row in the garden."
+
+He was dismissed.
+
+"Ang�le Saumarez."
+
+The strangers present surveyed the girl with expectant interest. She
+looked a delightfully innocent child. She was attired in the dark dress
+she wore on the Monday evening. Her hat, gloves, and shoes were in
+perfect taste. No personality could be more oddly at variance with a
+village brawl than this delicate, gossamer, fairy-like little mortal.
+
+She gave her evidence without constraint or shyness. Her pretty
+continental accent enhanced the charm of her manners. In no sense
+forward, she won instant approbation, and the general view was that she
+had drifted into an unpleasant predicament by sheer force of
+circumstances. The mere love of fun brought her out to see the fair, and
+her presence in the stackyard was accounted for by a girlish delight in
+setting boys at loggerheads.
+
+But she helped the police contention by declaring that she heard Betsy
+say:
+
+"I'll swing for him."
+
+"I remember," she said sweetly, "wondering what she meant. To swing for
+anybody! That is odd."
+
+"Might it not have been 'for her' and not 'for him'?" suggested Mr.
+Stockwell.
+
+"Oh, yes," agreed Ang�le. "I wouldn't be sure about that. They talk
+queerly, these people. I am certain about the 'swing'."
+
+Really, there never was a more simple little maid.
+
+"You must never again go out at night to such places," remarked the
+Coroner paternally.
+
+She cast down her eyes.
+
+"Mamma was very angry," she simpered. "I have been kept at home for days
+and days on account of it."
+
+She glanced at Martin. That explanation was intended for him. As a
+matter of fact, Mr. Beckett-Smythe called at The Elms on Thursday
+morning and told Mrs. Saumarez that her child needed more control. He
+had thrashed Frank soundly the previous evening for riding off to a
+rendezvous fixed with Ang�le for nine o'clock. He whispered this
+information to Mr. Herbert, and the vicar's eyes opened wide.
+
+The other non-professional witnesses, children and adults, did not
+advance the inquiry materially. Many heard Kitty shrieking that her
+sister had murdered George Pickering, but Kitty herself had admitted
+saying so under a misapprehension.
+
+P. C. Benson raised an important point. The pitchfork was first
+mentioned about eleven o'clock, when Mr. Pickering was able to talk
+coherently, after being laid on a bed and drinking some brandy. Neither
+of the two women had spoken of it. And there were footprints that did
+not bear out the movements described in the dead man's deposition.
+
+"But Mr. Pickering's first lucid thought referred to this implement?"
+said Mr. Stockwell.
+
+"Ne�body was holdin' him, sir."
+
+The policeman imagined the lawyer had said "loosened."
+
+"I mean that the first account he ever gave of this accident referred to
+the pitchfork, and his subsequent statements were to the same effect."
+
+"Oah, yes. There's no denyin' that."
+
+"And you found the fork lying exactly where he described its position?"
+
+"Why, yes; but he was a desp'rate lang time i' studdyin' t' matter oot
+afore he's speak."
+
+"Do you suggest that someone placed the fork there by his instructions?"
+
+"Noa, sir. Most like he'd seen it there hissen."
+
+"Then why do you refuse to accept his statement that an accident took
+place?"
+
+"Because I f'und his footprints where he ran across t' garden te t' spot
+where he was picked up."
+
+"Footprints! After a month of fine weather!"
+
+"It was soft mold, sir, an' they were plain enough."
+
+"Were not a dozen men running about this garden at twenty minutes past
+ten?"
+
+"Ay--quite that."
+
+"And you tell us coolly that you could distinguish those of one man?"
+
+"There was on'y one man's track i' that ple�ce, sir."
+
+Benson was not to be flurried. Mr. Jonas and a police sergeant
+corroborated his opinion.
+
+Dr. MacGregor followed. He described Pickering's wound, the nature of
+his illness, and the cause of death. The stab itself was not of a fatal
+character. Had it diverged slightly it must have reached the lung. As it
+was, the poison, not the knife, had done the mischief.
+
+The county analyst was scientifically dogmatic. His analyses had been
+conducted with the utmost care. The knife was contaminated, the
+pitchfork was only rusty. The latter was a dangerous implement, but in
+no way responsible for the state of Pickering's blood corpuscles.
+
+Mr. Dane, of course, made the most of these witnesses, but Mr. Stockwell
+wisely forbore from pressing them, and thus hammering the main items
+again into the heads of the jury.
+
+The Coroner glanced at his watch. It was six o'clock. Neither of the
+solicitors was permitted to address the court, and he made up his mind
+to conclude the inquiry forthwith.
+
+"There is one matter which might be cleared up," he said. "Where is
+Marshall, the groom?"
+
+It was discovered that the man had left the court half an hour ago. He
+had not returned. P.C. Benson was sent to find him. The two came back in
+five minutes. Their arrival was heralded by loud shouts and laughter
+outside. When they entered the schoolroom Marshall presented a
+ludicrous spectacle. He was dripping wet, and not from rain, for his
+clothes were covered with slime and mud.
+
+It transpired that he had gone to a public house for a pint of beer.
+Several men and youths who could not gain admittance to the court took
+advantage of the absence of the police and amused themselves by ducking
+him in a convenient horse pond.
+
+The Coroner, having expressed his official annoyance at the incident,
+asked the shivering man if he followed Betsy into the garden.
+
+No; he saw her go out through the back door.
+
+"Then the threats you heard were uttered while she was in the passage of
+the hotel or in the kitchen?"
+
+Yes; that was so.
+
+"It is noteworthy," said the Coroner, "that none of the children heard
+this young woman going toward the couple. She must have run swiftly and
+silently down the path, and the witnesses were so absorbed in the fight
+that she passed them unheard and unseen."
+
+Mr. Stockwell frowned. If this gave any indication of the Coroner's
+summing-up, it was not favorable to his client.
+
+Dr. Magnus showed at once that he meant to cast aside all sentimental
+considerations and adhere solely to the judicial elements. He treated
+George Pickering's deposition with all respect, but pointed out that the
+dying man might be actuated by the desire to make atonement to the woman
+he had wronged. The human mind was capable of strange vagaries. A man
+who would slight, or, at any rate, be indifferent, to one of the
+opposite sex, when far removed from personal contact, was often swayed
+by latent ties of affection when brought face to face with the woman
+herself.
+
+In a word, the Coroner threw all his weight on the side of the police
+and against Betsy. He regarded Fred Marshall and young Bolland as
+truthful witnesses, though inspired by different motives, and deemed the
+medical evidence conclusive.
+
+Betsy sat sphinx-like through this ordeal. Her unhappy parents, and even
+more unhappy sister, were profoundly distressed, and Stockwell watched
+the jury keenly as each damning point against his client was emphasized.
+
+"The law is quite clear in affairs of this kind," concluded Dr. Magnus
+gravely. "Either this unfortunate man was murdered, in which event your
+verdict can only take one form, or he met with an accident. Most
+fortunately, the last word does not rest with this court, or it would be
+impossible to close the inquiry to-day. The deceased himself raised a
+pertinent question: Why did his wife escape blood-poisoning, although he
+became infected? But the solicitors present apparently concur with me
+that this is a matter which must be determined elsewhere----"
+
+"No, no," broke in Mr. Stockwell. "I admit nothing of the sort."
+
+The Coroner bowed.
+
+"You have the benefit of my opinion, gentlemen," he said to the jury.
+"You must retire now and consider your verdict."
+
+The jury filed out into a classroom, an unusual proceeding, but highly
+expedient in an inquiry of such importance. Tongues were loosened
+instantly, and a hum of talk arose, while the witnesses signed their
+recorded statements. Kitty endeavored to arouse her sister from the
+condition of stupor in which she remained, and the girl's mother placed
+an arm around her shoulders. But Betsy paid little heed. Her mind dwelt
+on one object only--a sheet-covered form, lying cold and inanimate in a
+room of the neighboring hotel.
+
+Ang�le sidled toward Martin when a movement in court permitted.
+Fran�oise would have restrained her, but the child slid along a bench so
+quickly that the nurse's protest came too late.
+
+"Martin," she whispered, "you behaved beautifully. I was so angry with
+you at first. But it was not you. I know now. Evelyn Atkinson told."
+
+"I wish it had never happened," said the boy bitterly. He hated the
+notion that his evidence was the strongest link in the chain encircling
+the hapless Betsy.
+
+"Oh, I don't find it bad, this court. One is all pins and needles at
+first. But the men are nice."
+
+"I am not thinking of ourselves," he growled.
+
+"Tiens! Of whom, then?"
+
+"Ang�le, you're awfully selfish. What have we to endure, compared with
+poor Mrs. Pickering?"
+
+"Oh, pouf! That is her affair. Mamma beat me on Thursday. Beat me, look
+you! But I made her stop, oh, so quickly. Miss Walker pretends that
+mamma was ill. I know better, and so do you. I said if she hit me
+again----"
+
+He caught her wrist.
+
+"Shut up!" he said in a firm whisper.
+
+"Don't. You are hurting me. Why are you so horrid? Do you want me to be
+beaten?"
+
+"No; but how can you dare threaten your mother?"
+
+"I would dare anything rather than be kept in the house--away from you."
+
+Frank Beckett-Smythe, sitting near his father, was wondering dully why
+he had been such a fool as to incur severe penalties for the sake of
+this "silly kid," who was now ogling his rival and whispering coyly in
+that rival's ear. Martin was welcome to her, for all he cared. No girl
+was worth the uneasiness of the chair he occupied, for his father's
+hunting-crop had fallen with such emphasis that he felt the bruises yet.
+
+The jury returned. They had been absent half an hour. Mr. Webster was
+flustered--that was perceptible instantly. He, as foreman, had to
+deliver the finding.
+
+"Have you agreed as to your verdict?" said the Coroner.
+
+"We have."
+
+"And it is?"
+
+"Not guilty!"
+
+"What are you talking about? This is not a criminal court. You are asked
+to determine how George Pickering met his death."
+
+"I beg pardon," stammered Mr. Webster. He turned anxiously to his
+colleagues. Some of them prompted him.
+
+"I mean," he went on, "that our verdict is 'Accidental death.' That's
+it, sir. 'Accidental death,' I should hev said. Mr. Pickerin's own
+words----"
+
+The Coroner frowned.
+
+"It is an amazing verdict," he said. "I feel it my bounden duty----"
+
+Mr. Stockwell, pale but determined, sprang to his feet.
+
+"Do hear me for one moment!" he cried.
+
+The Coroner did not answer, so the solicitor took advantage of the tacit
+permission.
+
+"I well recognize that the police cannot let the matter rest here," he
+pleaded. "On your warrant they will arrest my client. Such a proceeding
+is unnecessary. In her present state of health it might be fatal. Surely
+it will suffice if you record your dissent and the inquiry is left to
+other authorities. I am sure that you, that Mr. Dane, will forgive the
+informality of my request. It arises solely from motives of humanity."
+
+The Coroner shook his head.
+
+"I am sorry, Mr. Stockwell, but I must discharge my duty
+conscientiously. The verdict is against the weight of evidence, and the
+ultimate decision rests with me, not with the jury. They have chosen
+deliberately to ignore my directions, and I have no option but to set
+aside their finding. I am compelled to issue a warrant charging your
+client with 'wilful murder.' Protests only render the task more painful,
+and I may point out that, under any circumstances, the date of arrest
+cannot be long deferred."
+
+A howl of vehement indignation came from the packed court. Nearly
+everyone present sympathized with Betsy. They accepted George
+Pickering's dying declaration as final; they regarded the Coroner's
+attitude as outrageous.
+
+For an instant the situation was threatening. It looked as though the
+people would wrest the girl from the hands of the police by main force.
+Old Mrs. Thwaites fainted, Kitty screamed dreadful words at the
+Coroner, and the girl's father sprawled across the table with his face
+in his hands and crying pitifully.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe rose, but none would listen. There was a scene of
+tense excitement. Already men were crowding to the center of the room,
+while an irresistible rush from outside drove a policeman headlong from
+the door.
+
+Mr. Herbert strove to make himself heard, but an overwrought member of
+the jury bellowed:
+
+"Mak' him record oor vardict, parson. What right hez he te go age�n t'
+opinion o' twelve honest men?"
+
+Solicitors and reporters gathered their papers hastily, fearing an
+instant onslaught on the Coroner, and someone chanced to step on
+Ang�le's foot as she clung in fright to Martin. The child squealed
+loudly; her toes had been squeezed under a heavy boot.
+
+Fran�oise, whose broad Norman face depicted every sort of bewilderment
+at the tumult which had sprung up for some cause she in no way
+understood, rose at the child's cry of anguish, and incontinently flung
+two pressmen out of her path. She reached Ang�le and faced the crowd
+with splendid courage.
+
+The voluble harangue she poured forth in French, her uncommon costume,
+and fierce gesticulations gained her a hearing which would have been
+denied any other person in the room, save, perhaps, Betsy. And Betsy was
+striving to bring her mother back to consciousness, without, however,
+departing in the least particular from her own attitude of stoic
+despair.
+
+The Coroner availed himself of the momentary lull. Fran�oise paused for
+sheer lack of breath, and Dr. Magnus made his voice heard far out into
+the village street.
+
+"Why all this excitement?" he shouted. "The jury's verdict will be
+recorded, but you cannot force me to agree with it. The police need not
+arrest Mrs. Pickering on my warrant at once. I hope they will not do so.
+Surely, as men of sense, you will not endeavor to defy the law? You are
+injuring this poor woman's cause by an unseemly turmoil. Make way,
+there, at the door, and allow Mrs. Pickering to escort her mother to the
+hotel. You are frightening women and children by your bluster."
+
+Mr. Stockwell joined the superintendent in appealing to the crowd to
+disperse, and the crisis passed. In a few minutes the members of the
+Thwaites family were safe within the portals of the inn, and the
+schoolroom was empty of all save a few officials and busy reporters.
+
+Fran�oise held fast to Ang�le, but the girl appealed to Martin to
+accompany her a little way. He yielded, though he turned back before
+reaching the vicarage.
+
+"Mother and I are coming to tea to-morrow," she cried as they parted.
+
+"All right," he replied. "Mind you don't vex her again."
+
+"Not I. She will want to hear all about the inquest. It was as good as a
+play. Wasn't Fran�oise funny? Oh, I do wish you had understood her. She
+called the men 'sacr�s cochons d'Anglais!' It is so naughty in English."
+
+On the green, and dotted about the roadway, excited groups discussed the
+lively episode in the schoolroom. They were rancorous against the
+Coroner, and not a few boohed as he entered his carriage with Mr. Dane.
+
+"Ay, they'd hang t' poor lass, t' pair of 'em, if they could," shouted a
+buxom woman.
+
+"She�m on ye!" screamed another. "I'll lay owt ye won't sleep soond i'
+yer beds te-night."
+
+But these vaporings broke no bones, and the Coroner drove away, glad
+enough that so far as he was concerned a distasteful experience had
+ended.
+
+The persistent rain soon cleared loiterers from the center of the
+village. John Bolland came to the farm while Martin was eating a belated
+meal.
+
+"A nice deed there was at t' inquest, I hear," he said. "I don't know
+what's come te Elmsdale. It's fair smitten wi' a moral pestilence. One
+reads o' sike doin's i' foreign lands, but I nivver thowt te see 'em i'
+this law-abidin' counthry."
+
+Then Martha flared up.
+
+"Whe�'s i' t' fault?" she cried. "Can ye ble�m t' folk for lossin' their
+tempers when a daft Crowner cooms here an' puts hissen up age�n t' jury?
+If he had a bit o' my tongue, I'd teng (sting) him!"
+
+So Elmsdale declared itself unhesitatingly on Betsy's side. A dead man's
+word carried more weight than all the law in the land.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+UNDERCURRENTS
+
+
+Undoubtedly the Coroner's expedient had prevented a riot in the village.
+The police deferred execution of the warrant, and Mr. Stockwell,
+recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, co-operated with them in
+making arrangements which would serve to allay public excitement.
+
+The dead man was removed unobtrusively to his Nottonby residence on
+Sunday evening. Accompanying the hearse was a closed carriage in which
+rode Mrs. Pickering and Kitty. At the door of Wetherby Lodge, Mr.
+Stockwell met the cort�ge, and when the coffin was installed in the
+spacious library the solicitor introduced the weeping servants to their
+temporary mistress, since he and Mr. Herbert had decided that she ought
+to reside in the house for a time. Such a fact, when it became known,
+would help to mold public opinion.
+
+An elderly housekeeper was minded to greet Betsy with bitter words. Her
+young master had been dear to her, and she had not scrupled earlier to
+denounce in scathing terms the woman who had encompassed his death.
+
+But the sight of the wan, white face, the sorrow-laden eyes, the
+graceful, shrinking figure of the girl-widow, restrained an imminent
+outburst, and the inevitable reaction carried the housekeeper to the
+other extreme.
+
+"How d'ye do, ma'am," she said brokenly. "'Tis a weary homecomin' ye've
+had. Mebbe ye'll be likin' a cup o' tea."
+
+Betsy murmured that she had no wants, but Yorkshire regards food as a
+panacea for most evils, and the housekeeper bade one of the maids "put a
+kettle on."
+
+So the ice was broken, and Mr. Stockwell breathed freely again, for he
+had feared difficulty in this quarter.
+
+On Monday Pickering was buried, and the whole countryside attended the
+funeral, which was made impressive by the drumming and marching of the
+dead man's company of Territorials. On Tuesday morning a special sitting
+of the county magistrates was held in the local police court. Betsy
+attended with her solicitor, the Coroner's warrant was enforced, she was
+charged by the police with the murder of George Pickering, and remanded
+for a week in custody.
+
+The whole affair was carried out so unostentatiously that Betsy was in
+jail before the public knew that she had appeared at the police court.
+In one short week the unhappy dairymaid had experienced sharp
+transitions. She had become a wife, a widow. She was raised from the
+condition of a wage-earner to the status of an independent lady, and
+taken from a mansion to a prison. Bereft of her husband by her own act
+and separated from friends and relatives by the inexorable decree of the
+law, she was faced by the uncertain issue of a trial by an impartial
+judge and a strange jury. Surely, the Furies were exhausting their spite
+on one frail creature.
+
+On Sunday evening Mrs. Saumarez drove in her car through the rain to tea
+at the White House. She was alone. Her manner was more reserved than
+usual, though she shook hands with Mrs. Bolland with a quiet
+friendliness that more than atoned for the perceptible change in her
+demeanor. Her wonted air of affable condescension had gone. Her face
+held a new seriousness which the other woman was quick to perceive.
+
+"I have come to have a little chat with you," she said. "I am going away
+soon."
+
+The farmer's wife thought she understood.
+
+"I'm rale sorry te hear that, yer leddyship."
+
+"Indeed, I regret the necessity myself. But recent events have opened my
+eyes to the danger of allowing my child to grow up in the untrammeled
+freedom which I have permitted--encouraged, I may say. It breaks my
+heart to be stern toward her. I must send her to the South, where there
+are good schools, where others will fulfil obligations in which I have
+failed."
+
+And, behold! Mrs. Saumarez choked back a sob.
+
+"Eh, ma'am," cried the perturbed Martha, "there's nowt to greet aboot.
+T' lass is young eneuf yet, an' she's a bonny bairn, bless her heart. We
+all hae te part wi' 'em. It'll trouble me sore when Martin goes away,
+but 'twill be for t' lad's good."
+
+"You dear woman, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I have.
+Your fine boy would never dream of rending your soul as Ang�le has rent
+mine to-day--all because I wished her to read an instructive book
+instead of a French novel."
+
+"Mebbe you were a bit hard wi' her," said the older woman. "To be sure,
+ye wouldn't be suited by this nasty inquest; but is it wise to change
+all at once? Slow an' sure, ma'am, is better'n fast an' feckless. Where
+is t' little 'un now?"
+
+"At home, crying her eyes out because I insisted that she should remain
+there."
+
+"Ay, I reckon she'd be wantin' te see Martin."
+
+"Do you think I may have been too severe with her?"
+
+"It's not for t' likes o' me to advise a leddy like you, but yon bairn
+needs to be treated gently, for all t' wulld like a bit o' delicate
+chiney. Noo, when Martin was younger, I'd gie him a slap ower t' head,
+an' he'd grin t' minnit me back was turned. Your little gell is
+different."
+
+"In my place, would you go back for her now?"
+
+"No, ma'am, I wouldn't. That'd show weak. But I'd mek up for't
+te-morrow. Then she'll think all t' more o' yer kindness."
+
+So the regeneration of Ang�le commenced. Was it too late? She was only a
+child in years. Surely there was yet time to mold her character in
+better shape. Mrs. Saumarez hoped so. She dried her tears, and, with
+Bolland's appearance, the conversation turned on the lamentable weather.
+She was surprised to hear that August was often an unsettled month,
+though this storm was not only belated but almost unprecedented in its
+severity.
+
+Mr. Herbert went to Nottonby early next day. He attended the funeral,
+heard the will read at Wetherby Grange in the presence of some
+disappointed cousins of the dead man, visited Betsy to say a few
+consoling words, and drove back to the vicarage through the unceasing
+rain.
+
+Tea awaited him in the drawing-room, but his first glance at Elsie
+alarmed him. Her face was flushed, her eyes red. She was a most
+woebegone little maid.
+
+"My dear child," he cried, "what is the matter?"
+
+"I want you--to forgive me--first," she stammered brokenly.
+
+"Forgive you, my darling! Forgive you for what?"
+
+"I've been--reading the paper."
+
+He drew her to his knee.
+
+"What crime is there in reading the paper, sweet one?"
+
+"I mean that horrid inquest, father dear."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+The smiling wonder left his face. Elsie looked up timidly.
+
+"I ought to have asked your permission," she said, "but you were away,
+and auntie has a headache, and Miss Holland (her governess) has gone on
+her holidays, and I was so curious to know what all the bother was
+about."
+
+Yet he did not answer. Hitherto his daughter, his one cherished
+possession, had been kept sedulously from knowledge of the external
+world. But she was shooting up, slender and straight, the image of her
+dead mother. Soon she would be a woman, and it was no part of his theory
+of life that a girl should be plunged into the jungle of adult existence
+without a reasonable consciousness of its snares and pitfalls. So ideal
+were the relations of father and daughter that the vicar had deferred
+the day of enlightenment. It had come sooner than he counted on.
+
+Elsie was frightened now. Her tears ceased and the flush left her
+cheeks.
+
+"Are you very angry?" she whispered. He kissed her.
+
+"No, darling, not angry, but just a little pained. It was an unpleasing
+record for your eyes. There, now. Give me some tea, and we'll talk about
+it. You may have formed some mistaken notions. Tell me what you thought
+of it all. In any case, Elsie, why were you crying?"
+
+"I was so sorry for that poor woman. And why did the Coroner believe she
+killed her husband, when Mr. Pickering said she had not touched him?"
+
+The vicar saw instantly that the girl had missed the more unpleasing
+phases of the tragedy. He smiled again.
+
+"Bring me the paper," he said. "I was present at the inquest. Perhaps
+the story is somewhat garbled."
+
+She obeyed. He cast a critical glance over the leaded columns, for the
+weekly newspaper had given practically a verbatim report of the
+evidence, and there was a vivid description of the scene in the
+schoolroom, with its dramatic close.
+
+"It is by no means certain, from the evidence tendered, that the Coroner
+is right," said Mr. Herbert slowly. "In these matters, however, the
+police are compelled to sift all statements thoroughly, and the only
+legal way is to frame a charge. Although Mrs. Pickering may be tried for
+murder, it does not follow that she will be convicted."
+
+"But," questioned Elsie, "Martin Bolland said he heard her crying out
+that she had killed Mr. Pickering?"
+
+"He may have misunderstood."
+
+"Just imagine him fighting with Frank, and about Ang�le Saumarez, too."
+
+"You may take it from me that Martin behaved very well indeed. Ang�le is
+a little vixen, a badly behaved, spoilt child, I fear. Young
+Beckett-Smythe is a booby who encouraged her wilfulness. Martin thrashed
+him. It would have been far better had Martin not been there at all; but
+if he were my son I should still be proud of him."
+
+The girl's face brightened visibly. There was manifest relief in her
+voice.
+
+"I am so glad we've had this talk," she cried. "I--like Martin, and it
+did seem so odd that he should have been fighting about Ang�le."
+
+"He knew she ought to be at home, and told her so. Frank interfered, and
+got punched for his pains. It served him right."
+
+She helped herself to a large slice of tea-cake.
+
+"I don't know why I was so silly as to cry--but--I really did think Mrs.
+Pickering was in awful trouble."
+
+The vicar laid the paper aside. His innocent-minded daughter had not
+even given a thought to the vital issues of the affair. He breathed
+freely, and told her of the funeral. Nevertheless, he had failed to
+fathom the cause of those red eyes.
+
+A servant clearing the tea-table bethought her of a note which came for
+Mr. Herbert some two hours earlier. She brought it from the study. It
+was from Mrs. Saumarez, inviting him and Elsie to luncheon next day.
+
+"Ang�le will be delighted," she wrote, "if Elsie will remain longer than
+usual. It is dull for children to be cooped within doors during this
+miserable weather. I am asking Martin Bolland to join us for tea."
+
+Mr. Herbert was a kind-hearted man, yet he wished most emphatically
+that Mrs. Saumarez had not proffered this request. To make an excuse for
+his daughter's non-attendance would convey a distinct slight which could
+only be interpreted in one way, after the publicity given to Ang�le's
+appearance at the inquest. He shirked the ordeal. Bother Ang�le!
+
+He glanced covertly at Elsie. All unconscious of the letter's contents,
+the girl was looking out ruefully at the leaden sky. There might be no
+more picnics for weeks.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez has invited us to luncheon," he said.
+
+"When?" she asked unconcernedly.
+
+"To-morrow. She wishes you to spend the afternoon with Ang�le."
+
+Elsie turned, with quick animation.
+
+"I don't care to go," she said.
+
+"Why not? You know very little about her."
+
+"She seems to me--curious."
+
+"Well, I personally don't regard her as a desirable companion for you.
+But there is no need to give offense, and it will not hurt you to meet
+her for an hour or so. Your friend Martin is coming, too."
+
+"Oh," she cried, "that makes a great difference."
+
+Her father laughed.
+
+"Between you, you will surely manage to keep Ang�le out of mischief.
+And, now, my pet, what do you say to an hour with La Fontaine, while I
+attend to some correspondence? Where are my pupils?"
+
+"They went for a long walk. Mr. Gregory said they would not be home
+until dinner-time."
+
+Next morning, for a wonder, the clouds broke, and an autumn sun strove
+to cheer the scarred and drowned earth. Mrs. Saumarez met her guests
+with the unobtrusive charm of a skilled hostess. Ang�le, demure and
+shrinking, extended her hand to Elsie with a shy civility that was an
+exact copy of Elsie's own attitude.
+
+During luncheon she behaved so charmingly and spoke with such sweet
+naturalness when any question was addressed to her that Mr. Herbert
+found himself steadily recasting his unfavorable opinion.
+
+The conversation steered clear of any reference to the inquest. Mrs.
+Saumarez was a widely read and traveled woman, and versed in the art of
+agreeable small talk.
+
+Once, in referring to Ang�le, she said smilingly:
+
+"I have been somewhat selfish in keeping her with me always. But, now, I
+have decided that she must go to school. I'll winter in Brighton, with
+that object in view."
+
+"Will you like that?" said the vicar to the child.
+
+"I'll not like leaving mamma; but school, yes. I feel I want to learn a
+lot. I suppose Elsie is, oh, so clever?"
+
+She peeped at the other girl under her long eyelashes, and made pretense
+of being awe-stricken by such eminent scholastic attainments in one of
+her own age.
+
+"Elsie has learnt a good deal from books, but you have seen much more of
+the world. If you work hard, you will soon make up the lost ground."
+
+"I'll try. I have been trying--all day yesterday! Eh, mamma?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez sighed.
+
+"I ought to have engaged a governess," she said. "I cannot teach. I have
+no patience."
+
+Mr. Herbert did not know that Ang�le's educational efforts of the
+preceding day consisted in a smug decorum that irritated her mother
+exceedingly. This luncheon party had been devised as a relief from
+Ang�le's burlesque. She termed it "jouer le bon enfant."
+
+After the meal they strolled into the garden. The storm had played havoc
+with shrubs and flowers, but the graveled paths were dry, and the lawn
+was firm, if somewhat damp. Mrs. Saumarez had caused a fine swing to be
+erected beneath a spreading oak. It held two cushioned seats, and two
+propelling ropes were attached to a crossbar. It made swinging a luxury,
+not an exercise.
+
+"By the way," cried Mrs. Saumarez to the vicar, "do you smoke?"
+
+He pleaded guilty to a pipe.
+
+"Then you can smoke a cigar. Fran�oise packed a box among my
+belongings--the remnants of some forgotten festivity in the Savoy. Do
+try one. If you like it, may I send you the others?"
+
+The vicar discovered that the gift would be costly--nearly forty Villar
+y Villars, of exquisite flavor.
+
+"Do you know that you are giving me five pounds?" he laughed.
+
+"I never learn the price of these things. I am so glad they are good.
+You will enjoy them."
+
+"It tickles a poor country vicar to hear you talk so easily of Lucullian
+feasts, Mrs. Saumarez. What must the banquet have been, when the cigars
+cost a half-crown each!"
+
+"Oh, I am not hard up. Colonel Saumarez had only his army pay, but my
+estates lie near Hamburg, and you know how that port has grown of
+recent years."
+
+"Do you never reside there?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez inclined a pink-lined parasol so that its reflected tint
+mingled with the rush of color which suffused her face. Had the worthy
+vicar given a moment's thought to the matter, he would have known that
+his companion wished she had bitten her tongue before it wagged so
+freely.
+
+"I prefer English society to German," she answered, after a slight
+pause.
+
+Oddly enough, this statement was literally true, but she dared not
+qualify it by the explanation that an autocratic government exacted
+heavy terms for permitting her to draw a large revenue from her Hamburg
+property.
+
+Blissfully unaware of treading on anyone's toes, Mr. Herbert pursued the
+theme.
+
+"In my spare hours I take an interest in law," he said. "Your marriage
+made you a British subject. Does German law raise no difficulty as to
+alien ownership of land and houses?"
+
+"My family, the von Edelsteins, have great influence."
+
+This time the vicar awoke to the fact that he might be deemed unduly
+inquisitive. He knew better than to apologize, or even change the
+subject abruptly.
+
+"Land tenure is a complex business in old-established countries," he
+went on. "Take this village, for example. You may have noticed how every
+garth runs up the hillside in a long, narrow strip. Ownership of land
+bordering the moor carries the right of free grazing for a certain
+number of sheep, so every freeholder contrives to touch the heather at
+some point."
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Saumarez, promptly interested, "that explains the
+peculiar shape of the Bolland land at the back of the White House. An
+admirable couple, are they not? And so medieval in their notions. I
+attended what they call a 'love feast' the other evening. John Bolland
+introduced me as 'Sister Saumarez.' When he became wrapped up in the
+service he reminded me, or, rather, filled my ideal, of a high priest in
+Israel."
+
+"Was Eli Todd there?"
+
+"The preacher? Yes."
+
+"He is a fine fellow. Given to use a spiritual sledge-hammer, perhaps,
+but the implements of the Lord are many and varied. Far be it from me to
+gainsay the good work done by the dissenting congregations. If there
+were more chapels, there would be more churches in the land, Mrs.
+Saumarez."
+
+They had strolled away from the girls, and little did the vicar dream
+what deeps they had skirted in their talk.
+
+Ang�le led Elsie to the swing.
+
+"Try this," she said. "It's just lovely to feel the air sizzing past
+your ears."
+
+"I have a swing," said Elsie, "but not like this one. It is a single
+rope, with a little crossbar, which I hold in my hands and propel with
+my feet. It is hard work, I assure you."
+
+"Grand Dieu! So I should think."
+
+"Oh!" cried Elsie, "you shouldn't say that."
+
+"Vous me faites rire! You speak French?"
+
+"Yes--a little."
+
+"How stupid of me not to guess. I can say what I like before Martin
+Bolland. He is a nice boy--Martin."
+
+"Yes," agreed Elsie shortly.
+
+She blushed. They were in the swing now, and swooping to and fro in long
+rushes. Ang�le's black eyes were searching Elsie's blue ones. She
+tittered unpleasantly.
+
+"What makes you so red when I speak of Martin?" she demanded.
+
+"I am not red--that is, I have no reason to be."
+
+"You know him well?"
+
+"Do you mean Martin?"
+
+"Sapristi!--I beg your pardon--who else?"
+
+"I--I have only met him twice, to speak to. I have known him by sight
+for years."
+
+"Twice? The first time when he killed that thing--the cat. When was the
+second?"
+
+Ang�le was tugging her rope with greater energy than might be credited
+to one of her slight frame. The swing was traveling at a great pace. Her
+fierce gaze disquieted Elsie, to whom this inquisition was irksome.
+
+"Let us stop now," she said.
+
+"No, no. Tell me when next you saw Martin. I _must_ know."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Because he became different in his manner all at once. One day he
+kissed me----"
+
+"Oh, you _are_ horrid."
+
+"I swear it. He kissed me last Wednesday afternoon. I did not see him
+again until Saturday. Then he was cold. He saw you after Wednesday."
+
+By this time Elsie's blood was boiling.
+
+"Yes," she said, and the blue in her eyes held a hard glint. "He saw me
+on Wednesday night. We happened to be standing at our gate. Frank
+Beckett-Smythe passed on his bicycle. He was chased by a groom--sent
+home to be horsewhipped--because he was coming to meet you."
+
+"O l� l�!" shrilled Ang�le. "That was nine o'clock. Does papa know?"
+
+Poor Elsie crimsoned to the nape of her neck. She wanted to cry--to slap
+this tormentor's face. Yet she returned Ang�le's fiery scrutiny with
+interest.
+
+"Yes," she said with real heat. "I told him Martin came to our house,
+but I said nothing about Frank--and you. It was too disgraceful."
+
+She jerked viciously at her rope to counteract the pull given by Ang�le.
+The opposing strains snapped the crossbar. Both ropes fell, and with
+them the two pieces of wood. One piece tapped Ang�le somewhat sharply on
+the shoulder, and she uttered an involuntary cry.
+
+The vicar and Mrs. Saumarez hurried up, but the swing stopped gradually.
+Obviously, neither of the girls was injured.
+
+"You must have been using great force to break that stout bar," said Mr.
+Herbert, helping Ang�le to alight.
+
+"Yes. Elsie and I were pulling against each other. But we had a lovely
+time, didn't we, Elsie?"
+
+"I think I enjoyed it even more than you," retorted Elsie. The elders
+attributed her excited demeanor to the accident.
+
+"If the ropes were tied to the crossbeam, they would be safer, and
+almost as effective," said the vicar. "Ah! Here comes Martin. Perhaps
+he can put matters right."
+
+"I don't want to swing any more," vowed Elsie.
+
+"But Martin will," laughed Ang�le. "We can swop partners. That will be
+jolly, won't it?"
+
+Blissfully unaware of the thorns awaiting him, the boy advanced. To be
+candid, he was somewhat awkward in manner. He did not know whether to
+shake hands all round or simply doff his cap to the entire company.
+Moreover, he noted Elsie's presence with mixed feelings, for Mrs.
+Saumarez's note had merely invited him to tea. There was no mention of
+other visitors. He was delighted, yet suspicious. Elsie and Ang�le were
+flint and steel. There might be sparks.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez rescued him from one horn of the dilemma. She extended a
+hand and asked if Mr. Bolland were not pleased that the rain had ceased.
+
+"Now, Martin," said the vicar briskly, "shin up the pole and tie the
+ropes to the center-piece. These strong-armed giantesses have smashed a
+chunk of timber as thick as your wrist. Don't allow either of them to
+hit you. They'll pulverize you at a stroke."
+
+"I fear it was I who broke it," admitted Elsie.
+
+"Then it is you he must beware of."
+
+The vicar, in the midst of this chaff, gave Martin a "leg-up" the pole,
+and repairs were effected.
+
+When the swing was in order he slid to the ground. Mr. Herbert resumed
+the stroll with Mrs. Saumarez. There was an awkward pause before Martin
+said:
+
+"You girls get in. I'll start you."
+
+He spoke collectively, but addressed Elsie. He wondered why her air was
+so distant.
+
+"No, thank you," she said. "I've done damage enough already."
+
+"Martin," murmured Ang�le, "she is furious because I said you kissed
+me."
+
+This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly
+unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy's real
+strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great
+difficulties--he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material
+of greatness. He felt at once that he must now choose irrevocably
+between the two girls, with a most unpromising chance of ever again
+recovering lost ground with one of them. He did not hesitate an instant.
+
+"Did you say that?" he demanded sternly.
+
+"Ma foi! Isn't it true?"
+
+"The truth may be an insult. You had no right to thrust your schemes
+into Elsie's knowledge."
+
+"My schemes, you--you pig. I spit at you. Isn't it true?"
+
+"Yes--unfortunately. I shall regret it always."
+
+Ang�le nearly flew at him with her nails. But she contrived to laugh
+airily.
+
+"Eh bien, mon cher Martin! There will come another time. I shall
+remember."
+
+"There will come no other time. You dared me to it. I was stupid enough
+to forget--for a moment."
+
+"Forget what?"
+
+"That there was a girl in Elmsdale worth fifty of you--an English girl,
+not a mongrel!"
+
+It was a boyish retort, feeble, unfair, but the most cutting thing he
+could think of. The words were spoken in heat; he would have recalled
+them at once if that were possible, but Ang�le seized the opening with
+glee.
+
+"That's you!" she cried, stabbing her rival with a finger. "Parbleu! I'm
+a mixture, half English, half German, but really bad French!"
+
+"Please don't drag me into your interesting conversation," said Elsie
+with bitter politeness.
+
+"I am sorry I said that," put in the boy. "I might have had two friends.
+Now I have lost both."
+
+He turned. His intent was to quit the place forthwith. Elsie caught his
+arm with an alarmed cry.
+
+"Martin," she almost screamed, "look at your left hand. It is covered
+with blood!"
+
+Surprised as she, he raised his hand. Blood was streaming down the
+fingers.
+
+"It's nothing," he said coolly. "I must have opened a deep cut by
+climbing the swing."
+
+"Quelle horreur!" exclaimed Ang�le. "I hate blood!"
+
+"I'm awfully sorry--" began Martin.
+
+"Nonsense! Come at once to the kitchen and have it bound up," said
+Elsie.
+
+They hurried off together. Ang�le did not offer to accompany them.
+Martin glanced at Elsie through the corner of his eye. Her set mouth had
+relaxed somewhat. Anger was yielding to sympathy.
+
+"I was fighting another wildcat, so was sure to get scratched," he
+whispered.
+
+"You needn't have kissed it, anyhow," she snapped.
+
+"That, certainly, was a mistake," he admitted.
+
+She made no reply. Once within the house she removed the stained bandage
+without flinching from the ugly sight of half-healed scars, one of which
+was bleeding profusely. Cold water soon stopped the outflow, and one of
+the maids procured some strips of linen, with which Elsie bound the
+wound tightly.
+
+They had a moment to themselves in recrossing the hall. Martin ventured
+to touch the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Look here, Elsie," he said boldly, "do you forgive me?"
+
+Something in his voice told her that mere verbal fencing would be
+useless.
+
+"Yes," she murmured with a wistful smile. "I'll forgive, but I can't
+forget--for a long time."
+
+On the lawn they encountered Mrs. Saumarez. Learning from Ang�le why the
+trio had dispersed so suddenly, she was coming to attend to Martin
+herself.
+
+The vicar joined them.
+
+"Really," he said, "some sort of ill luck is attached to that swing
+to-day."
+
+And then Fran�oise appeared, to tell them that tea was ready.
+
+"What curious French she talks," commented the smiling Elsie.
+
+"Yes," cried Ang�le tartly. "Bad French, eh? And I know heaps and heaps
+of it."
+
+She caught Mr. Herbert's eye, and added an excuse:
+
+"I'm going to change all that. People think I'm naughty when I speak
+like a domestic. And I really don't mean anything wrong."
+
+"We all use too much slang," said the tolerant-minded vicar. "It is
+sheer indolence. We refuse to bother our brains for the right word."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+TWO MOORLAND EPISODES
+
+
+Though all hands were needed on the farm in strenuous endeavor to repair
+the storm's havoc, Dr. MacGregor forbade Martin to work when he examined
+the reopened cut. Thus, the boy was free to guide Fritz, the chauffeur,
+on the morning the man came to look at Bolland's herd.
+
+Fritz Bauer--that was the name he gave--had improved his English
+pronunciation marvelously within a fortnight. He no longer confused
+"d's" and "t's." He had conquered the sibilant sound of the "s." He was
+even wrestling with the elusive "th," substituting "d" for "z."
+
+"I learnt from a book," he explained, when Martin complimented him on
+his mastery of English. "Dat is goot--no, good--but one trains de ear
+only in de country where de people spik--speak--de language all de
+time."
+
+The sharp-witted boy soon came to the conclusion that his German friend
+was more interested in the money value of the cattle as pedigreed stock
+than in the "points"--such as weight, color, bone, level back, and
+milking qualities--which commended them to the experienced eye. Bauer
+asked where he could obtain a show catalogue, and jotted down the
+printer's address. When they happened on a team of Cleveland bays,
+however, Fritz was thoroughly at home, and gratified his hearer by
+displaying a horseman's knowledge of a truly superb animal.
+
+"Dey are light, yet strong," he said, his eyes roving from high-set
+withers to shapely hocks and clean-cut fetlocks. "Each could pull a ton
+on a bad road--yes?"
+
+Martin laughed. He was blind to the cynical smile called forth by his
+amusement.
+
+"A ton? Two tons. Why, one day last winter, when a pair of Belgians
+couldn't move a loaded lorry in the deep snow, my father had the man
+take out both of 'em, and Prince walked away with the lot."
+
+"So?" cried the German admiringly.
+
+"But you understand horses," went on Martin. "Yet I've read that men who
+drive motors don't care for anything else, as a rule."
+
+"Ah, dat reminds me," said the other. "It is a fine day. Come wid me in
+de machine."
+
+"That'll be grand," said Martin elatedly. "Can you take it out?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Any time I--dat is, I'll ask Mrs. Saumarez, and she will
+permit--yes."
+
+Quarter of an hour later the chauffeur was explaining, in German, that
+he was going into the country for a long spin, and Mrs. Saumarez was
+listening, not consenting.
+
+"Going alone?" she inquired languidly.
+
+"No, madam," he answered. "Martin Bolland will come with me."
+
+"Why not take Miss Ang�le?"
+
+The man smiled.
+
+"I want the boy to talk," he explained.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez nodded. She treated the matter with indifference. Not so
+Ang�le, who heard the car purring down the drive, and inquired Fritz's
+errand. She was furious when her mother blurted out the news that Martin
+would accompany Bauer.
+
+"Ce cochon d'Allemand!" she stormed, her long lashes wet with vexed
+tears. "He has done that purposely. He knew I wanted to go. But I'll get
+even with him! See if I don't."
+
+"Ang�le!" and Mrs. Saumarez reddened with annoyance; "if ever you say a
+word about such matters to Fritz I'll pack you off to school within the
+hour. I mean it, so believe me."
+
+Ang�le stamped a rebellious foot, but curbed her tongue and vanished.
+She ran all the way to the village and was just in time to see the
+Mercedes bowling smoothly out of sight, with Martin seated beside the
+chauffeur. She was so angry that she stamped again in rage, and Evelyn
+Atkinson came from the inn to inquire the cause. But Ang�le snubbed her,
+bought some chocolates from Mr. Webster, and never offered the other
+girl a taste.
+
+It happened that Martin, for his part, had suggested a call at the
+vicarage. Fritz vetoed the motion promptly.
+
+"Impossible!" he grinned. "I had to dodge de odder one, yes."
+
+Evidently Fritz had kept both eyes and ears open.
+
+They headed for the moors. Wise Martin had counseled a slow speed in the
+village to allay Mrs. Bolland's dread of a new-fangled device which she
+"couldn't abide"; but once on the open road the car breasted a steep
+hill at a rate which the boy thought neck-breaking.
+
+"Dat is nodding," said Fritz nonchalantly. "Twenty--twenty-five. Wait
+till we are on de level. Den I show you fifty."
+
+Within six minutes Martin flew past Mrs. Summersgill's moor-edge farm.
+Never before had he reached that point in less than half an hour. The
+stout party was in the porch, peeling potatoes for the midday meal. She
+lifted her hands in astonishment as her young friend sped by. Martin
+waved a greeting. He could almost hear her say:
+
+"That lad o' Bolland's must ha' gone clean daft. I'm surprised at Martha
+te let him ride i' such a conthraption."
+
+On the hedgeless road of the undulating moor, even after the ravages of
+the gale, fifty miles an hour was practicable for long stretches. Fritz
+was a skilled driver. He seemed to have a sixth sense which warned him
+of rain-gullies, and slowed up to avoid straining the car. He began
+explaining the mechanism, and halted on the highest point of a far-flung
+tableland to lift the bonnet and show the delighted boy the operations
+of the Otto cycle. In those days the self-starter was unknown, but
+Martin found he could start the heated engine without any difficulty.
+Fritz permitted him to drive slowly, and taught him the use of the
+brakes. Finally, this most agreeable Teuton produced a packet of
+sandwiches. He was in no hurry to return.
+
+"Dese farms," he said, pointing to a low-built house with tiled roof,
+and a cluster of stables and haymows, "dey do not raise stock, eh? Only
+little sheep?"
+
+"They all keep milk-cows, and bring butter to the market, so they often
+have calves and yearlings," was the ready answer.
+
+"And horses?"
+
+"Always a couple, and a nag for counting the sheep."
+
+"How many sheep?"
+
+"Never less than a hundred. Some flocks run to three or four hundred."
+
+"Ah. Where are dey?"
+
+Martin, proud of his knowledge, indicated the position and approximate
+distance of the hollows, invisible for the most part, in which lay the
+larger holdings.
+
+"Do you understand a map?" inquired Fritz.
+
+"Yes. I love maps. They tell you everything, when you can read them
+properly."
+
+"Not everyding," and the man smiled. "Some day I want to visit one of
+dose big farms. Can you mark a few?"
+
+He spread an Ordnance map--a clean sheet--and gave his guide a pencil.
+Soon Martin had dotted the paper with accurate information, such as none
+but one reared in that wild country could have supplied. He was eager to
+prove his familiarity with a map, and followed each bend and twist of
+the prehistoric glacier beds, where the lowland becks had their origin.
+He was not "showing off" before a foreigner. He loved this brown moor
+and was only too pleased to have found a sympathetic listener.
+
+"The heather is losing its color now," he said, pausing for a moment in
+his task. "You ought to see it early in August, when it is all one mass
+of purple flowers, with here and there a bunch of golden gorse--'whin,'
+we call it. Our moor is almost free from bog-holes, so you can walk or
+ride anywhere with safety. I have often thought what a fine place it
+would be for an army."
+
+"Wass ist das?" cried Fritz sharply. He corrected the slip with a laugh.
+"An army?" he went on, though his newly acquired accent escaped him.
+"Vot woot an army pe toing here?"
+
+"Oh, just a camp, you know. We hold maneuvers every year in England."
+
+"Yez. You coot pud all your leedle army on dis grount. Bud dere iss von
+grade tefecd. Dere iss no water. A vell, in eej farm, yez; bud nod
+enough for a hundret dousand men, und de horses of four divisions."
+
+This point of view was novel to the boy. He knit his brows.
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," he confessed. "But, wait a bit. There's far
+more water here than you would imagine. Stocks have to be watered, you
+know. Some of the farmers dam the becks. Why, in the Dickenson place
+over there," and out went a hand, "they have quite a large reservoir,
+with trout in it. You'd never guess it existed, if you weren't told."
+
+Fritz nodded. He had turned against the breeze to shield a match for a
+cigarette, and his face was hidden.
+
+"You surprise me," he murmured, speaking slowly and with care again.
+"And dere are odders, you say?"
+
+"Five that I know of. Mrs. Walker, at the Broad Ings, rears hundreds of
+ducks on her pond."
+
+Fritz took the map and pencil.
+
+"You show me," he chuckled. "I write an essay on Yorkshire moor farms,
+and perhaps earn a new suit of clo'es, yes? Our Cherman magazines print
+dose tings."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That same afternoon a party of guns on a Scottish moor had been shooting
+driven grouse flying low and fast over the butts before a strong wind.
+The sportsmen, five in number, were all experts. Around each shelter,
+with its solitary marksman and his attendant loader, lay a deep crescent
+of game, every bird shot cleanly.
+
+The last drive of the day was the most successful. One man, whose
+bronzed skin and military bearing told his profession, handed the empty
+12-bore to the gillie when the line of beaters came over the crest of
+the hill, and betook himself, filling his pipe the while, to a group of
+ponies waiting on the moorland road in the valley beneath.
+
+He joined another, the earliest arrival.
+
+"Capital ground, this," he said. "I don't know whose lot is the more
+enviable, Heronsdale--yours, who have the pains as well as the pleasure
+of ownership, or that of wandering vagabonds like myself whom you make
+your guests."
+
+Lord Heronsdale smiled.
+
+"You may call yourself a wandering vagabond, Grant--the envy rests with
+me," he said. "It's all very well to have large estates, but I feel like
+degenerating into a sort of head gamekeeper and farm bailiff combined.
+Of course, I'm proud of Cairn-corrie, yet I pine sometimes for the
+excitement of a life that does not travel in grooves."
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+"Don't tempt fate," he said. "My life has been spent among the outer
+beasts. It isn't worth it. For a few years of a man's youth,
+yes--perhaps. But I am forty, and I live in a club. There, you have my
+career in a nutshell."
+
+"There is a fine kernel within. By Gad! Grant, why don't you pretend I
+meant that pun? I didn't, but I'll claim it at dinner. Gad, it's fine!"
+
+Colonel Grant laughed. His mirth had a pleasant, wholesome ring.
+
+"If you bribe me with as good a berth to-morrow," he said, "I'll give
+you the chance of throwing it off spontaneously during the first lull in
+the conversation. The best impromptus are always prepared beforehand,
+you know."
+
+Others came up. The shooters mounted, and the wise ponies picked their
+way with cautious celerity over an uneven track. Colonel Grant again
+found himself riding beside his host.
+
+"Tell you what," said Lord Heronsdale suddenly, "you're a bit of an
+enigma, Grant."
+
+"I have often been told that."
+
+"Gad, I don't doubt it. A chap like you, with five thousand a year, to
+chuck the Guards for the Indian Staff Corps, exchange town for the
+Northwest frontier, go in for potting Afghans instead of running a drag
+to Sandown; and, to crown all, remain a bachelor. I don't understand
+it."
+
+"Yet, ten minutes ago you were growling about the monotony of existence
+at Cairn-corrie and half a dozen other places."
+
+"Not even a _tu quoque_ like that explains the mystery."
+
+"Some day I'll tell you all about it. When the time comes I must ask
+Lady Heronsdale to find me a nice wife, with a warranty."
+
+"Gad, that's the job for Mollie. _She'll_ put the future Mrs. Grant
+through her paces. You're not flying off to India again, then?"
+
+"No. I heard last week that a post is to be found for me in the
+Intelligence Department."
+
+"Capital! You'll soon have a K. before the C. B."
+
+"Possibly. Some fellows wear themselves to the bone in trying for those
+things. My scheming for years has been to avoid the humdrum of
+cantonment life. And, behold! I am spotted for promotion. I don't know
+how the deuce they ever heard of me in Pall Mall."
+
+"Gad! Don't you read the papers?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"My dear fellow, they were full of you last year. That march through the
+snow, pulling those guns through the pass, the final relief of the
+fort--Gad, Molly has the cuttings. She'll show 'em to you after dinner."
+
+"I sincerely hope Lady Heronsdale will do no such thing. Why on earth
+does she keep such screeds?"
+
+His lordship dropped his bantering air.
+
+"Do you really imagine, Grant," he said seriously, "that either she or I
+will ever forget what you did for Arthur at Peshawar?"
+
+The other man reddened.
+
+"A mere schoolboy episode," he growled.
+
+"Yes, in a sense. Yet Arthur told me that he had a revolver in his
+pocket when you met him that night at the mess and persuaded him to
+leave the business in your hands. You saved our boy, Grant. Gad, ask
+Mollie what she thinks!"
+
+"Has he been steady since?"
+
+"A rock, my dear chap--adamant where women are concerned. His mother is
+beginning to worry about him; he wouldn't look at Helen Forbes, and
+Madge Bolingbrooke does her skirt-dances in vain. Both deuced nice
+girls, too."
+
+Colonel Grant had navigated the talk into a safe channel, and kept it
+there. He never spoke of the past.
+
+At dinner a man asked him if he was reading the Elmsdale sensation. He
+had not even heard of it, so the tale of Betsy and George Pickering, of
+Martin Bolland and Ang�le Saumarez was poured into his ears.
+
+"I am interested," said his neighbor, "because I knew poor Pickering. He
+hunted regularly with the York and Ainsty."
+
+"Saumarez!" murmured Colonel Grant. "I once met a man of that name. He
+was shot on the Modder River."
+
+"This girl may be his daughter. The paper describes her mother as a lady
+of independent means, visiting the moors for her health."
+
+"Poor Saumarez! From what I remember of his character, the child must be
+a chip of the same block--he was an irresponsible daredevil, a terror
+among women. But he died gallantly."
+
+"There's a lot about her in the local paper, which reached me this
+morning. Would you care to see it?"
+
+"Newspapers are so inaccurate. They never know the facts."
+
+Yet the colonel, not caring to play bridge, asked later for the loan of
+the journal named by his informant, and read therein the story of the
+village tragedy. As fate willed it, the writer was the reporter of the
+_Messenger_, and his account was replete with local knowledge.
+
+Yes, Mrs. Saumarez was the widow of Colonel Saumarez, late of the
+Hussars. But--what was this?
+
+     "Martin Court Bolland, a bright-faced boy, of an intelligence far
+     greater than one looks for in rustic youth, has himself a somewhat
+     romantic history. He is the adopted son of the sturdy yeoman whose
+     name he bears. Mr. and Mrs. Bolland were called to London thirteen
+     years ago to attend the funeral of the farmer's brother. One
+     evening while seeing the sights of the great metropolis they found
+     themselves in Ludgate Hill. They were passing the end of St.
+     Martin's Court, when a young woman named Martineau----"
+
+The colonel laid aside his cigar and twisted his body sideways, so that
+the light of the billiard-room lamps should fall clearly on the paper
+yet leave his face in the shade.
+
+     "--a young woman named Martineau threw herself, with a baby in her
+     arms, from the fourth story of a house in the court, and was killed
+     by the fall. The baby's frock was caught by a projecting sign, and
+     the child hung perilously in air. John Bolland, whose strong, stern
+     face reveals a character difficult to surprise, impossible to
+     daunt, jumped forward and caught the tiny mite as it dropped a
+     second time. Mrs. Bolland still treasures a letter written by the
+     infant's unhappy mother, and prizes to the utmost the fine boy
+     whom she and her husband adopted from that hour. The old couple are
+     childless, though with Martin calling them 'father' and 'mother,'
+     they would scoff at the statement. This, then, is the well-knit,
+     fearless youngster who fought the squire's son on that eventful
+     night, and whose evidence is of the utmost importance in the police
+     theory of crime, as opposed to accident."
+
+Colonel Grant went steadily through the neat sentences on which the
+_Messenger_ correspondent prided himself. He was a man of bronze; he
+showed no more emotion than a statue, though the facts staring from the
+printed page might well have produced external signs of the tempest
+which sprang into instant being in his soul.
+
+He read each line of descriptive matter and report. For the sorrows of
+Betsy, the final daring of George Pickering, he had no eyes. It was the
+boy he sought in the living record: the boy who fought young
+Beckett-Smythe to rescue the thoughtless child--for so Ang�le figured in
+the text; the boy who repudiated with scorn the solicitor's suggestion
+that he formed part and parcel of the crowd of urchins gathered in the
+hotel yard; the farmer's adopted son, who spoke so fearlessly and bore
+himself so well that the newspaper noted his intelligence, his bright
+looks.
+
+At last Colonel Grant laid down the sheet and lighted a fresh cigar. He
+smoked for a few minutes, watching the pool players, and declining an
+invitation to join in the game. He seemed to be planning some line of
+action; soon he went to the library and unrolled a large scale map of
+England. He found Nottonby--Elmsdale was too small a place to be
+denoted--and, after consulting a railway timetable, wrote a long
+telegram.
+
+These things accomplished, he seized an opportunity to tell Lord
+Heronsdale that business of the utmost importance would take him away by
+the first train next morning.
+
+Of course, his host was voluble in protestations, so the soldier
+explained matters.
+
+"You asked me to-day," he said, "why I turned my back on town thirteen
+years ago. I meant telling you at a more convenient season. Will it
+suffice now to say that a kindred reason tears me away from your moor?"
+
+"Gad, I hope there is nothing wrong. Can I help?"
+
+"Yes; by letting me go. You will be here until October. May I return?"
+
+"My dear Grant----"
+
+So they settled it that way.
+
+About three o'clock on the second day after the colonel's departure from
+Cairn-corrie he and an elderly man of unmistakably legal appearance
+walked from Elmsdale station to the village. The station master,
+forewarned, had procured a dogcart from the "Black Lion," but the
+visitors preferred dispatching their portmanteaux in the vehicle, and
+they followed on foot.
+
+Thus it happened--as odd things do happen in life--that the two men met
+a boy walking rapidly from the village, and some trick of expression in
+his face caused the colonel to halt him with a question:
+
+"Can you tell me where the 'Black Lion' inn is?"
+
+"Yes, sir. On the left, just beyond the bend in the road."
+
+"And the White House Farm?"
+
+The village youth looked at the speaker with interest.
+
+"On the right, sir; after you cross the green."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The two men stood and stared at Martin, who was dressed in a neat blue
+serge suit, obtained by post from York, the wildcat having ruined its
+predecessor. The older man, who reminded the boy of Mr. Stockwell, owing
+to the searching clearness of his gaze, said not a word; but the tall,
+sparsely-built soldier continued--for Martin civilly awaited his
+pleasure--
+
+"Is your name, by any chance, Martin Court Bolland?"
+
+The boy smiled.
+
+"It is, sir," he said.
+
+"Are you--can you--that is, if you are not busy, you might show us the
+inn--and the farm?"
+
+The gentleman seemed to have a slight difficulty in speaking, and his
+eyes dwelt on Martin with a queer look in them: but the answer came
+instantly:
+
+"I'm sorry, sir; but I am going to the vicarage to tea, and you cannot
+possibly miss either place. The inn has a signpost by the side of the
+road, and the White House stands by itself on a small bank about a
+hundred and fifty yards farther down the village."
+
+The older gentleman broke in:
+
+"That will be our best course, Colonel. We can easily find our
+way--alone."
+
+The hint in the words was intended for the ears that understood. Colonel
+Grant nodded, yet was loath to go.
+
+"Is the vicar a friend of yours?" he said to Martin.
+
+"Yes, sir. I like him very much."
+
+"Does a Mrs. Saumarez live here?"
+
+"Oh, yes. She is at the vicarage now, I expect."
+
+"Indeed. You might tell her you met a Colonel Grant, who knew her
+husband in South Africa. You will not forget the name, eh--Grant?"
+
+"Of course not, sir."
+
+Martin surveyed the stranger with redoubled attention. A live colonel is
+a rare sight in a secluded village. The man, seizing any pretext to
+prolong the conversation, drew out a pocketbook.
+
+"Here is my card," he said. "You need not give it to Mrs. Saumarez. She
+will probably recognize my name."
+
+The boy glanced at the pasteboard. It read:
+
+     Lieut.-Col. Reginald Grant,
+       "Indian Staff Corps."
+
+Now, it chanced that among Martin's most valued belongings was a certain
+monthly publication entitled "Recent British Battles," and he had read
+that identical name in the July number. As was his way, he remembered
+exactly the heroic deeds with which a gallant officer was credited, so
+he asked somewhat shyly:
+
+"Are you Colonel Grant of Aliwal, sir?"
+
+He pronounced the Indian word wrongly, with a short "a" instead of a
+long one, but never did misplaced accent convey sweeter sound to man's
+ears. The soldier was positively startled.
+
+"My dear boy," he cried, "how can you possibly know me?"
+
+"Everyone knows your name, sir. No fear of me forgetting it now."
+
+The honest admiration in those brown eyes was a new form of flattery;
+for the first time in his life Colonel Grant hungered for more.
+
+"You have astonished me more than I can tell," he said. "What have you
+read of the Aliwal campaign? All right, Dobson. We are in no hurry."
+This to his companion, who ventured on a mild remonstrance.
+
+"I have a book, sir, which tells you all about Aliwal"--this time Martin
+pronounced the word correctly; no wonder the newspaper commented on his
+intelligence--"and it has pictures, too. There is a grand picture of
+you, riding through the gate of the fort, sword in hand. Do you mind me
+saying, sir, that I am very pleased to have met you?"
+
+The man averted his eyes. He dared not look at Martin. He made pretense
+to bite the end off a cigar. He was compelled to do something to keep
+his lips from trembling.
+
+"I hope we shall meet often again, Martin," he said slowly. "I'll tell
+you more than the book does, though I have not read it. Run off to your
+friends at the vicarage. Good-by!"
+
+He held out his hand, which the boy shook diffidently. There was no
+doubt whatever in Martin's mind that Colonel Grant was an
+extraordinarily nice gentleman.
+
+"My God, Dobson!" cried the soldier, turning again to look after the
+alert figure of the boy; "I have seen him, spoken to him--my own son! I
+would know him among a million."
+
+"He certainly bears a marked resemblance to your own photograph at the
+same age," admitted the cautious solicitor.
+
+"And what a fine youngster! By Jove, did you twig the way he caught on
+to the pronunciation of Aliwal? Bless that book! It shall be bound in
+the rarest leather, though I never rode through that gate--I ran, for
+dear life! I--I tell you what, Dobson, I'd sooner do it now than face
+these people, the Bollands, and explain my errand. I suppose they
+worship him."
+
+"The position differs from my expectations," said the solicitor. "The
+boy does not talk like a farmer's son. And he is going to tea at the
+vicarage with a lady of good social position. Can the Bollands be of
+higher grade than we are led to believe?"
+
+"The newspaper is my only authority. Ah, here is the 'Black Lion.'"
+
+Mrs. Atkinson bustled forward to assure the gentlemen that she could
+accommodate them. Colonel Grant was allotted the room in which George
+Pickering died! It was the best in the hotel. He glanced for a moment
+through the window and took in the scene of the tragedy.
+
+"That must be where the two young imps fought," he murmured, with a
+smile, as he looked into the yard. "Gad! as Heronsdale says, I'd like to
+have seen the battle. And my boy whipped the other chap, who was bigger
+and older, the paper said."
+
+Soon the two men were climbing the slight acclivity on which stood the
+White House. The door stood hospitably open, as was ever the case about
+tea-time in fine weather. In the front kitchen was Martha, alone.
+
+The colonel advanced.
+
+"Is Mr. Bolland at home?" he asked, raising his hat.
+
+"Noa, sir; he isn't. But he's on'y i' t' cow-byre. If it's owt
+important----"
+
+He followed her meaning sufficiently.
+
+"Will you oblige me by sending for him? And--er--is Mrs. Bolland here?"
+
+"I'm Mrs. Bolland, sir."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course, I did not know you."
+
+He thought he would find a much younger woman. Martha, in the
+close-fitting sunbonnet, with its wide flaps, her sleeves rolled up, and
+her outer skirt pinned behind to keep it clear of the dirt during
+unceasing visits to dairy and hen-roosts, looked even older than she
+was, her real age being fifty-five.
+
+"Will you kindly be seated, gentlemen?" she said. She was sure they were
+county folk come about the stock. Her husband's growing reputation as a
+breeder of prize cattle brought such visitors occasionally. She wondered
+why the taller stranger asked for her, but he said no more, taking a
+chair in silence.
+
+She dispatched a maid to summon the master.
+
+"Hev ye coom far?" she asked bluntly.
+
+Colonel Grant looked around. His eyes were searching the roomy kitchen
+for tokens of its occupants' ways.
+
+"We traveled from Darlington to Elmsdale," he said, "and walked here
+from the station."
+
+"My goodness, ye'll be fair famished. Hev summat te eat. There's plenty
+o' tea an' cakes; an' if ye'd fancy some ham an' eggs----"
+
+"Pray do not trouble, Mrs. Bolland," said the colonel when he had
+grasped the full extent of the invitation. "We wish to have a brief talk
+with you and your husband. Afterwards, if you ask us, we shall be most
+pleased to accept your hospitality."
+
+He spoke so genially, with such utter absence of affectation, that
+Martha rather liked him. Yet, what could she have to do with the
+business in hand? Anyhow, here came John, crossing the road with heavy
+strides.
+
+The farmer paused just within the threshold. His huge frame filled the
+doorway. He wore spectacles for reading only, and his deep-sunken eyes
+rested steadily, first on Colonel Grant, then on the solicitor. Then
+they went back to the colonel and did not leave him again.
+
+"Good day, gentlemen," he said. "What can I de� for ye?"
+
+The man who stormed forts on horseback--in pictures--quailed at the task
+before him. He nodded to the solicitor.
+
+"Dobson," he said, "you know all the circumstances. Oblige me by stating
+them fully."
+
+The solicitor, who seemed to expect this request, produced a bulky
+packet of papers and photographs. He prefaced his explanation by giving
+his companion's name and rank, and introduced himself as a member of the
+firm of Dobson, Son and Smith, Solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+
+"Fifteen years ago," he went on, "Colonel Grant was a subaltern, a
+junior officer, in the Guards, stationed in London. A slight accident
+one day outside a railway station led him to make the acquaintance of a
+young lady. She was hurrying to catch a train, when she was knocked down
+by a frightened horse, and might have been injured seriously were it not
+for Lieutenant Grant's prompt assistance. He escorted her to her
+lodgings, and discovered that she was what is known in London as a daily
+governess--in other words, a poor, well-educated woman striving to earn
+a respectable living. The horse had trampled on her foot, and she
+required proper attention and rest; a brief interview with her landlady
+enabled Mr. Grant to make the requisite arrangements, unknown to the
+young lady herself. He called a week later and found that she was quite
+recovered. She was a very beautiful girl, of a lively disposition, only
+twenty years of age, and working hard in her spare time to perfect
+herself as a musician. She had no idea of the social rank of her new
+friend, or perhaps matters might have turned out differently. As it was,
+they met frequently, became engaged, and were married. I have here a
+copy of the marriage certificate."
+
+He selected a long, narrow strip of blue paper from the documents he had
+placed before him on the kitchen table. He opened it and offered it to
+Bolland, as though he wished the farmer to examine it. John did not
+move. He was still looking intently at Colonel Grant.
+
+Martha, all a-flutter, with an indefinite anxiety wrinkling the corners
+of her eyes, said quickly:
+
+"What might t' young leddy's ne�m be, sir?"
+
+"Margaret Ingram. She was of a Gloucestershire family, but her parents
+were dead, and she had no near relatives."
+
+Martha cried, somewhat tartly:
+
+"An' what hez all this te de� wi' us, sir?"
+
+"Let be, wife. Bide i' patience. T' gentleman will tell us, ne� doot."
+
+John's voice was hard, almost dissonant. The solicitor gave him a rapid
+glance. That harsh tone boded ill for the smooth accomplishment of his
+mission. Martha wondered why her husband gazed so fixedly at the other
+man who spoke not. But she toyed nervously with her apron and held her
+peace. Mr. Dobson resumed:
+
+"The young couple could not start housekeeping openly. Lieutenant Grant
+depended solely on the allowance made to him by his father, whose ideas
+of family pride were so extreme that such a marriage must unquestionably
+have led to a rupture. Moreover, a campaign in northern India was then
+threatening. It broke out exactly a year and two months after the
+marriage. Mr. Grant's regiment was ordered to the front, and when he
+sailed from Southampton he left his young wife and an infant, a boy,
+four months old, installed in a comfortable flat in Clarges Street,
+Piccadilly. It is important that the exact position of family affairs at
+this moment should be realized. General Grant, father of the young
+officer, had suffered from an apopletic stroke soon after his son's
+marriage, and to acquaint him with it now meant risking his life. Young
+Grant's action was known to and approved by several trustworthy friends.
+He and his wife were very happy, and Mrs. Grant was correspondingly
+depressed when the exigencies of the national service took her husband
+away from her. The parting between the young couple was a bitter trial,
+rendered all the more heartrending by reason of the concealment they had
+practiced. However, as matters had been allowed to drift thus far, no
+one will pretend that there was any special need to worry General Grant
+at the moment of his son's departure for a campaign. Lieutenant Grant
+hoped to return with a step in rank. Then, whatever the consequences,
+there must be a full explanation. He had not a great deal of money, but
+sufficient for his wife's needs. He left her two hundred pounds in notes
+and gold, and his bankers were empowered to pay her fifty pounds
+monthly. His own allowance from General Grant was seventy-five pounds a
+month, and it was with great difficulty that he maintained his position
+in such an expensive regiment as the Guards. The campaign eased the
+pressure, or he could not have kept it up for long."
+
+"Are all these details quite necessary, Dobson?" said the colonel, for
+the steady glare of the farmer, the growing pallor of poor Martha,
+around whose heart an icy hand was taking sure grip, were exceedingly
+irksome.
+
+"They are if I am to do you justice," replied the lawyer.
+
+"Never mind me. Tell them of Margaret--and the boy."
+
+"I will pass over the verification of my statement," went on Mr. Dobson,
+bending over the folded papers. "Seven months passed. Mrs. Grant
+expected soon to be delivered of another child. She heard regularly from
+her husband. His regiment was in the Khyber Pass, when one evening she
+was robbed of her small store of jewelry and a considerable sum of money
+by a trusted servant. The theft was reported in the papers, and General
+Grant read of his son's wife being a resident in Clarges Street. He went
+to the flat next day, saw the poor girl, behaved in a way that can only
+be ascribed to the folly of an old man broken by disease, and cut off
+supplies at once. Within a week Mrs. Grant found herself in poverty, and
+her husband at least a month's post distant. She did not lose her wits.
+She sold her furniture and raised money enough to support herself and
+her baby boy for some time. Of course, she was very much distressed, as
+General Grant wrote to her, called her an adventuress, and stated that
+he had disinherited his son on her account. This was only partly true.
+He tore up one will, but made no other, and forgot that there was a
+second copy in possession of my firm. Mrs. Grant then did a foolish
+thing. She concealed her troubles from her husband's friends, who would
+have helped her. She took cheap lodgings in another part of London, and
+changed her name. This seems to be accounted for by the fact that
+General Grant, in his insane suspicions, set private detectives to watch
+her. Moreover, the bankers wrote her a curt letter which added to her
+miseries. She rented rooms in St. Martin's Court, Ludgate Hill, and gave
+her name as Mrs. Martineau."
+
+Martha sprang at the solicitor with an eerie screech:
+
+"Hev ye coom to steal oor bairn, the bonny lad we've reared i' infancy
+an' childhood? Leave this house! John--husband--will ye let 'em drive me
+mad?"
+
+John took her in his arms.
+
+"Martha," he said, with a break in his voice that shook his hearers and
+stilled his wife's cries; "dinnat mak' oor burthen harder te bear. A
+man's heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps!"
+
+Servants, men and women, came running at their mistress's scream of
+terror. They stood, abashed, in the kitchen passage. None paid heed to
+them.
+
+Colonel Grant rose and approached the trembling woman cowering at her
+husband's side. Her old eyes were streaming now; she gazed at him with
+the pitiful anguish of a stricken animal. He took her wrinkled hand and
+bent low before her.
+
+"Madam," he said, "God forbid that my son should lose his mother a
+second time!"
+
+He could say no other word. Even in her agony, Martha felt hot tears
+falling on her bare arm, and they were not her own.
+
+"Eh, but it's a sad errand ye're on," she sobbed.
+
+"Wife, wife!" cried John huskily, "if thou faint in the day of adversity
+thy strength is small. Colonel Grant is a true man. It's in his fe�ce.
+He we�n't rive Martin frae yer arms, an' no man can tak' him frae yer
+heart."
+
+Colonel Grant drew himself up. He caught Bolland's shoulder.
+
+"Bear with me," he said. "I have suffered much. I lost my wife and two
+children, one unborn. They were torn from me as though by a destroying
+tempest. One is given back, after thirteen long years of mourning. Can
+you not spare me a place in his affections?"
+
+"Ay, ay," growled John. "We're nobbut owd folk at t' best, an' t' lad
+was leavin' oor roof for school in a little while. We can sattle things
+like sensible people, if on'y Martha here will gie ower greetin'. It
+troubles me sair to hear her lamentin'. We've had no sike deed i'
+thirty-fower years o' married life."
+
+The man was covering his own distress by solicitude in his wife's
+behalf. She knew it. She wiped her eyes defiantly with her apron and
+made pretense to smile, though she had received a shock she would
+remember to her dying day. Some outlet was necessary for her surcharged
+feelings. She whisked around on the crowd of amazed domestics,
+dairymaids and farmhands, pressing on each other's heels in the passage.
+
+"What are ye gapin' at?" she cried shrilly. "Is there nowt te de�? If
+tea's overed, git on wi' yer work, an' be sharp aboot it, or I'll side
+ye quick!"
+
+The stampede that followed relieved the situation. The servants faded
+away under her fiery glance. Colonel Grant smiled.
+
+"I am glad to see," he said, "that you maintain discipline in your
+regiment."
+
+"They're all ears an' ne� brains," she said. "My, but I'm that upset I
+hardly ken what I'm sayin'. Mebbe ye'll finish yer tale, sir. I'm
+grieved I med sike a dash at ye, but I couldn't bide----"
+
+"There, there," said John, with his gruff soothing, "sit ye doon an'
+listen quietly. I guessed their business t' first minnit I set eyes on
+t' colonel. Why, Martha, look at him. He hez Martin's eyes and Martin's
+mouth. Noo, ye'd hev dark-brown hair, I reckon, when ye were a lad,
+sir?"
+
+For answer, Colonel Grant stooped to the lawyer's papers and took from
+them a framed miniature.
+
+"That is my portrait at the age of twelve," he said, placing it before
+them.
+
+"Eh, but that caps owt!" cried Martha. "It's Martin hissel! Oh, my
+honey, how little did I think what was coomin' when I set yer shirt an'
+collar ready, an' med ye tidy te gan te tea wi' t' fine folk at t'
+vicarage. An' noo ye're a better bred 'un than ony of 'em. The Lord love
+ye! Here ye are, smilin' at me. They may mak' ye a colonel or a gin'ral,
+for owt I care: ye'll nivver forgit yer poor old muther, will ye, my
+bairn!"
+
+She kissed the miniature as if it were Martin's own presentment. The men
+left her to sob again in silence. Soon she calmed herself sufficiently
+to ask:
+
+"But why i' t' wulld did that poor lass throw herself an' her little 'un
+inte t' street?"
+
+Mr. Dobson took up his story once more:
+
+"She explained her action in a pathetic letter to her husband. She was
+ill, lonely, and poverty-stricken. She brooded for days on General
+Grant's cruel words and still more cruel letter. They led her to believe
+that she was the unwitting cause of her husband's ruin. She resolved to
+free him absolutely and at the same time preserve his name from
+notoriety. Therefore she wrote him a full account of her change of name,
+and told him that her children would die with her."
+
+"That was a mad thing te de�."
+
+"Exactly. The doctor who knew her best told her husband six months later
+that Mrs. Grant was, in his opinion, suffering from an unrecognized
+attack of puerperal fever. It was latent in her system, and developed
+with the trouble so suddenly brought upon her."
+
+"Yon was a wicked owd man----"
+
+"The general was called to account by a higher power. Mrs. Grant wrote
+him also a statement of her intentions. Next morning he read of her
+death, and a second attack of apoplexy proved fatal. Her letter did not
+reach her husband until after a battle in which he was wounded. He
+cabled to us, and we made every inquiry, but it was remarkable how
+chance baffled our efforts. In the first instance, the policeman whom
+you encountered in Ludgate Hill and who knew you had adopted the child,
+had left the force and emigrated, owing to some unfortunate love
+affair. In the second, several newspapers reported the child as dead,
+though the records of the inquest soon corrected that error. Thirdly,
+someone named Bolland died in the hotel where you stayed and was buried
+at Highgate----"
+
+"My brother," put in John.
+
+"Yes; we know now. But conceive the barrier thus placed in our path when
+the dates of the two events were compared long afterwards."
+
+The farmer looked puzzled. The solicitor went on:
+
+"Of course, you wonder why there should have been any delay, but the
+Coroner's notes were lost in a fire. Nevertheless, we advertised in
+dozens of newspapers."
+
+"We hardly ever see a paper, sir," said Martha.
+
+"Yet, the wonder is that some of your friends did not see it and tell
+you. Finally, a sharp-witted clerk of ours solved the Highgate Cemetery
+mystery, and the advertisements were repeated. Colonel Grant was back in
+India by that time trying hard to leave his bones there, by all
+accounts, and perhaps we did not spend as much money on this second
+quest as if he were at home to authorize the expenditure."
+
+"When was that, sir--t' second lot o' advertisements, I mean?" asked
+John.
+
+"Quite a year after Mrs. Grant's death."
+
+Bolland stroked his chin thoughtfully.
+
+"I remember," he said, "a man at Malton fair sayin' summat aboot an
+inquiry for me. But yan o' t' hands rode twenty miles across counthry te
+tell me that Martin had gotten t' measles, an' I kem yam that neet."
+
+"Naturally, I can give you every proof of my statements," said Mr.
+Dobson. "They are all here----"
+
+"Mebbe ye'll know this writin'," interrupted Martha, laying down the
+miniature for the first time. She unlocked a drawer, took out a small
+tin box, and from its depths produced, among other articles, a crumbling
+sheet of note paper. On it was written:
+
+     "My name is not Martineau. I have killed myself and my boy. If he
+     dies with his unhappy mother he will never know the miseries of
+     this life."
+
+It was unsigned, undated, a hurried scrawl in faded ink.
+
+"Margaret's handwriting," said Colonel Grant, looking at the pathetic
+message with sorrow-laden eyes.
+
+"It was found on t' poor leddy's dressin'-table, fastened wi' a hatpin.
+An' these are t' clothes Martin wore when he fell into John's arms. Nay,
+sir," she added, as Colonel Grant began examining the little frock, "she
+took good care, poor thing, that ne�body should find oot whe� she was.
+Ivvery mark hez bin picked off."
+
+"Martin is his feyther's son, or I ken nowt aboot stock," cried John
+Bolland, making a fine effort to dispel the depression which again
+possessed the little gathering at sight of these mournful mementoes of
+the dead past. "Coom, gentlemen, sit ye doon an' hev some tea. Ye'll not
+be for takkin' Martin away by t' next train. Martha, what's t' matter
+wi' ye? I've nivver known folk be so lang i' t' hoose afore an' not be
+asked if they had a mooth."
+
+"Ye're on t' wrang gait this time, John," she retorted. "I axed 'em
+afore ye kem in. By this time, sure-ly, ye'll be wantin' soom ham an'
+eggs?" she added to the visitors.
+
+"By Jove! I believe I could eat some," laughed the colonel.
+
+Martha smiled once more. She liked Martin's father. Each moment the
+first favorable impression was deepening. She was on the point of
+bustling away to the back kitchen, when they all heard the patter of
+feet, in desperate haste, approaching the front door. Elsie Herbert
+dashed in. She was hatless. Her long brown hair was floating in
+confusion over her shoulders and down her back. She was crying in great
+gulps and gasping for breath.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Bolland!" she wailed. "Oh, Mrs. Bolland!--what shall I say?
+Martin is hurt. He fell off the swing. Ang�le did it! I'll kill her!
+I'll tear her face with my hands! Oh, come, someone, and help father. He
+is trying to bring back Martin's senses. What shall I do?--it was all on
+my account. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
+
+And she sank fainting to the floor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE SEVEN FULL YEARS
+
+
+But Martin was not dead, nor even seriously injured. At first, the
+affair looked so ugly--its main features were so incomprehensible--that
+Mr. Herbert was startled into somewhat panic-stricken action. Here was
+Martin lying unconscious on the ground, with Elsie kneeling by his side,
+passionately beseeching him in one breath to speak to her, and in the
+next accusing Ang�le Saumarez of murder.
+
+The vicar was not blameworthy, in that he failed to grasp either the
+nature of the accusation or its seeming unreasonableness.
+
+The single rope of the gymnastic swing erected in the garden for Elsie's
+benefit had been cut deliberately with a sharp knife a few inches above
+the small bar on which the user's weight was supported by both hands. Of
+the cutting there could be no manner of doubt. The jagged edges of the
+few strands left by a devilish ingenuity--so that the swing must need be
+in violent motion before the rope snapped--were clearly visible at the
+point of severance. But who had done this thing, and with what deadly
+object in view? And why did Elsie pitch on Ang�le Saumarez so readily,
+glaring at her with such eyes of vengeance that the vicar was
+constrained to order, with the utmost sternness of which he was
+capable, that the torrent of words should cease. Indeed, he dispatched
+her to acquaint the Bollands with tidings of the disaster as a haphazard
+pretext to get her out of the way. Apart from sensing the accident's
+inexplicable motive, its history was simple enough.
+
+Before tea was served, Martin and Elsie were using the swing
+alternately, vying with each other in the effort to touch with their
+toes the leaves of a tree nearly twenty feet distant from the vertical
+line of the rope. Ang�le, of course, took no part in this contest; she
+contented herself with a sarcastic incredulity when Elsie vowed that she
+had accomplished the feat twice already.
+
+Martin, stronger, but less skilled in the trick of the swing than the
+girl, strove hard to excel her. Yet he, too, fell short by a few inches
+time after time. At last, Elsie vowed that when she was rested after tea
+she would prove her words, and threw a pebble at the branch which she
+claimed to have reached a week ago.
+
+Neither Mrs. Saumarez nor the vicar attached any weight to the somewhat
+emphatic argument between the two girls. It was a splendid contest
+between Martin and Elsie. It interested the elders for conflicting
+reasons.
+
+To see the graceful girl propelling herself through the air in a curve
+of nearly forty feet at each pendulum stroke of the swing was a pleasing
+sight to her father, but it caused Mrs. Saumarez to regret again that
+her daughter had not been taught to think more of athletic exercises and
+less of dress.
+
+While the young people were following their seniors to the drawing-room,
+Ang�le said to Elsie:
+
+"I think I could do that myself with a little practice."
+
+"You are not tall enough," was the uncompromising answer, for Elsie's
+temper was ruffled by the simpering unbelief with which the other
+treated her assurances.
+
+"Not so tall, no; but I can bend back like this, and you cannot."
+
+Without a second's hesitation Ang�le twisted her head and shoulders
+around until her chin was in a line with her heels. Then she dropped
+lightly so that her hands rested on the grass of the lawn, straightening
+herself with equal ease. The contortion was performed so quickly that
+neither Mr. Herbert nor Mrs. Saumarez was aware of it. It was a display
+not suited to the conditions of ordinary costume, and it necessarily
+exhibited portions of the attire not usually in evidence.
+
+Martin had eyes only for the girl's acrobatic agility, but Elsie
+blushed.
+
+"I don't like that," she said.
+
+"I can stand on my head and walk on my hands," cried Ang�le instantly.
+"Martin, some day I'll show you."
+
+Conscious though she was that these things were said to annoy her, Elsie
+remembered that Ang�le was a guest.
+
+"How did you learn?" she asked. "Were you taught in school?"
+
+"School! Me! I have never been to school. Education is the curse of
+children's lives. I never leave mamma. One day in Nice I saw a circus
+girl doing tricks of that sort. I practiced in my bedroom."
+
+"Does your mother wish that?"
+
+"She doesn't know."
+
+"I wonder you haven't broken your neck," said the practical Martin, who
+felt his bones creaking at the mere notion of such twisting.
+
+Ang�le laughed.
+
+"It is quite easy, when you are slim and elegant."
+
+Her vanity amused the boy.
+
+"You speak as though Elsie were as stiff as a board," he said. "If you
+had watched her carefully, Ang�le, you would have seen that she is quite
+as supple as you, only in a different way. And she is strong, too. I
+dare say she could swing with one hand and carry you in the other, if
+she had a mind to try."
+
+This ready advocacy of a new-found divinity angered Ang�le beyond
+measure. Possibly she meant no greater harm than the disconcerting of a
+rival; but she slipped out of the room when Mr. Herbert sent Elsie to
+the library to bring a portfolio of old prints which he wished to show
+Mrs. Saumarez. Although it was never definitely proved against Ang�le,
+someone tampered with the rope before a move was made to the garden
+after tea. The cause, the effect, were equally clear; the human agent
+remained unknown.
+
+"Now, I'll prove my words," cried Elsie, darting across the lawn in
+front of the others.
+
+"Here, it's my turn," shouted the boy gleefully. "I'll race you."
+
+"Martin! Martin! I want you!" shrieked Ang�le, running after him.
+
+He paid no heed to her cries. Outstripping both girls in the race, he
+sprang at the swing, and was carried almost to the debated limit of the
+tree by the impetus of the rush. When he felt himself stopping he threw
+up his feet in a wild effort to touch the leaves so tantalizingly out
+of reach, and in that instant the rope broke.
+
+He turned completely over and fell with a heavy thud on the back of his
+bent head. The screaming of the girls brought the vicar from his prints
+in great alarm, and his agitation increased when he discovered that the
+boy could neither move nor speak.
+
+Elsie was halfway to the White House before Martin regained his breath.
+Once vitality returned, however, he was quickly on his feet again.
+
+"What happened?" he asked, craning his head awkwardly. "I thought
+someone fired a gun!"
+
+"You frightened us nearly out of our wits," cried the vicar. "And I was
+stupid enough to send Elsie flying to your people. Goodness knows what
+she will have said to them!"
+
+Promptly the boy shook himself and tried to break into a run.
+
+"I must--follow her," he gasped. But not yet was the masterful spirit
+able to control relaxed muscles; he collapsed again.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez cried aloud in a new fear, but the vicar, accustomed to
+the minor accidents of the cricket field and gymnasium, was cooler now.
+
+"He's all right--only needs a drink of water and a few minutes' rest,"
+he explained.
+
+He bade one of the maids go as quickly as possible to the Bollands' farm
+and say that the mischief to Martin was a mere nothing, and then busied
+himself in more scientific fashion with restoring his patient's
+animation.
+
+Unfastening the boy's collar and the neckband of his shirt, Mr. Herbert
+satisfied himself that the clavicle was uninjured. There was a slight
+abrasion of the scalp, which was sore to the touch. In a minute, or
+less, Martin was again protesting that there was little the matter with
+him. He would not be satisfied until the vicar allowed him to start once
+more for the village, though at a more sedate pace.
+
+Then Mrs. Saumarez, in a voice of deep distress, asked Mr. Herbert if
+the rope had really been cut.
+
+"Yes," he said. "You can see yourself that there is no doubt about it."
+
+"But your daughter charged Ang�le with this--this crime. My child denies
+it. She has no knife or implement of any sort in her pocket. I assure
+you I have satisfied myself on that point."
+
+"The affair is a mystery, Mrs. Saumarez. It must be cleared up. Thank
+God, Martin escaped! He might be lying here dead at this moment."
+
+"Are you sure it was not an accident?"
+
+"What am I to say? Here is a stout hempen cord with nearly all its
+strands severed as if with a razor, and the other torn asunder. And,
+from what I can gather, it was Elsie, and not Martin, for whose benefit
+this diabolical outrage was planned."
+
+The vicar spoke warmly, but the significance of the incident was dawning
+slowly on his perplexed mind. Providence alone had ordained that neither
+the boy nor the girl had been gravely, perhaps fatally, injured.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez was haggard. She seemed to have aged in those few minutes.
+
+"Ang�le!" she cried.
+
+The girl, who was sobbing, came to her.
+
+"Can it be possible," said the distracted mother, "that you interfered
+with the swing? Why did you leave the drawing-room during tea?"
+
+"I only went to stroke a cat, mamma. Indeed, I never touched the swing.
+Why should I? And I could not cut it with my fingers."
+
+"On second thoughts," said the vicar coldly, "I think that the matter
+may be allowed to rest where it is. Of course, one of my servants may be
+the culprit, or a mischievous village youth who had been watching the
+children at play. But the two girls do not seem to get on well together,
+Mrs. Saumarez. I fear they are endowed with widely different
+temperaments."
+
+The hint could not be ignored. The lady smiled bitterly.
+
+"It is well that I should have decided already to leave Elmsdale," she
+said. "It is a charming place, but my visit has not been altogether
+fortunate."
+
+Mr. Herbert remembered the curious phrase in after years. He understood
+it then. At the moment he was candidly relieved when Mrs. Saumarez and
+Ang�le took their departure. He jammed on a hat and hastened to the
+White House to learn what sort of sensation Elsie had created.
+
+A week later he made a discovery. He had a curious hobby--he was his own
+bootmaker, and Elsie's, having taught himself to be a craftsman in an
+art which might well claim higher rank than it holds. When next he
+rummaged among his implements for a shoemaker's knife it was missing. It
+was found in the garden next spring, jammed to the top of the hilt into
+the soft mold beneath a rhododendron. The tools were kept on a bench in
+the conservatory; so Ang�le might have accomplished her impish desire in
+a few seconds.
+
+On reaching the White House he was mildly surprised at finding Martin
+propped against the knee of a tall, soldierly stranger, who was
+consoling the boy with a reminiscence of a far worse toss at polo, by
+which a hard _sola topi_ was flattened on the iron surface of an Indian
+_maidan_. Elsie, white, but much interested, was sipping a glass of
+milk.
+
+"Eh, Vicar," cried Mrs. Bolland, in whose face Mr. Herbert saw signs of
+recent excitement, "your lass gev us a rare start. She landed here like
+a mad thing, screamed oot that Martin was dead, an' dropped te t' flure
+half dead herself."
+
+"The fault was mine, Mrs. Bolland. There was an accident. At first I
+thought Martin was badly hurt. I am, indeed, very sorry if Elsie alarmed
+you."
+
+His words were meant to reassure the others, but his eyes were fixed on
+the girl's pallid face. John Bolland laughed in his dry way.
+
+"Nay, Passon, dinnat fret aboot Elsie. She's none t' warse for a sudden
+stop. She was ower-excited. Where's yon lass o' Mrs. Saumarez's?"
+
+"Gone home with her mother. I hear they are leaving Elmsdale."
+
+"A good riddance!" said John heartily. He turned to Martin. "Ye'll be
+winded again, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, I left my ash stick i' t' low yard. Mebbe you an' t' young leddy
+will fetch it. There's noa need te hurry."
+
+This was an oblique instruction to the boy to make himself scarce for
+half an hour. With Elsie as a companion he needed no urging. They set
+off, happy as grigs.
+
+"Noo, afore ye start te fill t' vicar wi' wunnerment," cried Martha, "I
+want te ax t' colonel a question."
+
+"What is it, Mrs. Bolland?"
+
+Colonel Grant was smiling at the vicar's puzzled air. These good people
+knew naught of formal introductions.
+
+"How old is t' lad?"
+
+"He was fourteen years old on the sixth of last June."
+
+"Eh, but that's grand." She clapped her hands delightedly. "I guessed
+him tiv a week or two. We reckoned his birthday as a twel'month afore we
+found him, and that was June the eighteenth. And what's his right ne�m?"
+
+"He was christened after me and after his mother's family. His name is
+Reginald Ingram Grant."
+
+"May I ask who in the world you are talking about?" interposed the
+perplexed vicar.
+
+"Whe�? Why, oor Martin!" cried Martha. "He's a gentleman born, God bless
+him!"
+
+"And, what is much more important, Mrs. Bolland, he is a gentleman
+bred," said the colonel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The scene in the kitchen of the White House had been too dramatic that
+some hint of it should not reach the village that night. Soon all
+Elmsdale knew that the mystery of Martin's parentage had been solved,
+and great was the awe of the boy's playmates when they heard that his
+father was a "real live colonel i' t' army." A garbled version of the
+story came to Mr. Beckett-Smythe's ears, and he called on Colonel Grant
+at the "Black Lion" next day.
+
+He arrived in state, in a new Mercedes car, handled by a chauffeur
+replica of Fritz Bauer. Beckett-Smythe had hardly mastered his surprise
+at the colonel's confirmation of that which he had regarded as "an
+incredible yarn" when Mrs. Saumarez drove up. She, too, recalling the
+message brought by Martin from her husband's comrade-in-arms, came to
+verify the strange tale told by the Misses Walker. Ang�le accompanied
+her, and the girl's eyes shot lightning at Martin, who was on the point
+of guiding his father to the moor when Mr. Beckett-Smythe put in an
+appearance.
+
+The lawyer had departed for London by the morning train; the three older
+people and the two youngsters gathered in the room thus set at liberty,
+Mrs. Atkinson having remodeled it into a sitting-room for the colonel's
+use.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez hailed the stranger effusively.
+
+"It is delightful to run across anyone who knew my husband," she said.
+"In this remote part of Yorkshire none seems to have ever heard of him.
+Believe me, Colonel Grant, it is positively a relief to meet a man who
+recognizes my name."
+
+She may have intended this for an oblique thrust at Beckett-Smythe,
+relations between the Hall and The Elms having been somewhat strained
+since the inquest. The Squire, a good fellow, who had no inkling of
+Ang�le's latest escapade, hastened to make amends.
+
+"You two must want to chat over old times," he said breezily. "Why not
+come and dine with me to-night? I have only one other guest--an
+Admiralty man. He's prowling about the coast trying to select a
+suitable site for a wireless station."
+
+Now, Mrs. Saumarez would have declined the invitation had Beckett-Smythe
+stopped short at the first sentence. As it was, she accepted instantly.
+
+"Do come, Colonel Grant," she urged. "What between the Navy and the
+Intelligence Department it should be an interesting evening.... Oh,
+don't look so surprised," she went on, with an engaging smile. "I still
+read the _Gazette_, you know."
+
+"And what of the kiddies?" said Beckett-Smythe. "They know my boys. Your
+chauffeur can bring them home at nine. By the way, the meal will be
+quite informal--come as you are."
+
+"What do you say, Martin?" said the colonel.
+
+"I shall be very pleased, sir; but may I--ask--my mother first?"
+
+The boy reddened. His new place in the world was only twenty-four hours
+old, and his ideas were not yet adjusted to an order of things so
+astounding that he thought every minute he would wake up and find he had
+been dreaming.
+
+"Oh, certainly," and a kindly hand fell on his shoulder. "I am glad you
+spoke of it. Mrs. Bolland is worthy of all the respect due to the best
+of mothers."
+
+"I'll go with you, Martin," announced Ang�le suddenly.
+
+Martin hesitated. He was doubtful of the reception Mrs. Bolland might
+give the minx who had nearly caused him to break his neck, and, for his
+own part, he wanted to avoid Ang�le altogether. She was a disturbing
+influence. He feared her not at all as a spitfire. It was when she
+displayed her most engaging qualities that she was really dangerous, and
+he knew from experience that her mood had changed within the past five
+minutes. On alighting from the car she would like to have scratched his
+face. Now he would not be surprised if she elected to walk with him hand
+in hand through the village street.
+
+His father came to the rescue.
+
+"Let us all go and see Mrs. Bolland," he said. "It is only a few yards."
+
+They went out into the roadway. Then Beckett-Smythe was struck by an
+afterthought.
+
+"If you'll excuse me, I'll run along to the vicarage and ask Herbert and
+his daughter to join us," he said.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez bit her lip.
+
+"I think I'll leave Ang�le at home," she said in a low tone. "The child
+is delicate. During the past week I have insisted that she goes to bed
+at eight every evening."
+
+Colonel Grant understood why the lady did not want the two girls to
+meet, but it was borne in on him that she herself was determined not to
+miss that impromptu dinner party. In a vague way he wondered what her
+motive could be.
+
+"Ah, that's a pity," he heard Beckett-Smythe say. "She can be well
+wrapped up, and the weather is mild."
+
+He moved a little ahead of the two. Martin, determined not to be left
+alone with Ang�le, hastened to greet his friend, Fritz. The two
+chauffeurs were conversing in German. Apparently, they were examining
+the engine of the new car.
+
+"Martin," murmured Ang�le, "don't bother about Fritz. He'll snap your
+head off. He's furious because he lost a map the other day."
+
+But Martin pressed on. No longer could Ang�le deceive him--"twiddle him
+around her little finger," as she would put it.
+
+"Hello, Fritz!" he cried. "What map did you lose? Not the one I marked
+for you?"
+
+Fritz turned. The new chauffeur closed the bonnet of the engine.
+
+"No," he said, speaking slowly, and looking at Ang�le. "It was a small
+road map. You haf not seen it, I dink."
+
+"Was it made of linen, with a red cover?"
+
+"Yez," and the man's face became curiously stern.
+
+"Oh, I saw you studying it one day at The Elms, but you didn't have it
+on the moor."
+
+Fritz's scowl changed to an expression of disappointment.
+
+"I haf mislaid it," he grunted, and again his glance dwelt on Ang�le,
+who met his gaze with a bland indifference that seemed to gall him.
+
+Colonel Grant drew near. He had been eyeing the two spick-and-span
+chauffeurs.
+
+"Who is your friend, Martin?" he said. He was interested in everything
+the boy did and in everyone whom he knew.
+
+"Oh, this is Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's chauffeur.... Fritz, this is
+Colonel Grant, of the Indian Army."
+
+Instantly the two young Germans straightened as though some mechanism
+had stiffened their spines and thrown back their heads. The newcomer's
+heels clicked and his right hand was raised in a salute. Fritz, better
+schooled than his comrade by longer residence in England, barely
+prevented his heels from clicking, and managed to convert the salute
+into a raising of his cap. There could be no doubt that he was
+flustered, because he said not a word, and the open-air tan of his
+cheeks assumed a deeper tint.
+
+Apparently, Colonel Grant saw nothing of this, or, if he noticed the
+man's confusion, attributed it to nervousness.
+
+"Two Mercedes cars in one small village!" he exclaimed laughingly. "You
+Germans are certainly conquering England by peaceful penetration."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez elected, after all, not to visit the White House that
+afternoon, so Ang�le, having said good-by to the colonel and Martin in
+her prettiest manner, was whisked off in the car.
+
+"By the way, Martin," said his father as the two walked to the farm.
+"Mrs. Saumarez is German by birth. Have you ever heard anything about
+her family?"
+
+Martin had a good memory.
+
+"Yes, sir," he said. "She is a baroness--the Baroness Irma von
+Edelstein."
+
+The colonel was surprised at this glib answer.
+
+"Who told you?" he inquired.
+
+"Ang�le, sir. But Mrs. Saumarez did not wish people to use her title.
+She was vexed with Ang�le for even mentioning it."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez sent her car to bring Colonel Grant and his son to the
+Hall. She was slightly ruffled when Fritz told her that they had gone
+already, Mr. Beckett-Smythe having collected his guests from both the
+inn and the vicarage.
+
+She might have been positively indignant if she had overheard Grant's
+comments to the Admiralty official while the two strolled on the lawn
+before dinner.
+
+"A couple of Prussian officers, if ever I saw the genuine article," said
+the colonel. "Real junkers--smart-looking fellows, too. Mrs. Saumarez is
+the widow of a British officer--a fine chap, but poor as a church
+mouse--and she belongs to a wealthy German family. _Verbum sap._"
+
+"Nuff said," grinned the sailor. "But what is one to do? No sooner is
+this outfit erected but it'll be added to the display of local picture
+postcards, and the next German bigwig who visits this part of the
+country will be invited to amuse himself by ringing up Bremen."
+
+At any rate, Mrs. Saumarez was told that night that the Yorkshire coast
+was too highly magnetized to suit a wireless station. The sailor thought
+an inland town like York would provide an ideal site.
+
+"You see," he explained politely, "when the German High Seas Fleet
+defeats the British Navy it can shell our coast towns all to
+smithereens."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"You fighting men invariably talk of war with Germany as an assured
+thing," she said. "Yet I, who know Germany, and have relatives there, am
+convinced that the notion is absurd."
+
+"The Emperor has been twenty years on the throne and has never drawn
+sword except on parade," put in the vicar. "There may have been danger
+once or twice in his hot youth, but he has grown to like England, and I
+cannot conceive him plunging a great and thriving country into the
+morass of a doubtful campaign."
+
+"Ninety-nine per cent of Englishmen like to think that way," said the
+Admiralty man. "In a multitude of counselors there is wisdom, so let's
+hope they're right."
+
+When the young folk got together on the terrace, Frank Beckett-Smythe
+asked Martin why his neck was stiff.
+
+"I took a toss off Elsie's swing yesterday," was the airy answer. Not a
+word did he or Elsie say as to Ang�le, and the Beckett-Smythes knew
+better than to introduce her name.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Saumarez left for the South rather hurriedly. She paid no farewell
+visits. She and Ang�le traveled in the car; Fran�oise followed with the
+baggage. The Misses Walker were consoled for the loss of a valued lodger
+by receiving a less exacting one in the person of Martin's father.
+
+The boy himself, when his mental poise was adjusted to the phenomenal
+change in his life, soon grew accustomed to a new environment. Mr.
+Herbert undertook to direct his studies in preparation for a public
+school, and Martha Bolland became reconciled gradually to seeing him
+once or twice daily, instead of all day, for he, too, lived at The Elms.
+
+Officially, as it were, he adopted his new name, but to the small world
+of Elmsdale he would ever be "Martin." Even his father fell into the
+habit.
+
+The colonel drove him to the adjourned petty sessions at Nottonby when
+Betsy's case came on for hearing. Mr. Stockwell abandoned his critical
+attitude and concurred with the police that there was no need to bring
+Ang�le Saumarez from London to attend the trial. Mrs. Saumarez gave no
+thought to the fact that the girl might be needed to give evidence, but
+the authorities decided that there were witnesses in plenty as to the
+outcry raised in the garden after Pickering was wounded.
+
+It was November before Betsy appeared at the county assizes. When she
+entered the dock, those who knew her were astonished by the improvement
+in her appearance. It was probable that the enforced rest, the regular
+exercise, the judicious diet of the prison had exercised a beneficial
+effect on her health.
+
+Her demeanor was calm as ever, and the able barrister who defended her
+did not scruple to suggest that it would create a better effect with the
+jury if she adopted a less unemotional attitude.
+
+Her reply silenced him.
+
+"Do you think," she said, "that I will be permitted to atone for my
+wrongdoing by punishment? No. I live because my husband wished me to
+live. I will be called to account, but not by an earthly judge or jury."
+
+She was right. The assize judge held the scales of justice impartially
+between the sworn testimony of George Pickering and Betsy's witnesses,
+on the one hand, and the evidence of Martin and the groom, backed by the
+scientists, on the other.
+
+The jury gave her the benefit of the doubt and acquitted her, but it was
+noticed by many that his lordship contented himself with ordering her
+discharge from custody. He passed no opinion on the verdict.
+
+So Betsy was installed as mistress of Wetherby Lodge, the trustees
+having decided that she was well fitted to manage the estate.
+
+Tongues wagged in Elmsdale when Mr. Stockwell drove thither one day and
+solemnly handed over to Martin the sword and the double-barreled gun,
+and to John Bolland the pedigree cow bequeathed by George Pickering.
+
+The farmer eyed the animal grimly.
+
+"'Tis an unfortunate beast," he said. "Mebbe if I hadn't sold her te
+poor George he might nivver hae coom te Elmsdale just then."
+
+"Do not think that," the solicitor assured him. "Pickering would most
+certainly have visited the fair. I know, as a matter of fact, that he
+wished to purchase one of your brood mares."
+
+"Ay, ay. She went te Jarmany. Well, if I'm spared, I'll send a good calf
+to Wetherby."
+
+The lawyer and he shook hands on the compact. Yet Pickering's odd
+bequest was destined to work out in a way that would have amazed the
+donor, could he but know it.
+
+Martin was at Winchester--his father's old school--when he received a
+letter in Bolland's laborious handwriting. It read:
+
+     "MY DEAR LAD--Yours to hand, and this leaves your mother and self
+     in good health. We were glad to hear that the box arrived all right
+     and that your mates think well of Yorkshire cakes. You may learn a
+     lot of useful things at school, but you will not often meet with a
+     better cook than your mother. She is sore upset just now about a
+     mishap we have had on the farm. I turned out nearly all my
+     shorthorns to graze on the low pastures. The ground was a bit damp,
+     and a strange cow broke in at night to join them. I don't rightly
+     know what to blame, but next day they showed signs of rinderpest. I
+     sent for the vet, and they had to be slaughtered--all but one
+     two-year-old bull, Bainesse Boy IV., and Mr. Pickering's cow, which
+     were not with them in the meadow. It is a great loss, but I don't
+     repine, now that you are provided for, and it is not quite like
+     starting all over again, as I have my land and my Cleveland bays,
+     and I am in no debt. In such matters I turn to the Lord for
+     consolation. I have just read this verse to Martha: 'I have been
+     young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken,
+     nor his seed begging bread.' If you are minded to look it up, you
+     will find it in the Thirty-seventh Psalm.
+
+     "I don't want to pretend that the blow has not been a hard one,
+     but, God willing, there will be a hamper for you at Christmas, if
+     Colonel Grant is too busy to bring you North. Your mother joins in
+     much love.
+
+                         "Your affect.,
+                              "JOHN BOLLAND."
+
+     "P. S.--Maybe you will not have forgotten that Mrs. Saumarez said
+     the land needed draining. She was a clever woman in some ways."
+
+The boy's eyes filled with tears. He understood only too well the
+far-reaching misfortune which had befallen the farmer. The total value
+of the herd was �5,000, and he remembered that experts valued the young
+surviving bull at �300 as a yearling. In all, twenty-three animals had
+been slaughtered by the law's decree, and the compensation payable to
+Bolland would not cover a twentieth part of the actual loss.
+
+Martin not only wrote a letter of warm sympathy to his adopted parents
+but sent Bolland's letter to his father, with an added commentary of his
+own. Colonel Grant obtained short leave and traveled to Elmsdale next
+day. It took some trouble to bring John round to his point of view, but
+the argument that the farm should be restocked in Martin's interests
+prevailed, and negotiations were opened with prominent breeders
+elsewhere which resulted in the purchase of a notable bull and eight
+heifers, for which Bolland and the colonel each found half the money.
+The farmer would listen to no other arrangement, though he promised that
+if he experienced any tightness for money he would not hesitate to apply
+for further help.
+
+The need never made itself felt. The first animal to produce successful
+progeny was George Pickering's cow! No man in the North Riding was more
+pleased than John that day. Throughout the whole of his life the only
+person who ever brought a charge of unfair dealing against him was
+Pickering. The memory rankled, and its sting was none the less bitter
+because of a secret dread that he had perhaps been guilty of a piece of
+sharp practice. Now his character was cleared.
+
+Pattison, his old crony, asked him, by way of a joke, how much "he'd
+tak' for t' cauf."
+
+John blazed into unexpected anger.
+
+"At what figger de you reckon yer own good ne�m, Mr. Pattison?"
+
+"I don't kno� as I'd care te sell it at onny price, Mr. Bollan'."
+
+"Then ye'll think as I do aboot yon cauf. Neyther it nor any other of
+its dam's produce will ivver leave my farm if I can help it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+OUT OF THE MISTS
+
+
+This record of a Yorkshire village--a true chronicle of life among the
+canny folk who dwell on the "moor edge"--might well be left at the point
+it reached when one of its chief characters saw before him the smooth
+and sunlit road of a notable career.
+
+But history, though romantic, is not writ as romance, and the story of
+Elmsdale is fact, not fiction. After eight years of somnolence the
+village awoke again. It was roused from sleep by the tumult of a world
+at war; mayhap the present generation shall pass away before the hamlet
+relapses into its humdrum ways.
+
+Martin was twenty-two when his father and he journeyed north to attend
+the annual sale of the Elmsdale herd, which was fixed for the two
+opening days of July, 1914. Each year Colonel Grant brought his son to
+the village for six weeks prior to the twelfth of August; this year
+there was a well-founded rumor in the little community that the colonel
+meant to buy The Elms.
+
+The announcement of Bolland's sale brought foreign agents from abroad
+and well-known stock-raisers from all parts of the Kingdom. No less than
+forty animals entered the auction ring. One bull, Bainesse Boy IV.,
+realized �800. Bainesse Boy IV. held a species of levee in a special
+stall. He had grown into a wonder. On a table, over which Sergeant
+Benson mounted guard, were displayed five championship cups he had
+carried off, while fifteen cards, arranged in horseshoe pattern on the
+wall, each bore the magic words, "First Prize," awarded at Islington,
+Birmingham, the Royal, and wherever else in Britain shorthorns and their
+admirers most do congregate.
+
+The village hummed with life; around the sale ring gathered a multitude
+of men arrayed in Melton cloth and leather leggings, whose general
+appearance betokened the wisdom of Dr. Johnson's sarcastic dictum: "Who
+drives fat oxen should himself be fat."
+
+Martha and a cohort of maids boiled hams by the dozen and baked cakes in
+fabulous quantities. John graced the occasion by donning a new suit and
+new boots, in which the crooked giant was singularly ill at ease.
+
+Mrs. Pickering drove over from Nottonby--Kitty was married two years
+before to a well-to-do farmer at Northallerton--and someone rallied her
+on "bein' ower good-lookin' te remain a widow all her days."
+
+She laughed pleasantly.
+
+"I'm far too busy at Wetherby to think of adding a husband to my cares,"
+she said; but those who knew her best could have told that she had
+refused at least two excellent offers of matrimony and meant to remain
+Mrs. Pickering during the rest of her days.
+
+At the close of the second day's sale, when the crowd was thinned by the
+departure of a fleet of cars and a local train at five o'clock, the
+White House was thronged by its habitu�s, who came to make a meal of the
+"high tea."
+
+Colonel Grant and John had just concluded an amicable wrangle whereby it
+was decided that they should jointly provide the considerable sum needed
+to acquire The Elms and some adjoining land. The house and grounds were
+to be remodeled and the property would be deeded to Martin forthwith.
+
+The young gentleman himself, as tall as his father now, and wearing
+riding breeches and boots, was standing at the front door, turning
+impatient eyes from a smart cob, held by a groom, to the bend in the
+road where it curved beyond the "Black Lion."
+
+A smartly-dressed young lady passed, and although Martin lifted his hat
+with a ready smile his glance wandered from her along the road again.
+Evelyn Atkinson wondered who it was that thus distracted his attention.
+
+A few yards farther on, Elsie Herbert, mounted on a steady old hunter,
+passed at a sharp trot. Evelyn's pretty face frowned slightly.
+
+"If _she_ is home again, of course, he has eyes for nobody else," she
+said to herself.
+
+And, indeed, it was true. Elsie had been to Dresden for two years. She
+had returned to Elmsdale the previous day, and a scribbled note told
+Martin to look for her after tea.
+
+The two set off together through the village, bound for the moor. Many a
+critical look followed them.
+
+"Eh, but they're a bonny pair," cried Mrs. Summersgill, who became
+stouter each year. "Martin allus framed to be a fine man, but I nivver
+thowt yon gawky lass o' t' vicar's 'ud grow into a beauty."
+
+"This moor air is wonderful. Look at the effect it has on you, Mrs.
+Summersgill," said Colonel Grant with a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"Oh, go on wi' ye, Colonel, pokin' fun at a poor owd body like me. But I
+de�n't ho'd wi' skinny 'uns. Martha, what's become o' Mrs. Saumarez an'
+that flighty gell o' hers. What did they call her--Angel? My word!--a
+nice angel--not that she wasn't as thin as a sperrit."
+
+"Miss Walker told me, last Christmas twel'month, they were i' France,"
+said Martha.
+
+"France? Ay, maist like; it's a God-forsaken place, I'll be boun'."
+
+"Nay," interposed Bolland, "that's an unchristian description of onny
+counthry, ma'am. Ye'll find t' Lord ivverywhere i' t' wide wulld, if ye
+seek Him. There's bin times when He might easy be i' France, for He
+seemed, iv His wisdom, to be far away frae Elmsdale."
+
+Mrs. Summersgill snorted contempt for all "furriners," but Martha
+created a diversion.
+
+"Goodness me!" she cried, "yer cup's empty. I nivver did see sike a
+woman. Ye talk an' eat nowt."
+
+Martin, now in his third year at Oxford, was somewhat mystified by the
+change brought about in Elsie by two years of "languages and music"
+passed in the most attractive of German cities. Though not flippant, her
+manner nonplussed him. She was distinctly "smart," both in speech and
+style. She treated a young gentleman who had already taken his degree
+and was reading for honors in history with an easy nonchalance that was
+highly disconcerting. The last time they parted they had kissed each
+other, she with tears, and he with a lump in his throat. Now he dared
+no more offer a cousinly, or brotherly, or any other sort of salute in
+which kissing was essential, than if she were a royal princess.
+
+"You've altered, old girl," he said by way of a conversational opening
+when their horses were content to walk, after a sharp canter along a
+moorland track.
+
+"I should hope so, indeed," came the airy retort. "Surely, you didn't
+expect to find the Elmsdale label on me after two years of _kultur_?"
+
+"Whatever the label, the vintage looks good," he said.
+
+"You mean that as a compliment," she laughed. "And, now that I look at
+you carefully, I see signs of improvement. Of course, the Oxford swank
+is an abomination, but you'll lose it in time. Father told me last night
+that you were going in for the law and politics. Is that correct?"
+
+Martin, masterful as ever, was not minded to endure such supercilious
+treatment at Elsie's hands. He had looked forward to this meeting with a
+longing that had almost interfered with his work; it was more than
+irritating to find his divinity modeling her behavior on the lines of
+the Girton "set" at the University.
+
+They had reached a point of the high moor which overlooked Thor ghyll.
+Martin pulled up his cob and dismounted.
+
+"Let's give the nags a breather here," he said. "Shall I help you?"
+
+"No, thanks."
+
+Elsie was out of the saddle promptly. She rode astride. In a
+well-fitting habit, with divided skirt and patent-leather boots, she
+looked wonderfully alluring, but her air of aloofness was carried
+almost to the verge of indifference.
+
+She showed some surprise when Martin took her horse's reins and threw
+them over his left arm.
+
+"Are you going to lecture me?" she said, arching her eyebrows. "It would
+be just like a fledgling B. A., who is doubtless a member of the
+Officers' Training Corps, to tell me that my German riding-master taught
+me to sit too stiffly."
+
+"He did," said Martin, meeting the sarcastic blue eyes without
+flinching. "But a few days with the York and Ainsty and Lord Middleton's
+pack will put that right. You'll come a purler at your first stone wall
+if you ride with such long stirrup leathers. However, I want you to jump
+another variety of obstacle to-day. You asked me just now, Elsie, if I
+was going in for the law. Yes. But I'm going in for you first. You know
+I love you, dear. You know I have been your very humble but loyal knight
+ever since I won your recognition down there in the valley, when I was
+only a farmer's son and you were a girl of a higher social order. I have
+never forgotten that you didn't seem to heed class distinctions then,
+Elsie, and it hurts now to have you treat me with coldness."
+
+Elsie, trying valiantly to appear partly indignant and even more amused
+at this direct attack, failed most lamentably. First she flushed; then
+she paled.
+
+She faced Martin's gaze confidently enough at the outset, but her eyes
+dropped and her lips quivered when she heard the words which no woman
+can hear without a thrill. Still, she made a brave attempt to rally her
+forces.
+
+"I didn't--quite mean--what you say," she faltered, which was a
+schoolgirl form of protest for one who had achieved distinction in a
+course of English literature.
+
+Martin took her by the shoulders. The two horses nosed each other. They,
+perforce, were dumb, but their wise eye's seemed to exchange the caustic
+comment: "What fools these mortals be! Why don't they hug, and settle
+the business?"
+
+"I must know what you do mean," said Martin, almost fiercely. "I love
+you, Elsie. Will you marry me?"
+
+She lifted her face. The blue eyes were dim with tears, but the adorable
+mouth trembled in a smile.
+
+"Yes, dear," she murmured. "But what did you expect? Did you--think I
+would--throw my arms around you--in the village street?"
+
+After that Martin had no reason to accuse Elsie of being either stiff or
+cold. When the vicar heard the news that night--for Martin and the
+colonel dined at the Vicarage--he stormed into mock dissent.
+
+"God bless my soul," he cried, "my little girl has been away two whole
+years, and you come and steal her away from me before she has been home
+twenty-four hours!"
+
+Then he produced a handkerchief and yielded, apparently, to a violent
+attack of hay fever. Yet it was a joyous company which gathered around
+the dinner table, for Elsie herself, casting off the veneer of Dresden,
+drove posthaste to summon the Bollands to the feast.
+
+John was specially deputed by Colonel Grant to make a significant
+announcement.
+
+"We're all main pleased you two hev sattled matters so soon," he said,
+peering alternately at Martin's attentive face and Elsie's blushing one.
+"Yer father an' me hev bowt The Elms, an' a tidy bit o' land besides, so
+ye'll hev a stake i' t' county if ivver ye're minded te run for
+Parlyment. The Miss Walkers (John pronounced the name "Wahker") are
+goin' te live in a small hoos i' Nottonby. They've gotten a fine lot o'
+Spanish mahogany an' owd oak which they're willin' te sell by
+vallyation; so the pair of ye can gan there i' t' mornin' an' pick an'
+choose what ye want."
+
+Elsie looked at her father, but neither could utter a word. Martha
+Bolland put an arm around the girl's neck.
+
+"Lord luv' ye, honey!" she said brokenly, "it'll be just like crossin'
+the road. May I be spared te see you happy and comfortable in yer new
+home, for you'll surely be one of the finest ladies i' Yorkshire."
+
+No shadow darkened their joy in that cheerful hour. Even next day, when
+a grim specter flitted through Elmsdale, the ominous vision evoked only
+a passing notice. Colonel Grant and the vicar, each an expert in old
+furniture, accompanied the young people to The Elms and examined its
+antique dressers, sideboards, tables, and the rest. Many of the bedroom
+chests were of solid mahogany. The Misses Walker had cleared the drawers
+of the lumber of years, so that the prospective purchasers could note
+the interior finish.
+
+Miss Emmy, not so tactful as her elder sister, brought in a name which
+the others present wished to forget.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez used this room as a dressing-room," she said, "and while
+turning out rubbish from a set of drawers I came across this."
+
+She displayed a small red-covered folding road-map, such as cyclists and
+motorists use. Martin thought he recognized it.
+
+"I believe that is the very map lost by Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's
+chauffeur," he said.
+
+"Probably, sir. He made a rare row with Miss Ang�le about it. I was half
+afraid he meant to shake her. No one knew what had become of it, but
+either Miss Ang�le or her mother must have hidden it. Why, I can't
+guess."
+
+Elsie helped to smooth over an awkward incident. She took the map and
+began to open it.
+
+"It couldn't have been such an important matter," she said. Then she
+shook apart the folded sheet, and they all saw that it bore a number of
+entries and signs in faded ink, black and red. The written words were in
+German, and Elsie scanned a few lines hurriedly. She looked puzzled,
+even a trifle perturbed, but recovered her smiling self-possession
+instantly.
+
+"The poor man, being a foreigner, jotted down some notes for his
+guidance," she said. "May I have it?"
+
+"With pleasure, miss," said the old lady.
+
+It was not until the party had returned to the vicarage that Elsie
+explained her request. She spread the map on a table, and her smooth
+forehead wrinkled in doubt.
+
+"This is serious," she said. "I have lived in Germany long enough to
+understand that one cannot mix with German girls in the intimacy of
+school and at their homes without knowing that an attack on England is
+simply an obsession of their menfolk, and even of the women. They regard
+it as a certainty in the near future, pretending that if they don't
+strike first England will crush them."
+
+"I wish to Heaven she would!" broke in Colonel Grant emphatically. "In
+existing conditions this country resembles an unarmed policeman waiting
+for a burglar to fire at him out of the darkness."
+
+Mr. Herbert, man of peace that he was, might have voiced a mild
+disclaimer, had not Elsie stayed him.
+
+"Listen, father," she said seriously. "Here is proof positive. That
+chauffeur was a military spy. See what is written across the top of the
+map: 'Gutes Wasser; Futter in F�lle; �berfluss von Vieh, Schafen und
+Pferden. Einzelheiten auf genauen Ortlichkeiten angegeben.' That means
+'Good water; abundance of fodder; plenty of cattle, sheep, and horses.
+Details given on exact localities.' And, just look at the details! Could
+a child fail to interpret their meaning?"
+
+Elsie's simile was not far-fetched, yet gray-headed statesmen, though
+they may have both known and understood, refused to believe. That little
+road-map, on a scale of one mile to an inch, contained all the
+information needed by the staff of an invading army.
+
+The moor bore the legend:
+
+     "Platz f�r Lager, leicht verschanzt; beherrscht Hauptstrassen von
+     Whitby und Pickering nach York. Rote Kreise kennzeichnen
+     reichlichen Wasservorrat f�r Kavallerie und Artillerie." (Site for
+     camp, easily entrenched. Commands main roads from Whitby and
+     Pickering to York. Red circles show ample water supply for cavalry
+     and artillery.)
+
+Every road bore its classification for the use of troops, showing the
+width, quality of surface, and gradients. Each bridge was described as
+"stone" or "iron." Even cross-country trails were indicated when
+fordable streams rendered such passage not too difficult.
+
+The little group gazed spellbound at the extraordinarily accurate
+synopsis of the facilities offered by the placid country of Yorkshire
+for the devilish purposes of war. Martin, in particular, devoured the
+entries relating to the moor. On Metcalf's farm he saw: "Six hundred
+sheep here," and at the Broad Ings, "Four hundred sheep, three horses,
+four cows." Well he knew who had given the spy those facts. His glowing
+eyes wandered to the village. A long entry distinguished the White
+House, and though he knew a good deal of German he was beaten by the
+opening technical word.
+
+"What is that, Elsie?" he said, and even his father wondered at the hot
+anger in his utterance.
+
+The girl read:
+
+    "Stammbaum Vieh hier; drei Stiere, achtzehn K�he und F�rsen, nicht
+    zum Schlachten, sehr wertvoll. Neben bei sechs Stuten, besten Types
+    zur Zucht."
+
+Then she translated:
+
+    "Pedigree cattle here; three bulls, eighteen cows and heifers, not
+    to be slaughtered; very valuable. Also six brood mares of best type
+    for stud."
+
+"The infernal scoundrel!" blazed out Martin. "So the Bolland stock must
+be taken to the Fatherland, and not eaten or drafted into service! And
+to think that I gave him nearly all that information!"
+
+"You, Martin?" cried Elsie.
+
+"Yes. He pumped me dry. I even showed him the site of every pond on the
+moor."
+
+"Don't blame the man," put in Colonel Grant. "I knew him as a Prussian
+officer at the first glance. But he was simply doing his duty. Blame our
+criminal carelessness. We cannot stop foreigners from prowling about the
+country, but we can and should make it impossible for any enemy to
+utilize such data as are contained in this map."
+
+"But, consider," put in the perturbed vicar. "This evil work was done
+eight years ago, and what has all the talk of German preparation come
+to? Isn't it the bombast of militarism gone mad?"
+
+"It comes to this," said the colonel. "We are just eight years nearer
+war. I am convinced that the break must occur before 1916--and for two
+reasons: Germany's financial state is dangerous, and in 1916 Russia will
+have completed on her western frontier certain strategic lines which
+will expedite mobilization. Germany won't wait till her prospective foes
+are ready. France knows it. That is why she has adopted the three years'
+service scheme."
+
+"Then why won't you let me join the army, dad?" demanded Martin bluntly.
+
+Colonel Grant spread his hands with the weary gesture of a man who would
+willingly shirk a vital decision.
+
+"In peace the army is a poor career," he said. "The law and politics
+offer you a wider field. But not you only--every young man in the
+country should be trained to arms. As matters stand, we have neither the
+men nor the rifles. Our artillery, excellent of its type, is about
+sufficient for an army corps, and we have a fortnight's supply of
+ammunition. I am not an alarmist. We have enough regiments to repel a
+raid, supposing the enemy's transports dodged the fleet; but Heaven help
+us if we dream of sending an expeditionary force to France or Egypt, or
+any single one of a score of vulnerable points outside the British
+Isles!"
+
+"Beckett-Smythe retained one of those German chauffeurs in his service
+for a whole year," said the vicar, on whom a new light had dawned with
+the discovery of the telltale map.
+
+"Are there many of the brood in the district now?" inquired the colonel.
+
+"I fancy not."
+
+"There is no need, they have done their work," said Elsie. "Last winter
+I met a young officer in Dresden, and he told me he had taken a walking
+tour through this part of Yorkshire during the summer. He knew Elmsdale
+quite well. He remembered the vicarage, The Elms, and the White House.
+Yet he said he was here only a day!"
+
+"Fritz Bauer's maps are the best of guides," commented Colonel Grant
+bitterly.
+
+The vicar was literally awe-stricken. He stooped over the map.
+
+"Is this sort of thing going on all over the country?" he gasped.
+
+"More or less. Naturally, the east coast has been the chief hunting
+ground, as that must provide the terrain of any attack. Of course, so
+long as the political sky remains fairly clear, as it is at this moment,
+there is always a chance that humanity will escape Armageddon for
+another generation. The world is growing more rational and its interests
+are becoming ever more identical. Even the Junkers are feeling the
+pressure of public opinion, and the great masses of the people demand
+peace. That is why I want Martin to learn the power of voice and pen
+rather than of the sword. I have been a soldier all my life, and I hate
+war!"
+
+The man who had so often faced death in his country's cause spoke with
+real feeling. He longed to make war impossible by making victory
+impossible for an aggressor. He claimed no rights for Britain that he
+would deny Germany or any other country in the comity of nations.
+
+Suddenly he took the map off the table and folded it.
+
+"I'll send this curio to Whitehall," he said with a smile. "It will form
+part of a queer collection. Now, let's talk of something else....
+Martin, after the valuer has inspected that furniture, you might see to
+it that the whole lot is stored in the east bedrooms. The architect will
+not disturb that part of the house."
+
+"Oh, when can we look at the plans?" chimed in Elsie.
+
+These four people, who in their way fairly represented the forty
+millions of Great Britain, discussed the spy's map in the drawing-room
+of Elmsdale vicarage on July 6th, 1914. On the sixth of August, exactly
+one month later, two German army corps, with full artillery and
+commissariat trains, were loaded into transports and brought to the
+mouth of the Elbe. They hoped to avoid the British fleet, and their
+objective was the Yorkshire coast between Whitby and Filey. Once ashore,
+they meant entrenching a camp on the Elmsdale moor. Obviously, they did
+not dream of conquering England by one daring foray. Their purpose was
+to keep the small army of Britain fully occupied until France was
+humbled to the dust. They would lose the whole hundred thousand men. But
+what of that? German soldiers are regarded as cannon fodder by their
+rulers, and the price in human lives would not be too costly if it
+retained British troops at home.
+
+It was an audacious scheme, and audacity is the first principle of
+successful war. Its very spine and marrow was the knowledge of the North
+and East Ridings gained in time of peace by the officers who would lead
+the invading host. That it failed was due to England's sailors, the men
+who broke Napoleon, and were destined, by God's good grace, to break the
+robber empire of Germany.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE RIGOR OF THE GAME
+
+
+Elmsdale at war is very like Elmsdale in peace. At least, that was
+Martin's first impression when he and General Grant motored to the
+village from York on a day in September, 1915. Father and son had passed
+unscathed through the hellfire of Loos, General Grant in command of a
+brigade, and Martin a captain in a Kitchener battalion. They were in
+England on leave now, the middle-aged general for five days, and the
+youthful captain for ten, and the purpose of this joint home-coming was
+Martin's marriage.
+
+When it became evident that the world struggle would last years rather
+than months, General Grant and the vicar put their heads together,
+metaphorically speaking, since the connecting link was the field
+post-office, and arranged a war wedding. Why should the young people
+wait? they argued. Every consideration pointed the other way. With
+Martin wedded to Elsie, legal formalities as to Bolland's and the
+general's estate could be completed, and if Heaven blessed the union
+with children the continuity of two old families would be assured.
+
+So, to Martin's intense surprise, he was called to the telephone one
+Saturday morning in the trenches and told that he had better hand over
+his company to the senior subaltern as speedily as might be, since his
+ten days' leave began on the Monday, such being the amiable device by
+which commanding officers permit juniors to reach Blighty before an
+all-too-brief respite from the business of killing Germans begins
+officially.
+
+He met his father at Boulogne, and there learnt that which he had only
+suspected hitherto: he and Elsie were booked for an immediate honeymoon
+on a Scottish moor--at Cairn-corrie, to be exact. By chance the two
+travelers ran into Frank Beckett-Smythe, a gunner lieutenant in London,
+and he undertook to rush north that night to act as "best man." Father
+and son caught a train early on Sunday and hired a car at York, Elmsdale
+having no railway facilities on the day of rest.
+
+They arrived in time to attend the evening service at the parish church,
+to which, _mirabile dictu_, John and Martha Bolland accompanied them.
+The war has broken down many barriers, but few things have crumbled to
+ruin more speedily than the walls of prejudice and sectarian futilities
+which separated the many phases of religious thought in Britain.
+
+The church, with its small graveyard, stood in the center of the
+village, and the Grants had to wring scores of friendly hands before
+they and the others walked to the vicarage for supper. Martin and Elsie
+contrived to extricate themselves from the crowd slightly in advance of
+the older people. They felt absurdly shy. They were wandering in
+dreamland.
+
+Early next morning Martin strolled into the village. He wanted to stir
+the sluggish current of enlistment, for England was then making a final
+effort to maintain her army on a voluntary basis. Elmsdale was so
+unchanged outwardly that he marveled. He hardly realized that it could
+not well be otherwise. He had seen so many French hamlets torn by war
+that the snug content of this sheltered nook in rural Yorkshire was
+almost uncanny by contrast. The very familiarity of the scene formed its
+strangest element. Its sights, its sounds, its homely voices, were novel
+to the senses of one whose normal surroundings were the abominations of
+war. Here were trim houses and well-filled stockyards, smiling orchards
+and cattle grazing in green pastures. Everywhere was peace. He was the
+only man in uniform, until Sergeant Benson appeared in the doorway of a
+cottage and saluted. The village had its own liveries--the corduroys of
+the carpenter, redolent of oil and turpentine, the tied-up trouser legs
+of the laborer, the blacksmith's leather apron, ragged and burnt, a true
+Vulcan's robe, the shoemaker's, shiny with the stropping of knives and
+seamed with cobbler's wax. The panoply of Mars looked singularly out of
+place in this Sleepy Hollow.
+
+But, by degrees, he began to miss things. There were no young men in the
+fields. All the horses had gone, save the yearlings and those too old
+for the hard work of artillery and transport. He questioned Benson and
+found that little Elmsdale had not escaped the levy laid on the rest of
+Europe. Jim Bates was in the Yorkshire Regiment. Tommy Beadlam's white
+head was resting forever in a destroyed trench at Ypres. Tom Chandler
+had fallen at Gallipoli. Evelyn Atkinson was a nurse, and her two
+sisters were "in munitions" at Leeds. Yes, there were some shirkers, but
+not many. For the most part, they were hidden in the moorland farms. "T'
+captain" would remember Georgie Jackson? Well, he was one of the
+stand-backs--wouldn't go till he was fetched. The village girls made
+his life a misery, so he "hired" at the Broad Ings, miles away in the
+depths of the moor. One night about a month ago one of those "d--d
+Zeppelines" dropped a bomb on the heather, which caught fire. A second,
+following a murder trail to Newcastle, saw the resultant blaze and
+dropped twelve bombs. A third, believing that real damage was being
+done, flung out its whole cargo of twenty-nine bombs.
+
+"So, now, sir," grinned Benson, "there's a fine lot o' pot-holes i' t'
+moor. Georgie was badly scairt. He saw the three Zepps, an' t' bombs
+fell all over t' farm. Next mornin' he f'und three sheep banged te bits.
+An' what d'ye think? He went straight te Whitby an' 'listed. He hez a
+bunch o' singed wool in his pocket, an' sweers he'll mak' some Jarman
+eat it."
+
+So Martin only recruited a wife that day, and evidently secured a
+sensible one, for Elsie, taking thought, on hearing certain vivid
+descriptions of trench life on the Sunday evening, vetoed the wedding
+trip to Scotland, and persuaded her husband to "go the limit" in London,
+where plenty of society and a round of theaters acted as a wholesome
+tonic after the monotony of high-explosive existence in a dugout.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In February, 1917, Martin was "in billets" at Armenti�res. He had been
+promoted to the staff, and had fairly earned this coveted recognition by
+a series of daring excursions into "No Man's Land" every night for a
+week, which enabled him to plan an attack on the German lines at
+Chapelle d'Armenti�res. Never thinking of any personal gain, he drew up
+a memorandum, which he submitted to his colonel. The latter sent the
+document to Divisional Headquarters; the scheme was approved. Fritz was
+pushed forcibly half a mile nearer Lille, and "Captain Reginald Ingram
+Grant" was informed, in the dry language of the _Gazette_, that in
+future he would wear a red band around his field service cap and little
+red tabs on the shoulders of his tunic.
+
+That was a great day for him, but his elation was as nothing
+compared with the joy of Elmsdale when the _Messenger_ reprinted the
+announcement. Elsie, of course, imagined that her husband was now
+comparatively safe for the rest of the war, and he has never undeceived
+her. As a matter of fact, his first real "job" was to carry out a fresh
+series of observations at a point south of Armenti�res along the road to
+Arras. This might involve another six days of lurking in dugouts at the
+front and six nights of crawling through and under German barbed wire.
+
+His companion was a sapper sergeant named Mason. They suspected that the
+German position was heavily mined in anticipation of an attack at that
+very point, and it was part of their business at the outset to ascertain
+whether or not this was the case.
+
+The enemy's lines were about one hundred and fifty yards away, and all
+observers agree that the chief difficulty experienced in the pitch-black
+darkness of a cloudy, moonless night is to estimate the distance
+covered. Crawling over shell-torn ground, slow work at the best, is
+rendered slower by the frequent waits necessary while rockets flare
+overhead and Verrey lights describe brilliant parabolas in unexpected
+directions. Martin, up to every trick and dodge of the "listening
+post," surveyed the field of operations through a periscope, and noticed
+that one of the ditches which mark boundaries in northern France ran
+almost in a straight line from the British trenches to the German, and
+had at one time been reinforced by posts and rails. The fence was
+destroyed, but many of the posts remained, some intact, others mere
+jagged stumps. He estimated that the nineteenth was not more than a
+couple of yards from the enemy's wire, and knew of old that it was in
+just such an irregular hollow he might expect to find a weak place in
+the entanglement.
+
+Mason agreed with him.
+
+"We can save a lot of time by following that trail, sir," he said.
+"There's only one drawback----"
+
+"That Fritz may have hit on the same scheme," laughed Martin. "Possible;
+but we must chance it."
+
+Mason and he were old associates. They had perfected a code of signals,
+by touch, that enabled them to work in absolute silence. Thus, a slight
+hold meant "Halt"; a slight push, "Advance"; a slight pull, "Retire."
+Each carried a trench knife and a revolver, the latter for use as a last
+resource only. They were not going out for fighting but for observation.
+If enemy patrols were encountered, they must be avoided. Germans are not
+phlegmatic, but, on the contrary, highly nervous. Continuous raids by
+British bombing parties had put sentries "on the jump," and the least
+noise which was not explained by a whispered password attracted a heavy
+spray of machine-gun fire. Especially was this the case during the hour
+before dawn. By hurrying out immediately after darkness set in, the two
+counted on nearing the German front-line trench at a time when reliefs
+were being posted and fatigue parties were plodding to the "dump" for
+the next day's rations.
+
+"What time will you be back?" inquired the subaltern in charge of the
+platoon holding that part of the British trench. It was his duty to warn
+sentries to be on the lookout for the return of scouting parties.
+
+Martin glanced at the luminous watch on his wrist. It was then seven
+o'clock, and the night promised to be dark and quiet. The evening
+"strafe" had just ended, and the German guns would reopen fire on the
+trenches about five in the morning. During the intervening hours the
+artillery would indulge in groups of long shots, hoping to catch the
+commissariat or a regiment marching on the _pav�_ in column of fours.
+
+"About twelve," said Martin.
+
+"Well, so long, sir! I'll have some coffee ready."
+
+"So long!" And Martin led the way up a trench ladder.
+
+No man wishes another "Good luck!" in these enterprises. By a curious
+inversion of meaning, "Good luck!" implies a ninety per cent chance of
+getting killed!
+
+The two advanced rapidly for the first hundred yards. Then they
+separated, each crawling out into the open for about twenty yards to
+right and left. Snuggling into a convenient shell hole, they would
+listen intently, with an ear to the ground, their object being to detect
+the rhythmic beat of a pick, if a mining party was busy. Each remained
+exactly ten minutes. Then they met and compared notes, always by signal.
+If necessary, they would visit a suspected locality together and
+endeavor to locate the line of the tunnel.
+
+It was essential that the British side of "No Man's Land" should not be
+too quiet. Every few minutes a rocket or a Verrey light would soar over
+that torn Golgotha. But there was method in the seeming madness. The
+first and second glare would illuminate an area well removed from
+Martin's territory. The third might be right over him or Mason, but they
+were then so well hidden that the sharpest eye could not discern their
+presence.
+
+By nine o'clock they had covered more than a hundred yards of the
+enemy's front, skirting his trip-wire throughout the whole distance.
+They had heard no fewer than six mining parties. Each had advanced some
+thirty yards. In effect, if the German trench was to be taken at all,
+the attack must be made next day, and the artillery preparation should
+commence at dawn. Instead of returning to the subaltern's dugout at
+midnight, Martin wanted to reach the telephone not later than ten, and
+hurry back to headquarters. The staff would have another sleepless
+night, but a British battalion would not be blown up while its
+successive "waves" were crossing "No Man's Land."
+
+Mason and he crept like lizards to the sunk fence. All they needed now
+was a close scrutiny of the German parapet in that section. It was a
+likely site for a machine-gun emplacement and, in that case, would
+receive special attention from a battery of 4.7's.
+
+They reached the ditch shortly before a rocket was due overhead. Making
+assurance doubly sure, they flattened against the outer slope of a shell
+hole, took off their caps, and each sought a tuft of grass through
+which to peer.
+
+Simultaneously, by two short taps, both conveyed a warning. They had
+heard a slight rustling directly in front. A Verrey light, and not a
+rocket, flamed through the darkness. Its brilliancy was intense. But the
+Verrey light has a peculiar property: far more effective than the rocket
+when it reveals troops in motion, it is rendered practically useless if
+men remain still. Working parties and scouts counteract its vivid beams
+by absolute rigidity. The uplifted pick or hammer, the advanced foot,
+the raised arm, must be kept in statuesque repose, and the reward is
+complete safety. A rocket, on the other hand, though not half so deadly
+in exposing an attack, demands that every man within its periphery shall
+endeavor forthwith to blend with the earth, or he will surely be seen
+and shot at.
+
+The two Britons, looking through stalks of withered herbage, found
+themselves gazing into the eyes of a couple of Germans crouching on
+the level barely six feet away. It seemed literally impossible that
+the enemy observers should not see them. But strange things happen
+in war. The Germans were scanning all the visible ground; the Englishmen
+happened to be on the alert for a recognized danger in that identical
+spot. So the one party, watching space, saw nothing; the other, prepared
+for a specific discovery, made it. What was more, when the light failed,
+the Germans were assured of comparative safety, while their opponents
+had measured the extent of an instant peril and got ready to face it.
+
+They knew, too, that the Germans must be killed or captured. One
+was a major, the other a noncommissioned officer, and men of such
+rank were seldom deputed by the enemy to roam at large through the
+strip of debated land which British endeavor, drawn by its sporting
+uncertainties, had rendered most unhealthy for human "game" of the
+Hun species.
+
+A dark night in that part of French Flanders becomes palpably black
+during a few seconds after a flare. The Englishmen squatted back on
+their heels. Neither drew his revolver, but each right hand clutched
+a trench knife, a peculiarly murderous-looking implement with an oval
+handle, and shaped like a corkscrew, except that the screw is replaced
+by a short, flat, dagger-pointed blade. No signal was needed. Each knew
+exactly what to do. The accident of position allotted the major to
+Martin.
+
+The Germans came on stealthily. They had noted the shell-hole, and sat
+on its crumbling edge, meaning to slide down and creep out on the other
+side. Martin's left hand gripped a stout boot by the ankle. In the fifth
+of a second he had a heavy body twisted violently and flung face down
+in the loose earth at the bottom of the hole. A knee was planted in the
+small of the prisoner's back, the point of the knife was under his right
+ear, and Martin was saying, in quite understandable German:
+
+"If you move or speak, I'll cut your throat!"
+
+The words have a brutal sound, but it does not pay to be squeamish on
+such occasions, and the German language adapts itself naturally to
+phrases of the kind.
+
+Sergeant Mason had to solve his own problem by a different method. The
+quarry chanced to be leaning forward at the moment a vicious tug
+accelerated his progress. As a result, he fell on top of the hunter, and
+there was nothing for it but the knife. A ghastly squeal was barely
+stifled by the Englishman's hand over the victim's mouth. At thirty
+yards, or thereabouts, and coming from a deep hole, the noise might have
+been a grunt. Nevertheless, it reached the German trench.
+
+"Wer da?" hissed a voice, and Martin heard the click of a machine-gun as
+it swung on its tripod.
+
+He did not fear the gun, which only meant a period of waiting while its
+bullets cracked overhead. What he did dread was a search party, as
+German majors are valuable birds, and must be safeguarded. The situation
+called for the desperate measure he took. The point of the knife entered
+his captive's neck, and he whispered:
+
+"Tell your men they must keep quiet, or you die now!"
+
+He allowed the almost choking man to raise his head. The German knew
+that his life was forfeit if he did not obey the order. A certain
+gurgling, ever growing weaker, showed that his companion would soon be a
+corpse.
+
+"Shut up, sheep's head!" he growled.
+
+It sufficed. That is the way German majors talk to their inferiors.
+
+The engineer sergeant wriggled nearer.
+
+"Couldn't help it, sir," he breathed. "I had to give him one!"
+
+"Go through him for papers and bring me his belt."
+
+Within a minute the officer's hands were fastened behind his back. Then
+he was permitted to rise and, after being duly warned, told to
+accompany Mason. Martin followed, and the three began the return
+journey. A German rocket bothered them once, but the German was quick as
+they to fall flat. Evidently he was not minded to offer a target for
+marksmen on either side.
+
+Soon Mason was sent forward to warn the sentries. Quarter of an hour
+after the episode in the shell hole Martin, having come from the
+telephone, was examining his prisoner by the light of an electric torch
+in a dugout.
+
+"What is your name?" he inquired.
+
+"Freiherr Georg von Struben, major of artillery," was the somewhat
+grandiloquent answer.
+
+"Do you speak English?"
+
+"Nod mooch."
+
+Some long dormant chord of memory vibrated in Martin's brain. He held
+the torch closer. Von Struben was a tall, well-built Prussian. He
+smiled, meaning probably to make the best of a bad business. His face
+was soiled with clay and perspiration. A streak of blood had run from a
+slight cut over an eyebrow. But the white scar of an old saber wound,
+the outcome of a duelling bout in some university _burschenschaft_,
+creased down its center when he smiled. Then Martin knew.
+
+"Fritz Bauer!" he cried.
+
+The German started, though he recovered his self-control promptly.
+
+"You haf nod unterstant," he said. "I dell you my nem----"
+
+"That's all right, Fritz," laughed Martin. "You spoke good English when
+you were in Elmsdale. You could fool me then into giving you valuable
+information for your precious scheme of invading England. Now it's my
+turn! Have you forgotten Martin Bolland?"
+
+Blank incredulity yielded to evident fear in the other man's eyes. With
+obvious effort, he stiffened.
+
+"I was acting under orders, Captain Bolland," he said.
+
+"Not Bolland, but Grant," laughed Martin. "I, too, have changed my name,
+but for a more honorable reason."
+
+The words seemed to irritate von Struben.
+
+"I did noding dishonorable," he protested. "I was dere by command. If it
+wasn't for your d--d fleet, I would have lodged once more in de Elms
+eighdeen monds ago."
+
+"I know," said Martin. "We found your map, the map which Ang�le stole
+because you wouldn't take her in the car the day we went on the moor."
+
+In all likelihood the prisoner's nerves were on edge. He had gone
+through a good deal since being hauled into the shell hole, and was by
+no means prepared for this display of intimate knowledge of his past
+career by the youthful looking Briton who had manhandled him so
+effectually. Be that as it may, he was so disconcerted by the mere
+allusion to Ang�le that a fantastic notion gripped Martin. He pursued it
+at once.
+
+"We English are not quite such idiots as you like to imagine us, major,"
+he went on, and so ready was his speech that the pause was hardly
+perceptible. "Mrs. Saumarez--or, describing her by her other name, the
+Baroness von Edelstein--was a far more dangerous person than you. It
+took time to run her to earth--you know what that means? when a fox is
+chased to a burrow by hounds--but our Intelligence Department sized her
+up correctly at last."
+
+Now this was nothing more than the wildest guessing, a product of many a
+long talk with Elsie, the vicar, and General Grant during the early days
+of the war. But von Struben was manifestly so ill at ease that he had to
+cover his discomfiture under a frown.
+
+"I have not seen de lady for ten years," he said.
+
+This disclaimer was needless. He had been wiser to have cursed Ang�le
+for purloining his map.
+
+"Perhaps not. She avoided Berlin. But you have heard of her."
+
+Again was the former spy guilty of stupidity. He set his lips like a
+steel trap. Doubtful what to say, he said nothing.
+
+Martin nodded to Sergeant Mason.
+
+"Just go through the major's pockets," he said. "You know what we want."
+
+Mason's knowledge was precise. He left the prisoner his money, watch,
+pipe, and handkerchief. The remainder of his belongings were made up
+into a bundle. Highly valuable treasure-trove was contained therein, the
+major having in his possession a detailed list of all arms in the
+Fifty-seventh Brandenburg Division and a sketch of the trench system
+which it occupied. A glance showed Martin that the Fifty-seventh
+Division lay directly in front.
+
+He turned to the subaltern whose dugout he was using and who had
+witnessed the foregoing scene in silence.
+
+"Can you send a corporal's guard to D.H.Q. in charge of the prisoner?"
+he asked.
+
+"Certainly," said the other. "By the way, come outside and have a
+cigarette."
+
+Cigarettes are not lighted in front-line communication trenches after
+nightfall--not by officers, at any rate--nor do second lieutenants
+address staff captains so flippantly. Martin read something more into
+the invitation than appeared on the surface. He was right.
+
+"About this Mrs. Saumarez you spoke of just now," said the subaltern
+when they were beyond the closed door of the dugout. "Is she the widow
+of one of our fellows, a Hussar colonel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know she is living in Paris?"
+
+"Well, I heard some few years since that she was residing there."
+
+"She's there now. She runs a sort of hostel for youngsters on short
+leave. She's supposed to charge a small fee, but doesn't. And there's
+drinks galore for all comers. She's extraordinarily popular, of course,
+but I--er--well, one hates saying it. Still, you made me sit up and take
+notice when you mentioned the Intelligence Department. Mrs. Saumarez has
+a wonderful acquaintance with the British front. She tells you
+things--don't you know--and one is led on to talk--sort of reciprocity,
+eh?"
+
+Martin drew a deep breath. He almost dreaded putting the inevitable
+question.
+
+"Is her daughter with her--a girl of twenty-one, named Ang�le?"
+
+"No. Never heard Mrs. Saumarez so much as mention her."
+
+"Thanks. We've done a good night's work, I fancy. And--this for
+yourself only--there may be a scrap to-morrow afternoon."
+
+"Fine! I want to stretch my legs. Been in this bally hole nine days.
+Well, here's your corporal. Good-night, sir."
+
+"Good-night!"
+
+And Martin trudged through the mud with Sergeant Mason behind von
+Struben and the escort.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+NEARING THE END
+
+
+Sixty hours elapsed before Martin was able to unwrap the puttees from
+off his stiff legs and cut the laces of boots so caked with mud that he
+was too weary to untie them. In that time, as the official report put
+it, "enemy trenches extending from Rue du Bois to Houplines, over a
+front of nearly three miles, were occupied to an average depth of one
+thousand yards, and our troops are now consolidating the new territory."
+
+A bald announcement, indeed! Martin was one of the few who knew what it
+really meant. He had helped to organize the victory; he could sum up its
+costs. But this record is not a history of the war, nor even of one
+young soldier's share in it. Martin himself has developed a literary
+style noteworthy for its simple directness. Some day, if he survives, he
+may tell his own story.
+
+When the last of twelve hundred prisoners had been mustered in the
+Grande Place of Armenti�res, when the attacking battalions had been
+relieved and the reserve artillery was shelling Fritz's hastily formed
+gun positions, when the last ambulance wagon of the "special" division
+had sped over the _pav�_ to the base hospital at Bailleul, Martin
+thought he was free to go to bed.
+
+As a matter of fact, he was not. Utterly spent, he had thrown himself on
+a cot and had slept the sleep of complete exhaustion for half an hour,
+when a brigade major discovered that "Captain Grant" was at liberty, and
+detailed him for an immediate inquiry. The facts were set forth on Army
+Form 122: "On the night of the 10th inst. a barrel of rum, delivered at
+Brigade Dump No. 35, was stolen or mislaid. It was last seen in trench
+77. For investigation and report to D.A.Q.M.G. 50th Div." That barrel
+of rum will never be seen again, though it was destined to roll through
+reams of variously numbered army forms during many a week.
+
+But it did not disturb Martin's slumbers. A brigadier general happened
+to hear his name given to an orderly.
+
+"Who's that?" he inquired sharply. "Grant, did you say?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the brigade major.
+
+"Don't be such a Heaven-condemned idiot!" said the general, or, rather,
+he used words to that effect. "Grant was all through that push. Find
+some other fellow."
+
+Brigade majors are necessarily inhuman. It is nothing to them what a man
+may have done--they think only of the next job. They are steeled alike
+to pity and reproach. This one was no exception among the tribe. He
+merely thumbed a list and said to the orderly:
+
+"Give that chit to Mr. Fortescue."
+
+So a subaltern began the chase. He smelt the rum through a whole company
+of Gordons, but the barrel lies hid a fathom deep in the mud of
+Flanders.
+
+That same afternoon Martin woke up, refreshed in mind and body. He
+secured a hot bath, "dolled up" in clean clothes, and strolled out to
+buy some socks from "Madame," the famous Frenchwoman who has kept her
+shop open in Armenti�res throughout three years of shell fire.
+
+A Yorkshire battalion was "standing at ease" in the street while their
+officers and color sergeants engaged in a wrangle about billets. The
+regiment had taken part in the "push" and bore the outward and visible
+signs of that inward grace which had carried them beyond the third line
+German trench. A lance corporal was playing "Tipperary" on a
+mouth-organ.
+
+Someone shouted: "Give us 'Home Fires,' Jim"--and "Jim" ran a
+preliminary flourish before Martin recognized the musician.
+
+"Why, if it isn't Jim Bates!" he cried, advancing with outstretched
+hand.
+
+The lance corporal drew himself up and saluted. His brown skin reddened
+as he shook hands, for it is not every day that a staff captain greets
+one of the rank and file in such democratic fashion.
+
+"I'm main glad te see you, sir," he said. "I read of your promotion in
+t' _Messenger_, an' we boys of t' owd spot were real pleased. We were,
+an' all."
+
+"You're keeping fit, I see," and Martin's eye fell to a _pickelhaube_
+tied to the sling of Bates's rifle.
+
+"Pretty well, sir," grinned Bates. "I nearly had a relapse yesterday
+when that mine went up. Did ye hear of it?"
+
+"If you mean the one they touched off at L'Epinette Farm, I saw it,"
+said Martin. "I was at the crossroads at the moment."
+
+"Well, fancy that, sir! I couldn't ha' bin twenty yards from you."
+
+"Queer things happen in war. Do you remember Mrs. Saumarez's German
+chauffeur, a man named Fritz Bauer?"
+
+"Quite well, sir."
+
+"We caught him in 'No Man's Land' three nights ago. He is a major now."
+
+Jim was so astonished that his mouth opened, just as it would have done
+ten years earlier.
+
+"By gum!" he cried. "That takes it! An' it's hardly a month since I saw
+Miss Ang�le in Amiens."
+
+Martin's pulse quickened. The mouth-organ in Bates's hand brought him
+back at a bound to the night when he had forbidden Jim to play for
+Ang�le's dancing. And with that memory came another thought. Mrs.
+Saumarez in Paris--her daughter in Amiens--why this devotion to such
+nerve centers of the war?
+
+"Are you sure?" he said. "You would hardly recognize her. She is ten
+years older--a woman, not a child."
+
+Bates laughed. He dropped his voice.
+
+"She was always a bit owd-fashioned, sir. I'm not mistakken. It kem
+about this way. It was her, right enough. Our colonel's shover fell
+sick, so I took on the car for a week. One day I was waitin' outside the
+Hotel dew Nord at Amiens when a French Red Cross auto drove up, an' out
+stepped Miss Ang�le. I twigged her at once. I'd know them eyes of hers
+anywheres. She hopped into the hotel, walkin' like a ballet-dancer.
+Hooiver, I goes up to her shover an' sez: 'Pardonnay moy, but ain't that
+Mees Ang�le Saumarez?' He talked a lot--these Frenchies always do--but I
+med out he didn't understand. So I parlay-vooed some more, and soon I
+got the hang of things. She's married now, an' I have her new name an'
+address in my kit-bag. But I remember 'em, all right. I can't pronounce
+'em, but I can spell 'em."
+
+And Lance Corporal Bates spelled: "La Comtesse Barth�lemi de Saint-Ivoy,
+2 bis, Impasse Fautet, Rue Blanche, Paris."
+
+"It looks funny," went on Jim anxiously, "but it's just as her shover
+wrote it."
+
+Martin affected to treat this information lightly.
+
+"I'm exceedingly glad I came across you," he said. "How would you like
+to be a sergeant, Jim?"
+
+Bates grinned widely.
+
+"It's a lot more work, but it does mean better grub, sir," he confided.
+
+"Very well. Don't mention it to anyone, and I'll see what can be done.
+It shouldn't be difficult, since you've earned the first stripe
+already."
+
+Martin found his brigadier at the mess. A few minutes' conversation with
+the great man led him to a greater in the person of the divisional
+general. Yet a few more minutes of earnest talk, and he was in a car,
+bound for General Grant's headquarters, which he reached late that
+night. It was long after midnight when the two retired, and the son's
+face was almost as worn and care-lined as the father's ere the
+discussion ended.
+
+Few problems have been so baffling and none more dangerous to the Allied
+armies in France than the German spy system. It was so perfect before
+the war, every possible combination of circumstances had been foreseen
+and provided against so fully, that the most thorough hunting out
+and ruthless punishment of enemy agents has failed to crush the
+organization. The snake has been scotched, but not killed. Its venom is
+still potent. Every officer on the staff and many senior regimental
+officers have been astounded time and again by the completeness and
+up-to-date nature of the information possessed by the Germans. Surprise
+attacks planned with the utmost secrecy have found enemy trenches held
+by packed reserves and swarming with additional machine-guns. Newly
+established ammunition d�p�ts, carefully screened, have been bombed next
+day by aeroplanes and subjected to high-angle fire. Troop movements by
+rail over long distances have become known, and their effect discounted.
+Flanders, in particular, is a plague-spot of espionage which has cost
+Britain an untold sacrifice of life and an almost immeasurable waste of
+effort.
+
+Small wonder, then, that Martin's forehead should be seamed with
+foreboding. If his suspicions, which his father shared, were justified,
+the French Intelligence Department would quickly determine the truth,
+and no power on earth could save Ang�le and her mother from a firing
+party. France knows her peril and stamps it out unflinchingly. Of late,
+too, the British authorities adopt the same rigorous measures. The spy,
+man or woman, is shown no mercy.
+
+And now the whirligig of events had placed in Martin's hands the
+question of life or death for Mrs. Saumarez and Ang�le. It was a
+loathsome burden. He rebelled against it. During the long run to Paris
+his very soul writhed at the thought that fate was making him their
+executioner. He tried to steel his resolution by dwelling on the
+mischief they might have caused by thinking rather of the gallant
+comrades laid forever in the soil of France because of their murderous
+duplicity than of the woman who was once his friend, of the girl whose
+kisses had once thrilled him to the core. Worst of all, both General
+Grant and he himself felt some measure of responsibility for their
+failure to institute a searching inquiry as to Mrs. Saumarez's
+whereabouts when war broke out.
+
+But he was distraught and miserable. He had a notion--a well-founded
+one, as it transpired--that an approving general had recommended him for
+the Military Cross; but from all appearance he might have expected a
+letter from the War Office announcing his dismissal from the service.
+
+At last, after a struggle which left him so broken that at a cordon near
+Paris he was detained several minutes while a _sous-officier_ who did
+not like his looks communicated with a superior potentate, he made up
+his mind. Whate'er befell, he would give Ang�le and her mother one
+chance. If they decided to take it, well and good. If not, they must
+face the cold-eyed inquisition of the Quai d'Orsay.
+
+Luckily, as matters turned out, he elected to call on Mrs. Saumarez
+first. For one thing, her house in the Rue Henri was not far from a
+hotel on the Champs Elys�es where he was known to the management; for
+another, he wished to run no risk of being outwitted by Ang�le. If she
+and her mother were guilty of the ineffable infamy of betraying both the
+country of their nationality and that which sheltered them they must be
+trapped so effectually as to leave no room for doubt.
+
+He was also fortunate in the fact that his soldier chauffeur, when given
+the choice, decided to wait and drive him to the Rue Henri. The man was
+candid as to his own plans for the evening.
+
+"When I put the car up I'll have a hot bath and go to bed, sir," he
+said. "I've not had five hours' sleep straight on end during the past
+three weeks, an' I know wot'll happen if I start hittin' it up around
+these bullyvards. Me for the feathers at nine o'clock! So, if you don't
+mind, sir----"
+
+Martin knew what the man meant. He wanted to be kept busy. One hour of
+enforced liberty implied the risk of meeting some hilarious comrades.
+Even in Paris, strict as the police regulations may be, Britons from the
+front are able to sit up late, and the parties are seldom "dry."
+
+So officer and man removed some of the marks of a long journey, ate a
+good meal, and about eight o'clock arrived at Mrs. Saumarez's house.
+Life might be convivial enough inside, but the place looked deserted,
+almost forbidding, externally.
+
+Indeed, Martin hesitated before pressing an electric bell and consulted
+a notebook to verify the street and number given him by the subaltern on
+the night von Struben was captured. But he had not erred. His memory
+never failed. There could be no doubt but that his special gift in this
+direction had been responsible for a rapid promotion, since military
+training, on the mental side, depends largely on a letter-perfect
+accuracy of recollection.
+
+When he rang, however, the door opened at once. A bareheaded man in
+civilian attire, but looking most unlike a domestic, held aside a pair
+of heavy curtains which shut out the least ray of light from the hall.
+
+"_Entrez, monsieur_," he said in reply to Martin, after a sharp glance
+at the car and its driver.
+
+Martin heard a latch click behind him. He passed on, to find himself
+before a sergeant of police seated at a table. Three policemen stood
+near.
+
+"Your name and rank, monsieur?" said this official.
+
+Martin, though surprised, almost startled, by these preliminaries,
+answered promptly. The sergeant nodded to one of his aides.
+
+"Take this gentleman upstairs," he said.
+
+"Is there any mistake?" inquired Martin. "I have come here to visit Mrs.
+Saumarez."
+
+"No mistake," said the sergeant. "Follow that man, monsieur."
+
+Assured now that some dramatic and wholly unexpected development had
+taken place, Martin tried to gather his wits as he mounted to the
+first floor. There, in a shuttered drawing-room, he confronted a
+shrewd-looking man in mufti, to whom his guide handed a written slip
+sent by the sergeant. Evidently, this was an official of some
+importance.
+
+"Shall I speak English, Captain Grant?" he said, thrusting aside a pile
+of documents and clearing a space on the table at which he was busy.
+
+"Well," said Martin, smiling, "I imagine that your English is better
+than my French."
+
+He sat on a chair indicated by the Frenchman. He put no questions. He
+guessed he was in the presence of a tragedy.
+
+"Is Mrs. Saumarez a friend of yours?" began the stranger.
+
+"Yes, in a sense."
+
+"Have you seen her recently?"
+
+"Not for ten years."
+
+Obviously, this answer was disconcerting. It was evident, too, that
+Martin's name was not on a typed list which the other man had scanned
+with a quick eye. Martin determined to clear up an involved situation.
+
+"I take it that you are connected with the police department?" he said.
+"Well, I have come from the British front at Armenti�res to inquire into
+the uses to which this house has been put. A number of British officers
+have been entertained here. Our people want to know why."
+
+He left it at that for the time being, but the Frenchman's manner became
+perceptibly more friendly.
+
+"May I examine your papers?" he said.
+
+Martin handed over the bundle of "permis de voyage," which everyone
+without exception must possess in order to move about the roads of
+western France in wartime.
+
+"Ah!" said the official, his air changing now to one of marked relief,
+"this helps matters greatly. My name is Duchesne, Captain Grant--Gustave
+Duchesne. I belong to the Bureau de l'Int�rieur. So you people also have
+had your suspicions? There can be no doubt about it--the Baroness von
+Edelstein was a spy of the worst kind. The mischief that woman did was
+incalculable. Of course, it was hopeless to look for any real preventive
+work in England before the war; but we were caught napping here. You
+see, the widow of a British officer, a lady who had the best of
+credentials, and whose means were ample, hardly came under review. She
+kept open house, and had lived in Paris so long that her German origin
+was completely forgotten. In fact, the merest accident brought about her
+downfall."
+
+One of the policemen came in with a written memorandum, which M.
+Duchesne read.
+
+"Your chauffeur does not give information willingly," smiled the latter.
+"The sergeant had to threaten him with arrest before he would describe
+your journey to-day."
+
+It was clear that the authorities were taking nothing for granted where
+Mrs. Saumarez and her visitors were concerned. Martin felt that he had
+stumbled to the lip of an abyss. At any rate, events were out of his
+hands now, and for that dispensation he was profoundly thankful.
+
+"I think I ought to tell you what I know of Mrs. Saumarez," he said. "I
+don't wish to do the unfortunate woman an injustice, and my facts are so
+nebulous----"
+
+"One moment, Captain Grant," interposed the Frenchman. "You may feel
+less constraint if you hear that the Baroness died this morning."
+
+"Good Heavens!" was Martin's involuntary cry. "Was she executed?"
+
+"No," said the other. "She forestalled justice by a couple of hours. The
+cause of death was heart failure. She was--intemperate. Her daughter was
+with her at the end."
+
+"Madame Barth�lemi de Saint-Ivoy!"
+
+"You know her, then?"
+
+"I met her in a Yorkshire village at the same time as her mother. The
+other day, by chance, I ascertained her name and address from one of our
+village lads who recognized her in Amiens about a month ago."
+
+"Well, you were about to say----"
+
+Martin had to put forth a physical effort to regain self-control. He
+plunged at once into the story of those early years. There was little to
+tell with regard to Mrs. Saumarez and Ang�le. "Fritz Bauer" was the
+chief personage, and he was now well on his way to a prison camp in
+England.
+
+Monsieur Duchesne was amused by the map episode in its latest phase.
+
+"And you were so blind that you took no action?" he commented dryly.
+
+"No. We saw, but were invincibly confident. My father sent the map to
+the Intelligence Department, with which he was connected until 1912,
+when he was given a command in the North. He and I believe now that
+someone in Whitehall overlooked the connection between Mrs. Saumarez and
+an admitted spy. She had left England, and there was so much to do when
+war broke out."
+
+"Ah! If only those people in London had written us!"
+
+"Is the affair really so bad?"
+
+"Bad! This wretched creature showed an ingenuity that was devilish. She
+deceived her own daughter. That is perfectly clear. The girl married a
+French officer after the Battle of the Marne, and, as we have every
+reason to believe, thought she had persuaded her mother to break off
+relations with her German friends. We know now that the baroness, left
+to her own devices, adopted a method of conveying information to the
+Boches which almost defied detection. Owing to her knowledge of the
+British army she was able to chat with your men on a plane of intimacy
+which no ordinary woman could command. She found out where certain
+brigades were stationed and what regiments composed them. She heard to
+what extent battalions were decimated. She knew what types of guns were
+in use and what improvements were coming along in caliber and range. She
+was told when men were suddenly recalled from leave, and where they were
+going. Need I say what deductions the German Staff could make from such
+facts?"
+
+"But how on earth could she convey the information in time to be of
+value?"
+
+"Quite easily. There is one weak spot on our frontier--south of the
+German line. She wrote to an agent in Pontarlier, and this man
+transmitted her notes across the Swiss frontier. The rest was simple.
+She was caught by fate, not by us. Years ago she employed a woman from
+Tinchebrai as a nurse----"
+
+"Fran�oise!" broke in Martin.
+
+"Exactly--Fran�oise Dupont. Well, Madame Dupont died in 1913. But she
+had spoken of her former mistress to a nephew, and this man, a cripple,
+is now a Paris postman. He is a sharp-witted peasant, and, as he grew in
+experience, was promoted gradually to more important districts. Just a
+week ago he took on this very street, and when he saw the name recalled
+her aunt's statements about Mrs. Saumarez. He informed the S�ret� at
+once. Even then she gave us some trouble. Her letters were printed, not
+written, and she could post them in out-of-the-way places. However, we
+trapped her within forty-eight hours. Have you a battery of four 9.2's
+hidden in a wood three hundred meters north-west of Pont Ballot?"
+
+Martin was so flabbergasted that he stammered.
+
+"That--is the sort of thing--we don't discuss--anywhere," he said.
+
+"Naturally. It happens to be also the sort of thing which Mrs. Saumarez
+drew out of some too-talkative lieutenant of artillery. Luckily, the
+fact has not crossed the border. We have the lady's notepaper and her
+secret signs, so are taking the liberty to supply the Boches with
+intelligence more useful to us."
+
+"Then you haven't grabbed the Pontarlier man?"
+
+"Not yet. We give him ten days. He has six left. When his time is up,
+the Germans will have discovered that the wire has been tapped."
+
+Martin forced the next question.
+
+"What of Madame de Saint-Ivoy?"
+
+"Her case is under consideration. She is working for the Croix Rouge.
+That is why she was in Amiens. Her husband has been recalled from
+Verdun. He, by the way, is devoted to her, and she professes to hate all
+Germans. Thus far her record is clean."
+
+Martin was glad to get out into the night air, though he had a strange
+notion that the quietude of the darkened Paris streets was unreal--that
+the only reality lay yonder where the shells crashed and men burrowed
+like moles in the earth. His chauffeur saluted.
+
+"Glad to see you, sir," said the man. "Those blighters wanted to run me
+in."
+
+"No. It's all right. The police are doing good work. Take me to the
+hotel. I'll follow your example and go to bed."
+
+Martin's voice was weary. He was grateful to Providence that he had
+been spared the ordeal which faced him when he entered the city. But
+the strain was heavier than he counted on, and he craved rest, even
+from tumultuous memories. Before retiring, however, he wrote to
+Elsie--guardedly, of course--but in sufficient detail that she should
+understand.
+
+Next morning, making an early start, he guided the car up the Rue
+Blanche, as the north road could be reached by a slight detour. He saw
+the Impasse Fautet, and glanced at the drawn blinds of Num�ro 2 bis. In
+one of those rooms, he supposed, Ang�le was lying. He had resolved not
+to seek her out. When the war was over, and he and his wife visited
+Paris, they could inquire for her. Was she wholly innocent? He hoped so.
+Somehow, he could not picture her as a spy. She was a disturbing
+influence, but her nature was not mean. At any rate, her mother's death
+would scare her effectually.
+
+It was a fine morning, clear, and not too cold. His spirits rose as the
+car sped along a good road, after the suburban traffic was left behind.
+The day's news was cheering. Verdun was safe, the Armenti�res "push" was
+an admitted gain, and the United States had reached the breaking point
+with Germany. Thank God, all would yet be well, and humanity would
+arise, blood-stained but triumphant, from the rack of torment on which
+it had been stretched by Teuton oppression!
+
+"Hit her up!" he said when the car had passed through Crueil, and the
+next cordon was twenty miles ahead. The chauffeur stepped on the gas,
+and the pleasant panorama of France flew by like a land glimpsed in
+dreams.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every day in far-off Elmsdale Elsie would walk to the White House, or
+John and Martha would visit the vicarage. If there was no letter, some
+crumb of comfort could be drawn from its absence. Each morning, in both
+households, the first haunted glance was at the casualty lists in the
+newspapers. But none ever spoke of that, and Elsie knew what she never
+told the old couple--that the thing really to be dreaded was a long
+white envelope from the War Office, with "O.H.M.S." stamped across it,
+for the relatives of fallen officers are warned before the last sad item
+is printed.
+
+Elsie lived at the vicarage. The Elms was too roomy for herself and her
+baby boy, another Martin Bolland--such were the names given him at the
+christening font. So it came to pass that she and the vicar, accompanied
+by a nurse wheeling a perambulator, came to the White House with
+Martin's letter. And, heinous as were Mrs. Saumarez's faults,
+unforgivable though her crime, they grieved for her, since her memory in
+the village had been, for the most part, one of a gracious and dignified
+woman.
+
+Martha wiped her spectacles after reading the letter. The word "hotel"
+had a comforting sound.
+
+"It must ha' bin nice for t' lad te find hisself in a decent bed for a
+night," she said.
+
+Then Elsie's eyes filled with tears.
+
+"I only wish I had known he was there," she murmured.
+
+"Why, honey?"
+
+"Because, God help me, on one night, at least, I could have fallen
+asleep with the consciousness that he was safe!"
+
+She averted her face, and her slight, graceful body shook with an
+uncontrollable emotion. The vicar was so taken aback by this
+unlooked-for distress on Elsie's part that his lips quivered and he
+dared not speak. But John Bolland's huge hand rested lightly on the
+young wife's shoulder.
+
+"Dinnat fret, lass," he said. "I feel it i' me bones that Martin will
+come back te us. England needs such men, the whole wulld needs 'em, an'
+the Lord, in His goodness, will see to it that they're spared.
+Sometimes, when things are blackest, I liken mesen unto Job; for Job
+was a farmer an' bred stock, an' he was afflicted more than most. An'
+then I remember that the Lord blessed the latter end of Job, who died
+old and full of days; yet I shall die a broken man if Martin is taken. O
+Lord, my God, in Thee do I put my trust!"
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
+every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
+intent.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
+
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Revellers
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: February 24, 2011 [EBook #35393]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVELLERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 310px;">
+<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="310" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox2">
+<h1>THE<br />
+REVELLERS</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+<h2>LOUIS TRACY</h2>
+
+<p class="center">AUTHOR OF<br />
+&#8220;THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,&#8221;<br />
+&#8220;THE POSTMASTER&#8217;S DAUGHTER,&#8221;<br />
+ETC., ETC.</p>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 49px;">
+<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="49" height="80" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center">NEW YORK<br />
+EDWARD J. CLODE</p></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1917, by</span><br />
+EDWARD J. CLODE</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p class="center">All rights reserved</p>
+
+<p class="gap">&#160;</p>
+
+<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox2">
+<p class="center"><i>By</i> LOUIS TRACY</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14917">THE WINGS OF THE MORNING</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19649">THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8596">THE WHEEL O&#8217; FORTUNE</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25017">A SON OF THE IMMORTALS</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31472">CYNTHIA&#8217;S CHAUFFEUR</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE MESSAGE</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19539">THE STOWAWAY</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE PILLAR OF LIGHT</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31635">THE SILENT BARRIER</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE &#8220;MIND THE PAINT&#8221; GIRL</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19707">ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE TERMS OF SURRENDER</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">FLOWER OF THE GORSE</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE RED YEAR</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34134">THE GREAT MOGUL</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">MIRABEL&#8217;S ISLAND</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33622">THE DAY OF WRATH</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35074">HIS UNKNOWN WIFE</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10110">THE POSTMASTER&#8217;S DAUGHTER</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE REVELLERS</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS">
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right"><small>CHAPTER</small></td>
+<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
+<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">I.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Questionings</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">II.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Strangers, Indeed</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">III.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Seeds of Mischief</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Feast</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">V.</td>
+<td align="left">&#8220;<span class="smcap">It Is the First Step that Counts</span>&#8221;</td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein the Red Blood Flows</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">George Pickering Plays the Man</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right" class="top">VIII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Showing How Martin&#8217;s Horizon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Widens</span></span></td>
+<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IX.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Wildcat</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">X.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Deepening Shadows</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right" class="top">XI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">For One, the Night; for Another,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Dawn</span></span></td>
+<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Friendly Argument</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XIII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Dying Deposition</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XIV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Storm</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Unwritten Law</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XVI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Undercurrents</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XVII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Two Moorland Episodes</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XVIII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Seven Full Years</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XIX.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Out of the Mists</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XX.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Rigor of the Game</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XXI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Nearing the End</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h2>QUESTIONINGS</h2>
+
+<p>&#8220;And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate,
+and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son
+Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The voice of the reader was strident, his utterance uneven, his diction
+illiterate. Yet he concluded the 18th chapter of the second Book of
+Samuel with an unctuous force born of long familiarity with the text.
+His laborious drone revealed no consciousness of the humanism of the
+Jewish King. To suggest that the Bible contained a mine of literature, a
+series of stories of surpassing interest, portraying as truthfully the
+lives of the men and women of to-day as of the nomad race which a
+personal God led through the wilderness, would have provoked from this
+man&#8217;s mouth a sluggish flood of protest. The slow-moving lips, set tight
+after each syllabic struggle, the shaggy eyebrows overhanging
+horn-rimmed spectacles, the beetling forehead and bull-like head sunk
+between massive shoulders, the very clutch of the big hands on the Bible
+held stiffly at a distance, bespoke a triumphant dogmatism that found as
+little actuality in the heartbroken cry of David as in a description of
+a seven-branched candlestick.</p>
+
+<p>The boy who listened wondered why people should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>&#8220;think such a lot
+about&#8221; high priests and kings who died so long ago. David was
+interesting enough as a youth. The slaying of Goliath, the charming of
+Saul with sweet music on a harp, appealed to the vivid, if unformed,
+imagination of fourteen. But the temptation of the man, the splendid
+efforts of the monarch to rule a peevish people&mdash;these were lost on him.
+Worse, they wearied him, because, as it happened, he had a reasoning
+brain.</p>
+
+<p>He refused to credit all that he heard. It was hard to believe that any
+man&#8217;s hair could catch in an oak so that he should be lifted up between
+heaven and earth, merely because he rode beneath the tree on the back of
+a mule. This sounded like the language of exaggeration, and sturdy
+little Martin Court Bolland hated exaggeration.</p>
+
+<p>Again, he took the winged words literally, and the ease with which David
+saw, heard, spoke to the Lord was disturbing. Such things were
+manifestly impossible if David resembled other men, and that there were
+similarities between the ruler of Israel and certain male inhabitants of
+Elmsdale was suggested by numberless episodes of the very human history
+writ in the Book of Kings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Lord&#8221; was a terrific personality to Martin&mdash;a personality seated on
+a thunder-cloud, of which the upper rim of gold and silver, shining
+gloriously against a cerulean sky, was Heaven, and the sullen blackness
+beneath, from which thunder bellowed and lightning flashed, was Hell.
+How could a mere man, one who pursued women like a too susceptible
+plowman, one who &#8220;smote&#8221; his fellows, and &#8220;kissed&#8221; them, and ate with
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>them, hold instant communion with the tremendous Unseen, the ruler of
+sun and storm, the mover of worlds?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;David inquired of the Lord&#8221;; &#8220;David said to the Lord&#8221;; &#8220;The Lord
+answered unto David&#8221;&mdash;these phrases tortured a busy intelligence, and
+caused the big brown eyes to flash restlessly toward the distant hills,
+while quick ears and retentive brain paid close heed to the text.</p>
+
+<p>For it was the word, not the spirit, that John Bolland insisted on. The
+boy knew too well the penalty of forgetfulness. During half an hour,
+from five o&#8217;clock each day, he was led drearily through the Sacred Book;
+if he failed to answer correctly the five minutes&#8217; questioning which
+followed, the lesson was repeated, verse for verse, again, and yet
+again, as a punishment.</p>
+
+<p>At half-past four o&#8217;clock the high tea of a north-country farmhouse was
+served. Then the huge Bible was produced solemnly, and no stress of
+circumstances, no temporary call of other business, was permitted to
+interfere with this daily task. At times, Bolland would be absent at
+fairs or detained in some distant portion of the farm. But Martin&#8217;s
+&#8220;portion of the Scriptures&#8221; would be marked for careful reading, and
+severe corporal chastisement corrected any negligence. Such was the old
+farmer&#8217;s mania in this regard that his portly, kind-hearted wife became
+as strict as John himself in supervising the boy&#8217;s lesson, merely
+because she dreaded the scene that would follow the slightest lapse.</p>
+
+<p>So Martin could answer glibly that Ahimaaz was the son of Zadok and that
+Joab plunged three darts into Absalom&#8217;s heart while the scapegrace
+dangled from the oak. Of the love that David bore his son, of the
+statecraft <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>that impelled a servant of Israel to slay the disturber of
+the national peace, there was never a hint. Bolland&#8217;s stark Gospel was
+harshly definite. There was no channel in his gnarled soul for the
+turbulent life-stream flowing through the ancient text.</p>
+
+<p>The cold-blooded murder of Absalom, it is true, induced in the boy&#8217;s
+mind a certain degree of belief in the narrative, a belief somewhat
+strained by the manner of Absalom&#8217;s capture. Through his brain danced a
+<i>tableau vivant</i> of the scene in the wood. He saw the gayly caparisoned
+mule gallop madly away, leaving its rider struggling with desperate arms
+to free his hair from the rough grasp of the oak.</p>
+
+<p>Then, through the trees came a startled man-at-arms, who ran back and
+brought one other, a stately warrior in accouterments that shone like
+silver. A squabble arose between them as to the exact nature of the
+King&#8217;s order concerning this same Absalom, but it was speedily
+determined by the leader, Joab, snatching three arrows from the
+soldier&#8217;s quiver and plunging them viciously, one after the other, into
+the breast of the man hanging between the heaven and the earth.</p>
+
+<p>Martin wondered if Absalom spoke to Joab. Did he cry for mercy? Did his
+eyes glare awfully at his relentless foe? Did he squeal pitiful
+gibberish like Tom Chandler did when he chopped off his fingers in the
+hay-cutter? How beastly it must be to be suspended by your own hair, and
+see a man come forward with three barbed darts which he sticks into your
+palpitating bosom, probably cursing you the while!</p>
+
+<p>And then appeared from the depths of the wood ten young men, who behaved
+like cowardly savages, for they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>hacked the poor corpse with sword and
+spear, and made mock of a gallant if erring soldier who would have slain
+them all if he met them on equal terms.</p>
+
+<p>This was the picture that flitted before the boy&#8217;s eyes, and for one
+instant his tongue forgot its habitual restraint.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Father,&#8221; he said, &#8220;why didn&#8217;t David ask God to save his son, if he
+wished him to live?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay, lad, I doan&#8217;t kno&auml;. You mun listen te what&#8217;s written i&#8217; t&#8217;
+Book&mdash;no more an&#8217; no less. I doan&#8217;t ho&#8217;d wi&#8217; their commentaries an&#8217;
+explanations, an&#8217; what oor passon calls anilitical disquisitions. Tak&#8217;
+t&#8217; Word as it stands. That&#8217;s all &#8217;at any man wants.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, be it observed that the boy used good English, whereas the man
+spoke in the broad dialect of the dales. Moreover, Bolland, an
+out-and-out Dissenter, was clannish enough to speak of &#8220;our&#8221; parson,
+meaning thereby the vicar of the parish, a gentleman whom he held at
+arm&#8217;s length in politics and religion.</p>
+
+<p>The latter discrepancy was a mere village colloquialism; the other&mdash;the
+marked difference between father and son&mdash;was startling, not alone by
+reason of their varying speech, but by the queer contrast they offered
+in manners and appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Bolland was a typical yeoman of the moor edge, a tall, strong man,
+twisted and bent like the oak which betrayed Absalom, slow in his
+movements, heavy of foot, and clothed in brown corduroy which resembled
+curiously the weatherbeaten bark of a tree. There was a rugged dignity
+in his bearded face, and the huge spectacles he had now pushed high up
+on his forehead lent a semblance of greater age than he could lay claim
+to. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>Yet was he a lineal descendant of Gurth, the swineherd, Gurth,
+uncouth and unidealized.</p>
+
+<p>The boy, a sturdy, country-built youngster in figure and attire, had a
+face of much promise. His brow was lofty and open, his mouth firm and
+well formed, his eyes fearless, if a trifle dreamy at times. His hands,
+too, were not those of a farmer&#8217;s son. Strong they were and scarred with
+much use, but the fingers tapered elegantly, and the thumbs were long
+and straight.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, the heavy-browed farmer, with his drooping nether lip and
+clumsy spatulate digits, had not bequeathed these bucolic attributes to
+his son. As they sat there, in the cheerful kitchen where the sunbeams
+fell on sanded floor and danced on the burnished contents of a full
+&#8220;dresser,&#8221; they presented a dissimilarity that was an outrage on
+heredity.</p>
+
+<p>Usually, the reading ended, Martin effaced himself by way of the back
+door. Thence, through a garden orchard that skirted the farmyard, he
+would run across a meadow, jump two hedges into the lane which led back
+to the village street, and so reach the green where the children played
+after school hours.</p>
+
+<p>He was forced early to practice a degree of dissimulation. Though he
+hated a lie, he at least acted a reverent appreciation of the chapter
+just perused. His boyish impulses lay with the cricketers, the
+minnow-catchers, the players of prisoner&#8217;s base, the joyous patrons of
+well-worn &#8220;pitch&#8221; and gurgling brook. But he knew that the slightest
+indication of grudging this daily half-hour would mean the confiscation
+of the free romp until supper-time at half-past eight. So he paid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>heed
+to the lesson, and won high praise from his preceptor in the
+oft-expressed opinion:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin will make a rare man i&#8217; time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>To-day he did not hurry away as usual. For one reason, he was going with
+a gamekeeper to see some ferreting at six o&#8217;clock, and there was plenty
+of time; for another, it thrilled him to find that there were episodes
+in the Bible quite as exciting as any in the pages of &#8220;The
+Scalp-Hunters,&#8221; a forbidden work now hidden with others in the store of
+dried bracken at the back of the cow-byre.</p>
+
+<p>So he said rather carelessly: &#8220;I wonder if he kicked?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You wunner if whe&auml; kicked?&#8221; came the slow response.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Absalom, when Joab stabbed him. The other day, when the pigs were
+killed, they all kicked like mad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bolland laid down the Bible and glanced at Martin with a puzzled air. He
+was not annoyed or even surprised at the unlooked-for deduction. It had
+simply never occurred to him that one might read the Bible and construct
+actualities from the plain-spoken text.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hoo div&#8217; I kno&auml;?&#8221; he said calmly; &#8220;it says nowt about it i&#8217; t&#8217;
+chapter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then Martin awoke with a start. He saw how nearly he had betrayed
+himself a second time, how ready were the lips to utter ungoverned
+thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>He flushed slightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that all for to-day, father?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Before Bolland could answer, there came a knock at the door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;See whe&auml; that is,&#8221; said the farmer, readjusting his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>A big, hearty-looking young man entered. He wore clothes of a sporting
+cut and carried a hunting-crop, with the long lash gathered in his
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oah, it&#8217;s you, is it, Mr. Pickerin&#8217;?&#8221; said Bolland, and Martin&#8217;s quick
+ears caught a note of restraint, almost of hostility, in the question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Mr. Bolland, an&#8217; how are ye?&#8221; was the more friendly greeting. &#8220;I
+just dropped in to have a settlement about that beast.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A sattlement! What soart o&#8217; sattlement?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The visitor sat down, uninvited, and produced some papers from his
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Mr. Bolland,&#8221; he said quietly, &#8220;it&#8217;s not more&#8217;n four months since
+I gave you sixty pounds for a thoroughbred shorthorn, supposed to be in
+calf to Bainesse Boy the Third.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Right enough, Mr. Pickerin&#8217;. You&#8217;ve gotten t&#8217; certificates and t&#8217;
+receipt for t&#8217; stud fee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin detected the latent animosity in both voices. The reiterated use
+of the prefix &#8220;Mr.&#8221; was an exaggerated politeness that boded a dispute.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Receipts, certificates!&#8221; cried Pickering testily. &#8220;What good are they
+to me? She cannot carry a calf. For all the use I can make of her, I
+might as well have thrown the money in the fire.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but she&#8217;s a well-bred &#8217;un,&#8221; said Bolland, with sapient head-shake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She might be a first-prize winner at the Royal by her shape and
+markings; but, as matters stand, she&#8217;ll bring only fifteen pounds from a
+butcher. I stand to lose forty-five pounds by the bargain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You canna fly i&#8217; t&#8217; fe&auml;ce o&#8217; Providence, Mr. Pickerin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Providence has little to do with it, I fancy. I can sell her to
+somebody else, if I like to work a swindle with her. I had my doubts at
+the time that she was too cheap.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Bolland rose. His red face was dusky with anger, and it sent a pang
+through Martin&#8217;s heart to see something of fear there, too.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noo, what are ye drivin&#8217; at?&#8221; he growled, speaking with ominous
+calmness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know well enough,&#8221; came the straight answer. &#8220;The poor thing has
+something wrong with her, and she will never hold a calf. Look here,
+Bolland, meet me fairly in the matter. Either give me back twenty
+pounds, and we&#8217;ll cry &#8216;quits,&#8217; or sell me another next spring at the
+same price, and I&#8217;ll take my luck.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps this <i>via media</i> might have been adopted had it presented itself
+earlier. But the word &#8220;swindle&#8221; stuck in the farmer&#8217;s throat, and he
+sank back into his chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay, nay,&#8221; he said. &#8220;A bargain&#8217;s a bargain. You&#8217;ve gotten t&#8217;
+papers&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was the buyer&#8217;s turn to rise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To the devil with you and your papers!&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;Do you think I
+came here without making sure of my facts? Twice has this cow been in
+calf in your byre, and each time she missed. You knew her failing, and
+sold her under false pretenses. Of course, I cannot prove it, or I would
+have the law of you; but I did think you would act squarely.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For some reason the elder Bolland was in a towering <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>rage. Martin had
+never before seen him so angry, and the boy was perplexed by the
+knowledge that what Pickering said was quite true.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll not be sworn at nor threatened wi&#8217; t&#8217; law in my own house,&#8221;
+bellowed the farmer. &#8220;Get out! Look tiv&#8217; your own business an&#8217; leave me
+te follow mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering, too, was in a mighty temper. He took a half stride forward
+and shook out the thong of the whip.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You psalm-singing humbug!&#8221; he thundered. &#8220;If you were a younger
+man&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin jumped between them; his right hand clenched a heavy kitchen
+poker.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering half turned to the door with a bitter laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right, my young cub!&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;I&#8217;m not such a fool, thank
+goodness, as to make bad worse. It&#8217;s lucky for you, boy, that you are
+not of the same kidney as that old ranter there. Catch me ever having
+more to do with any of his breed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; what affair is it of yours, Mr. Pickerin&#8217;, who the boy belongs to?
+If all tales be true, <i>you</i> can&#8217;t afford to throw stones at other
+folks&#8217;s glass houses!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland, stout, hooded, aproned, and fiery red in face, had come
+from the dairy, and now took a hand in the argument.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering, annoyed at the unlooked-for presence of a woman, said
+sternly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Talk to your husband, not to me, ma&#8217;am. He wronged me by getting three
+times the value for a useless beast, and if you can convince him that he
+took an unfair advantage, I&#8217;m willing, even now&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Bolland had caught the flicker of amazement in Martin&#8217;s eye and
+was not to be mollified.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Who are you, I&#8217;d like to know?&#8221; she shrilled, &#8220;coomin&#8217; te one&#8217;s house
+an&#8217; scandalizin&#8217; us? A nice thing, to be sure, for a man like you to
+call John Bolland a wrongdoer. The cow won&#8217;t calve, won&#8217;t she? &#8217;Tis a
+dispensation on you, George Pickerin&#8217;. You&#8217;re payin&#8217; for yer own
+misdeeds. There&#8217;s plenty i&#8217; Elmsdale whe&auml; ken your char-ak-ter, let me
+tell you that. What&#8217;s become o&#8217; Betsy Thwaites?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Pickering had resigned the contest. He was striding toward the
+&#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; where a dogcart awaited him, and he laughed to himself as
+the flood of vituperation swelled from the door of the farm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad!&#8221; he muttered, &#8220;how these women must cackle in the market! One old
+cow is hardly worth so much fuss!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Still smiling at the storm he had raised, he gathered the reins, gave
+Fred, the ostler, a sixpence, and would have driven off had he not seen
+a pretty serving-maid gazing out through an upper window. Her face
+looked familiar.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;You and I know each other, don&#8217;t we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, we doan&#8217;t; an&#8217; we&#8217;re not likely to,&#8221; was the pert reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, my! What have I done now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nowt to me, but my sister is Betsy Thwaites.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The deuce she is! Betsy isn&#8217;t half as nice-looking as you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;More shame on you that says it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, my dear girl, one should tell the truth and shame the devil.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just listen to him!&#8221; Yet the window was raised a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>little higher, and
+the girl leaned out, for Pickering was a handsome man, with a tremendous
+reputation for gallantry of a somewhat pronounced type.</p>
+
+<p>Fred, the stable help, struck the cob smartly with his open hand.
+Pickering swore, and bade him leave the mare alone and be off.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was sorry for Betsy,&#8221; he said, when the prancing pony was quieted,
+&#8220;but she and I agreed to differ. I got her a place at Hereford, and hope
+she&#8217;ll be married soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll get me no place at Hereford, Mr. Pickerin&#8217;&#8221;&mdash;this with a
+coquettish toss of the head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not. When is the feast here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Next Monday it starts.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well. Good-by. I&#8217;ll see you on Monday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He blew her a kiss, and she laughed. As the smart turnout rattled
+through the village she looked after him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Betsy always did say he was such a man,&#8221; she murmured. &#8220;I&#8217;ll smack his
+fe&auml;ce, though, if he comes near me a-Monday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Fred, leaning sulkily over the yard gate, spat viciously on
+Pickering&#8217;s sixpence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Coomin&#8217; here for t&#8217; fe&auml;st, is he?&#8221; he growled. &#8220;Happen he&#8217;d better bide
+i&#8217; Nottonby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h2>STRANGERS, INDEED</h2>
+
+<p>Pickering left ruffled breasts behind him. The big farm in the center of
+the village was known as the White House, and had been owned by a
+Bolland since there were Bollands in the county. It was perched on a
+bank that rose steeply some twenty feet or more from the main road.
+Cartways of stiff gradient led down to the thoroughfare on either hand.
+A strong retaining wall, crowned with gooseberry bushes, marked the
+confines of the garden, which adjoined a row of cottages tenanted by
+laborers. Then came the White House itself, thatched, cleanly,
+comfortable-looking; beyond it, all fronting on the road, were stables
+and outbuildings.</p>
+
+<p>Behind lay the remainder of the kitchen garden and an orchard, backed by
+a strip of meadowland that climbed rapidly toward the free moor with its
+whins and heather&mdash;a far-flung range of mountain given over to grouse
+and hardy sheep, and cleft by tiny ravines of exceeding beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Across the village street stood some modern iron-roofed buildings, where
+Bolland kept his prize stock, and here was situated the real approach to
+the couple of hundred acres of rich arable land which he farmed. The
+house and rear pastures were his own; he rented the rest. Of late years
+he had ceased to grow grain, save <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>for the limited purposes of his
+stock, and had gone in more and more for pedigree cattle.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering&#8217;s words had hurt him sorely, since they held an element of
+truth. The actual facts were these: One of his best cows had injured
+herself by jumping a fence, and a calf was born prematurely. Oddly
+enough, a similar accident had occurred the following year. On the third
+occasion, when the animal was mated with Bainesse Boy III, Bolland
+thought it best not to tempt fortune again, but sold her for something
+less than the enhanced value which the circumstances warranted. From a
+similar dam and the same sire he bred a yearling bull which realized
+&pound;250, or nearly the rent of his holding, so Pickering had really
+overstated his case, making no allowance for the lottery of
+stock-raising.</p>
+
+<p>The third calf might have been normal and of great value. It was not.
+Bolland suspected the probable outcome and had acted accordingly. It was
+the charge of premeditated unfairness that rankled and caused him such
+heart-burning.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Bolland, turkey-red in face, and with eyes still glinting
+fire, came in and slammed the door, she told Martin, angrily, to be off,
+and not stand there with his ears cocked like a terrier&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>The boy went out. He did not follow his accustomed track. He hesitated
+whether or not to go rabbiting. Although far too young to attach serious
+import to the innuendoes he had heard, he could not help wondering what
+Pickering meant by that ironical congratulation on the subject of his
+paternity.</p>
+
+<p>His mother, too, had not repelled the charge directly, but had gone out
+of her way to heap counter-abuse on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>the vilifier. It was odd, to say
+the least of it, and he found himself wishing heartily that either the
+unfortunate cow had not been sold or that his father had met Mr.
+Pickering&#8217;s protests more reasonably.</p>
+
+<p>A whistle came from the lane that led up to the moor. Perched on a gate
+was a white-headed urchin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t ye coomin&#8217; te t&#8217; green?&#8221; was his cry, seeing that Martin heard
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not this evening, thanks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oah, coom on. They&#8217;re playin&#8217; tig, an&#8217; none of &#8217;em can ketch Jim
+Bates.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That settled it. Jim Bates&#8217;s pride must be lowered, and ferrets were
+forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>But Jim Bates had his revenge. If he could not run as fast as Martin, he
+made an excellent pawn in the hands of fortune. Had the boy gone to the
+rabbit warren, he would not have seen the village again until after
+eight o&#8217;clock, and, possibly, the current of his life might have entered
+a different runnel. In the event, however, he was sauntering up the
+village street, when he encountered a lady and a little girl,
+accompanied by a woman whose dress reminded him of nuns seen in
+pictures. The three were complete strangers, and although Martin was
+unusually well-mannered for one reared in a remote Yorkshire hamlet, he
+could not help staring at them fixedly.</p>
+
+<p>The Normandy nurse alone was enough to draw the eyes of the whole
+village, and Martin knew well it was owing to mere chance that a crowd
+of children was not following her already.</p>
+
+<p>The lady was tall and of stately carriage. She was dressed quietly, but
+in excellent taste. Her very full <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>face looked remarkably pink, and her
+large blue eyes stared out of puffy sockets. Beyond these unfavorable
+details, she was a handsome woman, and the boy thought vaguely that she
+must have motored over from the castle midway between Elmsdale and the
+nearest market town of Nottonby.</p>
+
+<p>Yet it was on the child that his wondering gaze dwelt longest. She
+looked about ten years old. Her elfin face was enshrined in jet-black
+hair, and two big bright eyes glanced inquiringly at him from the depths
+of a wide-brimmed, flowered-covered hat. A broad blue sash girdled her
+white linen dress; the starched skirts stood out like the frills of a
+ballet dancer.</p>
+
+<p>Her shapely legs were bare from above the knees, and her tiny feet were
+encased in sandals. At Trouville she would be pronounced &#8220;sweet&#8221; by
+enthusiastic admirers of French fashion, but in a north-country village
+she was absurdly out of place. Nevertheless, being a remarkably
+self-possessed little maiden, she returned with interest Martin&#8217;s covert
+scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>He would have passed on, but the lady lifted a pair of mounted
+eyeglasses and spoke to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Boy,&#8221; she said in a flute-like voice, &#8220;can you tell me which is the
+White House?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s cap flew off.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said, pointing. &#8220;That is it. I live there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, indeed. And what is your name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin Court Bolland, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What an odd name. Why were you christened Martin Court?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I really don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am. I didn&#8217;t bother about <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>it at the time, and
+since then have never troubled to inquire.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, to be candid, Martin did not throw off this retort spontaneously.
+It was a little effusion built up through the years, the product of
+frequent necessity to answer the question. But the lady took it as a
+coruscation of rustic wit, and laughed. She turned to the nurse:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Il m&#8217;a rendu la monnaie de ma pi&egrave;ce, Fran&ccedil;oise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;J&#8217;en suis bien s&ucirc;r, madame, mais qu&#8217;est-ce qu&#8217;il a dit?&#8221; said the
+nurse.</p>
+
+<p>The other translated rapidly, and the nurse grinned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, il est na&iuml;f, le petit,&#8221; she commented. &#8220;Et tr&egrave;s gentil.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, maman,&#8221; chimed in the child, &#8220;je serais heureuse si vous vouliez me
+permettre de jouer avec ce joli gar&ccedil;on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Attendez, ma belle. Pas si vite.... Now, Martin Court, take me to your
+mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Not knowing exactly what to do with his cap, the boy had kept it in his
+hand. The foregoing conversation was, of course, so much Greek in his
+ears. He realized that they were talking about him, and was fully alive
+to the girl&#8217;s demure admiration. The English words came with the more
+surprise, seeing that they followed so quickly on some remark in an
+unknown tongue.</p>
+
+<p>He led the way at once, hoping that his mother had regained her normal
+condition of busy cheerfulness.</p>
+
+<p>Silence reigned in the front kitchen when he pressed the latch. The room
+was empty, but the clank of pattens in the yard revealed that the
+farmer&#8217;s thrifty wife <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>was sparing her skirts from the dirt while she
+crossed to the pig tub with a pailful of garbage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you take a seat, ma&#8217;am?&#8221; said Martin politely. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell mother
+you are here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a slight awkwardness he pulled three oaken chairs from the serried
+rank they occupied along the wall beneath the high-silled windows.
+Feeling all eyes fixed on him quizzically, he blushed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, v&#8217;l&agrave; le p&#8217;tit. Il rougit!&#8221; laughed the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t tease him, nurse!&#8221; cried the child in English. &#8220;He is a nice boy.
+I like him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clearly this was for Martin&#8217;s benefit. Already the young lady was a
+coquette.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland, hearing there were &#8220;ladies&#8221; to visit her, entered with
+trepidation. She expected to meet the vicar&#8217;s aunt and one of that
+lady&#8217;s friends. In a moment of weakness she had consented to take charge
+of the refreshment stall at a forthcoming bazaar in aid of certain
+church funds. But Bolland was told that the incumbent was adopting
+ritualistic practices, so he sternly forbade his better half to render
+any assistance whatsoever. The Established Church was bad enough; it was
+a positive scandal to introduce into the service aught that savored of
+Rome.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Mrs. Bolland therefore racked her brain for a reasonable excuse as
+she crossed the yard, and it is not to be wondered at if she was struck
+almost dumb with surprise at sight of the strangers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you Mrs. Bolland?&#8221; asked the lady, without rising, and surveying
+her through the eyeglasses with head tilted back.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Ah. Exactly. I&mdash;er&mdash;am staying at The Elms for some few weeks, and the
+people there recommended you as supplying excellent dairy produce. I
+am&mdash;er&mdash;exceedingly particular about butter and milk, as my little girl
+is so delicate. Have you any objection to allowing me to inspect your
+dairy? I may add that I will pay you well for all that I order.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady&#8217;s accent, no less than the even flow of her words, joined to
+unpreparedness for such fashionable visitors, temporarily bereft Mrs.
+Bolland of a quick, if limited, understanding.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did ye say ye wanted soom bootermilk?&#8221; she cried vacantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, mother,&#8221; interrupted Martin anxiously. For the first time in his
+life he was aware of a hot and uncomfortable feeling that his mother was
+manifestly inferior to certain other people in the world. &#8220;The lady
+wishes to see the dairy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She wants to buy things from you, and&mdash;er&mdash;I suppose she would like to
+see what sort of place we keep them in.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No manner of explanation could have restored Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s normal
+senses so speedily as the slightest hint that uncleanliness could harbor
+its microbes in her house.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My goodness, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;whe&auml;&#8217;s bin tellin&#8217; you that my ple&auml;ce
+hez owt wrong wi&#8217;t?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now it was the stranger&#8217;s turn to appeal to Martin, and the boy showed
+his mettle by telling his mother, in exact detail, the request made by
+the lady and her reference to the fragile-looking child.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s wrath subsided, and her lips widened in a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oah, if that&#8217;s all,&#8221; she said, &#8220;coom on, ma&#8217;am, an&#8217; welcome. Ye canna
+be too careful about sike things, an&#8217; yer little lass do look pukey, te
+be sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady, gathering her skirts for the perilous passage of the yard,
+followed the farmer&#8217;s wife.</p>
+
+<p>Martin and the girl sat and stared at each other. She it was who began
+the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you lived here long?&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All my life,&#8221; he answered. Pretty and well-dressed as she was, he had
+no dread of her. He regarded girls as spiteful creatures who scratched
+one another like cats when angry and shrieked hysterically when they
+played.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s not very long,&#8221; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; but it&#8217;s longer than you&#8217;ve lived anywhere else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Me! I have lived everywhere&mdash;in London, Berlin, Paris, Nice,
+Montreux&mdash;O, je ne sais&mdash;I beg your pardon. Perhaps you don&#8217;t speak
+French?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you like to learn?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll teach you. It will be such fun. I know all sorts of naughty words.
+I learnt them in Monte Carlo, where I could hear the servants chattering
+when I was put to bed. Watch me wake up nurse. Fran&ccedil;oise, mon chou! Cr&eacute;
+nom d&#8217;un pipe, mais que vous &ecirc;tes triste aujourd&#8217;hui!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The <i>bonne</i> started. She shook the child angrily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You wicked girl!&#8221; she cried in French. &#8220;If madame heard you, she would
+blame me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>The imp cuddled her bare knees in a paroxysm of glee.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see,&#8221; she shrilled. &#8220;I told you so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was all that swearing?&#8221; demanded Martin gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you shouldn&#8217;t do it. If I were your brother, I&#8217;d hammer you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, would you, indeed! I&#8217;d like to see any boy lay a finger on me. I&#8217;d
+tear his hair out by the roots.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, the talk languished for a while, until Martin thought he had
+perhaps been rude in speaking so brusquely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry if I offended you,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>The saucy, wide-open eyes sparkled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I forgive you,&#8221; she said. &#8220;How old are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fourteen. And you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twelve.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was surprised. &#8220;I thought you were younger,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So does everybody. You see, I&#8217;m tiny, and mamma dresses me in this baby
+way. I don&#8217;t mind. I know your name. You haven&#8217;t asked me mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me,&#8221; he said with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le. Ang&egrave;le Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll never be able to say that,&#8221; he protested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, you will. It&#8217;s quite easy. It sounds Frenchy, but I am
+English, except in my ways, mother says. Now try. Say &#8216;An&#8217;&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not so much through your nose. This way&mdash;&#8216;An-g&egrave;le.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The next effort was better, but tuition halted abruptly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>when Martin
+discovered that Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s mother, instead of being &#8220;Mrs. Saumarez,&#8221; was
+&#8220;the Baroness Irma von Edelstein.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, crikey!&#8221; he blurted out. &#8220;How can that be?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le laughed at his blank astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mamma is a German baroness,&#8221; she explained. &#8220;My papa was a colonel in
+the British army, but mamma did not lose her courtesy title when she
+married. Of course, she is Mrs. Saumarez, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>These subtleties of Burke and the Almanach de Gotha went over Martin&#8217;s
+head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It sounds a bit like an entry in a stock catalogue,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le, in turn, was befogged, but saw instantly that the village youth
+was not sufficiently reverent to the claims of rank.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can never be a gentleman unless you learn these things,&#8221; she
+announced airily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t say,&#8221; retorted Martin with a smile. He was really far more
+intelligent than this pert monitress, and had detected a curious
+expression on the stolid face of Fran&ccedil;oise when the Baroness von
+Edelstein&#8217;s name cropped up in a talk which she could not understand.
+The truth was that the canny Norman woman, though willing enough to take
+a German mistress&#8217;s gold, thoroughly disliked the lady&#8217;s nationality.
+Martin could only guess vaguely at something of the sort, but the mere
+guess sufficed.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le, however, wanted no more bickering just then. She was about to
+resume the lesson when the Baroness and Mrs. Bolland re-entered the
+house. Evidently the inspection of the dairy had been satisfactory, and
+the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>lady had signified her approval in words that pleased the older
+woman greatly.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor was delighted, too, with the old-world appearance of the
+kitchen, the heavy rafters with their load of hams and sides of bacon,
+the oaken furniture, the spotless white of the well-scrubbed ash-topped
+table, the solemn grandfather&#8217;s clock, and the rough stone floor, over
+which soft red sandstone had been rubbed when wet.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the tact of the woman of society had accommodated her words
+and utterance to the limited comprehension of her hearer, and she
+displayed such genuine interest in the farm and its belongings that Mrs.
+Bolland gave her a hearty invitation to come next morning, when the
+light would be stronger. Then &#8220;John&#8221; would let her see his prize stock
+and the extensive buildings on &#8220;t&#8217; other side o&#8217; t&#8217; road.... T&#8217; kye (the
+cows) were fastened up for t&#8217; neet&#8221; by this time.</p>
+
+<p>The baroness was puzzled, but managed to catch the speaker&#8217;s drift.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not rise very early,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I breakfast about eleven&#8221;&mdash;she
+could not imagine what a sensation this statement caused in a house
+where breakfast was served never later than seven o&#8217;clock&mdash;&#8220;and it takes
+me an hour to dress; but I can call about twelve, if that will suit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, do, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; was the cheery agreement. &#8220;You&#8217;ll be able te see t&#8217;
+farmhands havin&#8217; their dinner. It&#8217;s a fair treat te watch them men an&#8217;
+lads puttin&#8217; away a beefsteak pie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And this is your little boy?&#8221; said the other, evidently inclined for
+gossip.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is a splendid little fellow. What a nice name you gave him&mdash;Martin
+Court Bolland&mdash;so unusual. How came you to select his Christian names?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The question caused the farmer&#8217;s wife a good deal of unnoticed
+embarrassment. The baroness was looking idly at an old colored print of
+York Castle, and the boy himself was far too taken up with Ang&egrave;le to
+listen to the chat of his elders.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland laughed confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Tak t&#8217; young leddy an&#8217; t&#8217; nurse as far as t&#8217; brig,
+an&#8217; show &#8217;em t&#8217; mill.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The baroness was surprised at this order, but an explanation was soon
+forthcoming. In her labored speech and broad dialect, the farmer&#8217;s wife
+revealed a startling romance. Thirteen years ago her husband&#8217;s brother
+died suddenly while attending a show at Islington, and the funeral took
+John and herself to London. They found the place so vast and noisy that
+it overwhelmed them; but in the evening, after the ceremony at Abney
+Park, they strolled out from their hotel near King&#8217;s Cross Station to
+see the sights.</p>
+
+<p>Not knowing whither they were drifting, they found themselves, an hour
+later, gazing at St. Paul&#8217;s Cathedral from the foot of Ludgate Hill.
+They were walking toward the stately edifice, when a terrible thing
+happened.</p>
+
+<p>A young woman fell, or threw herself, from a fourth-floor window onto
+the pavement of St. Martin&#8217;s Court. In her arms was an infant, a boy
+twelve months old. Providence saved him from the instant death met by
+his mother. A projecting signboard caught his clothing, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>tore him from
+the encircling arms, and held him a precarious second until the rent
+frock gave way.</p>
+
+<p>But John Bolland&#8217;s sharp eyes had noted the child&#8217;s momentary escape. He
+sprang forward and caught the tiny body as it dropped. At that hour,
+nearly nine o&#8217;clock, the court was deserted, and Ludgate Hill had lost
+much of its daily crowd. Of course, a number of passers-by gathered; and
+a policeman took the names and address of the farmer and his wife, they
+being the only actual witnesses of the tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>But what was to be done with the baby? Mrs. Bolland volunteered to take
+care of it for the night, and the policeman was glad enough to leave it
+with her when he ascertained that no one in the house from which the
+woman fell knew anything about her save that she was a &#8220;Mrs. Martineau,&#8221;
+and rented a furnished room beneath the attic.</p>
+
+<p>The inquest detained the Bollands another day in town. Police inquiries
+showed that the unfortunate young woman had committed suicide. A letter,
+stuck to a dressing-table with a hatpin, stated her intention, and that
+her name was not Martineau. Would the lady like to see the letter?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear, no!&#8221; said the baroness hastily. &#8220;Your story is awfully
+interesting, but I could not bear to read the poor creature&#8217;s words.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Well, the rest was obvious. Mrs. Bolland was childless after twenty
+years of married life. She begged for the bairn, and her husband allowed
+her to adopt it. They gave the boy their own name, but christened him
+after the scene of his mother&#8217;s death and his own miraculous escape. And
+there he was now, coming up the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>village street, leading Ang&egrave;le
+confidently by the hand&mdash;a fine, intelligent lad, and wholly different
+from every other boy in the village.</p>
+
+<p>Not even the squire&#8217;s sons equaled him in any respect, and the teacher
+of the village school gave him special lessons. Perhaps the lady had
+noticed the way he spoke. The teacher was proud of Martin&#8217;s abilities,
+and he tried to please her by not using the Yorkshire dialect.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, I see,&#8221; said the baroness quietly. &#8220;His history is quite romantic.
+But what will he become when he grows up&mdash;a farmer, like his adopted
+father?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;John thinks te mak&#8217; him a minister,&#8221; said Mrs. Bolland with genial
+pride.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A minister! Do you mean a preacher, a Nonconformist person?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, yes, ma&#8217;am. John wouldn&#8217;t hear of his bein&#8217; a parson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Grand Dieu! Quelle b&ecirc;tise! I beg your pardon. Of course, you will do
+what is best for him.... Well, ma belle, have you enjoyed your little
+walk?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, so much, mamma. The miller has such lovely pigs, so fat, so tight
+that you can&#8217;t pinch them. And there&#8217;s a beautiful dog, with four puppy
+dogs. I&#8217;m so glad we came here. J&#8217;en suis bien aise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s a queer little girl,&#8221; said Mrs. Bolland, as Martin and she
+watched the party walking back to The Elms. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t tell half what
+she said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, mother,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;She goes off into French without thinking,
+and her mother&#8217;s a German baroness, who married an English officer. The
+nurse doesn&#8217;t speak any English. I wish I knew French and German.
+French, at any rate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h2>THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF</h2>
+
+<p>Preparations for the forthcoming &#8220;Feast&#8221; were varied by gossip
+concerning &#8220;the baroness,&#8221; her daughter, and the Normandy <i>bonne</i>.
+Elmsdale had never before set eyes on any human beings quite so foreign
+to its environment. At first, the canny Yorkshire folk were much
+intrigued by the lady&#8217;s title. A princess or a duchess they had read of;
+a marchioness and a countess they had seen, because the county of broad
+acres finds room for a great many noble houses; and baronets&#8217; wives,
+each a &#8220;Lady&#8221; by perspective right, were so plentiful as to arouse no
+special comment.</p>
+
+<p>But a &#8220;baroness&#8221; was rather un-English, while Elmsdale frankly refused
+to pronounce her name other than &#8220;Eedelsteen.&#8221; The village was ready to
+allude to her as &#8220;her ladyship,&#8221; but was still doubtful whether or not
+to grant her the prefix &#8220;Lady,&#8221; when the question was settled in a
+wholly unexpected way by the announcement that the baroness preferred to
+be addressed as &#8220;Mrs. Saumarez.&#8221; In fact, she was rather annoyed that
+Ang&egrave;le should have flaunted the title at all.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am English by marriage, and proud of my husband&#8217;s name,&#8221; she
+explained. &#8220;He was a gallant officer, who fell in the Boer War, and I
+have long since left the use of my German rank for purely official
+occasions. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>It is no secret, of course, but Ang&egrave;le should not have
+mentioned it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elmsdale liked this democratic utterance. It made these blunt Yorkshire
+folk far readier to address her as &#8220;your ladyship&#8221; than would have been
+the case otherwise, and, truth to tell, she never chided them for any
+lapse of the sort, though, in accordance with her wish, she became
+generally known as Mrs. Saumarez.</p>
+
+<p>She rented a suite at The Elms, a once pretentious country mansion owned
+by a family named Walker. The males had died, the revenues had dwindled,
+and two elderly maiden ladies, after taking counsel with the vicar, had
+advertised their house in a society newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez said she was an invalid. She required rest and good air.
+Fran&ccedil;oise, since Ang&egrave;le had outgrown the attentions of a nurse, was
+employed mainly as her mistress&#8217;s confidential servant. Fran&ccedil;oise either
+could not or would not speak English; Mrs. Saumarez gave excellent
+references and no information as to her past, while Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s volatile
+reminiscences of continental society had no meaning for Elmsdale.</p>
+
+<p>But it was abundantly clear that Mrs. Saumarez was rich. She swept aside
+the arrangements made by the Misses Walker for her comfort, chose her
+own set of apartments, ordered things wholly her own way, and paid
+double the terms originally demanded.</p>
+
+<p>The day following her visit to the White House she descended on the
+chief grocer, whose shop was an emporium of many articles outside his
+trade, but mostly of a cheap order.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Webster,&#8221; she said in her grand manner, &#8220;few of the goods you stock
+will meet my requirements. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>prefer to deal with local tradesmen, but
+they must meet my wants. Now, if you are prepared to cater for me, you
+will not only save me the trouble of ordering supplies from London, but
+make some extra profit. You have proper agents, no doubt, so you must
+obtain everything of the best quality. You understand. I shall never
+grumble at the prices; but the least inferiority will lead me to
+withdraw my custom.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a sore point with Mr. Webster that &#8220;the squire&#8221; dealt with the
+Stores. He promised implicit obedience, and wrote such instructions to
+Leeds, his supply town, that the wholesale house there wondered who had
+come to live at Elmsdale.</p>
+
+<p>The proprietress of the &#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; hearing the golden tales that
+circulated through the village, dressed in her best one afternoon and
+called at The Elms in the hope of obtaining patronage for wines, bottled
+beer, and mineral waters. Mrs. Saumarez was resting. The elder Miss
+Walker conveyed Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s name and business. Some conversation
+took place between Mrs. Saumarez and Fran&ccedil;oise, with the result that
+Mrs. Atkinson was instructed to supply Schweppe&#8217;s soda water, but &#8220;no
+intoxicants.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Mrs. Saumarez was a teetotaller. The secretary of the local branch of
+the Good Templars donned a faded black coat and a rusty tall hat and
+sent in a subscription list. It came out with a guinea. The vicar was at
+The Elms next day. Mrs. Saumarez received him graciously and gave him a
+five-pound note toward the funds of the bazaar which would be opened
+next week. Most decidedly the lady was an acquisition. When Miss Martha
+Walker was enjoined by her sister, Miss <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>Emmy, to find out how long Mrs.
+Saumarez intended to remain at Elmsdale&mdash;on the plausible pretext that
+the terms would be lowered for a monthly tenancy&mdash;she was given a curt
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am a creature of moods. I may be here a day, a year. At present the
+place suits me. And Ang&egrave;le is brimming over with health. But it is fatal
+if I am told I must remain a precise period anywhere. That is why I
+never go to Carlsbad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Martha did not understand the reference to Carlsbad; but the nature
+of the reply stopped effectually all further curiosity as to Mrs.
+Saumarez&#8217;s plans. It also insured unflagging service.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly a day passed that the newcomer did not call at the White House.
+She astounded John Bolland by the accuracy of her knowledge concerning
+stock, and annoyed him, too, by remarking that some of his land required
+draining.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your lower pastures are too rank,&#8221; she said. &#8220;So long as there is a
+succession of fine seasons it does not matter, but a wet spring and
+summer will trouble you. You will have fifty acres of water-sodden
+meadows, and nothing breeds disease more quickly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None o&#8217; my cattle hev had a day&#8217;s illness, short o&#8217; bein&#8217; a trifle
+overfed wi&#8217; oil cake,&#8221; he said testily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite so. You told me that in former years you raised wheat and oats
+there. I&#8217;m talking about grass.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin and Ang&egrave;le became close friends. The only children of the girl&#8217;s
+social rank in the neighborhood were the vicar&#8217;s daughter, Elsie
+Herbert, and the squire&#8217;s two sons, Frank and Ernest Beckett-Smythe. Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe was a widower. He lived at the Hall, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>three-quarters of a
+mile away, and had not as yet met Mrs. Saumarez. Ang&egrave;le would have
+nothing to do with Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t like her,&#8221; she confided to Martin. &#8220;She doesn&#8217;t care for boys,
+and I adore them. She&#8217;s trop regl&eacute;e for me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, she holds her nose&mdash;so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le tilted her head and cast down her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, I don&#8217;t know her, but she seems to be a nice girl,&#8221; said
+Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do you say, &#8216;Of course, I don&#8217;t know her&#8217;? She lives here, doesn&#8217;t
+she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, but my father is a farmer. She has a governess, and goes to tea at
+the Hall. I&#8217;ve met her driving from the Castle. She&#8217;s above me, you
+see.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le laughed maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;O l&agrave; l&agrave;! c&#8217;est pour rire! I&#8217;m sorry. She is&mdash;what do you say&mdash;a little
+snob.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no,&#8221; protested Martin. &#8220;I think she would be very nice, if I knew
+her. You&#8217;ll like her fine when you play with her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Me! Play with her, so prim, so pious. I prefer Jim Bates. He winked at
+me yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he? Next time I see him I&#8217;ll make it hard for him to wink.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le clapped her hands and pirouetted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;you will fight him, and for me! What joy! It&#8217;s just
+like a story book. You must kick him, so, and he will fall down, and I
+will kiss you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will not kick him,&#8221; said the indignant Martin. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>&#8220;Boys don&#8217;t kick in
+England. And I don&#8217;t want to be kissed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t boys kiss in England?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well ... anyhow, I don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then we are not sweethearts. I shan&#8217;t kiss you, and you must just leave
+Jim Bates alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin was humiliated. He remained silent and angry during the next
+minute. By a quick turn in the conversation Ang&egrave;le had placed him in a
+position of rivalry with another boy, one with whom she had not
+exchanged a word.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; he said, after taking thought, &#8220;if I kiss your cheek, may I
+lick Jim Bates?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This magnanimous offer was received with derision.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I forbid you to do either. If you do, I&#8217;ll tell your father.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The child had discovered already the fear with which Martin regarded the
+stern, uncompromising Methodist yeoman&mdash;a fear, almost a resentment, due
+to Bolland&#8217;s injudicious attempts to guide a mere boy into the path of
+serious and precise religion. Never had Martin found the daily reading
+of Scripture such a burden as during the past few days. The preparations
+for the feast, the cricket-playing, running and jumping of the boys
+practicing for prizes&mdash;these disturbing influences interfered sadly with
+the record of David&#8217;s declining years.</p>
+
+<p>Even now, with Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s sarcastic laughter ringing in his ears, he was
+compelled to leave her and hurry to the front kitchen, where the farmer
+was waiting with the Bible opened. At the back door he paused and looked
+at her. She blew him a kiss.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Good boy!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Mind you learn your lesson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And mind you keep away from those cowsheds. Your nurse ought to have
+been here. It&#8217;s tea time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want any tea. I&#8217;m going to smell the milk. I love the smell of
+a farmyard. Don&#8217;t you? But, there! You have never smelt anything else.
+Every place has its own smell. Paris smells like smoky wood. London
+smells of beer. Here there is always the smell of cows....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin!&#8221; called a harsh voice from the interior, and the boy perforce
+brought his wandering wits to bear on the wrongdoing of David in taking
+a census of the people of Israel.</p>
+
+<p>He read steadily through the chapter which described how a pestilence
+swept from Dan to Beersheba and destroyed seventy thousand men, all
+because David wished to know how many troops he could muster.</p>
+
+<p>He could hear Ang&egrave;le talking to the maids and making them laugh. A
+caravan lumbered through the street; he caught a glimpse of carved
+wooden horses&#8217; heads and gilded moldings. His quick and retentive brain
+mastered the words of the chapter, but to-day there was no mysterious
+and soul-awakening glimpse of its spirit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did David say te t&#8217; Lord when t&#8217; angel smote t&#8217; people?&#8221; said
+Bolland when the moment came to question his pupil.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He said, &#8216;Lo, I have sinned; but what have these sheep done?&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what sin had he de&auml;n?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I think the whole thing was jolly unfair.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What!&#8221; John Bolland laid down the Bible and rested both hands on the
+arms of the chair to steady himself. Had he heard aright? Was the boy
+daring to criticize the written word?</p>
+
+<p>But Martin&#8217;s brain raced ahead of the farmer&#8217;s slow-rising wrath. He
+trembled at the abyss into which he had almost fallen. What horror if he
+lost an hour on this Saturday, the Saturday before the Feast, of all
+days in the year!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t quite mean that,&#8221; he said, &#8220;but it doesn&#8217;t say why it was
+wrong for a census to be taken, and it does say that when the angel
+stretched his hand over Jerusalem the Lord repented of the evil.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bolland bent again over the book. Yes, Martin was right. He was letter
+perfect.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It says nowt about unfairness,&#8221; growled the man slowly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. That was my mistake.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye mun tak&#8217; heed age&auml;n miste&auml;ks o&#8217; that sort. On Monday we begin t&#8217;
+Third Book o&#8217; Kings.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So, not even the Feast would be allowed to interfere with the daily
+lesson.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le had departed with the belated Fran&ccedil;oise. Martin, running through
+the orchard like a hare, doubled to the main road along the lane. In two
+minutes he was watching the unloading of the roundabout in front of the
+&#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; Jim Bates was there.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here, I want you,&#8221; said Martin. &#8220;You winked at Ang&egrave;le Saumarez
+yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Winked at whe&auml;?&#8221; demanded Jim.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;At the young lady who lives at The Elms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not afore she pulled a fe&auml;ce at me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, if you wink at her again I&#8217;ll lick you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mebbe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no &#8216;mebbe&#8217; about it. Come down to the other end of the green
+now, if you think I can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jim Bates was no coward, but he was faced with the alternative of
+yielding gracefully and watching the showmen at work or risking a defeat
+in a needless battle. He chose the better part of valor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s ne&auml;n o&#8217; my business,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I de&auml;n&#8217;t want te wink at t&#8217; young
+leddy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At the inn door Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s three little girls were standing with
+Kitty Thwaites, the housemaid. The eldest, a bonnie child, whose fair
+skin was covered with freckles, ran toward Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where hae ye bin all t&#8217; week?&#8221; she inquired. &#8220;Are ye always wi&#8217; that
+Saumarez girl?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I heerd tell she was at your ple&auml;ce all hours. What beautiful frocks
+she has, but I should be ashe&auml;med te show me legs like her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the way she dresses,&#8221; said Martin curtly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How funny. Is she fond of you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do I know?&#8221; He tried to edge away.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn tossed her head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t care. Why should I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no reason that I can tell.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You soon forget yer friends. On&#8217;y last Whit Monday ye bowt me a packet
+of chocolates.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was truth in this. Martin quitted her sheepishly. He drew near
+some men, one of whom was Fred, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>the groom, and Fred had been drinking,
+as a preliminary to the deeper potations of the coming week.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, there she is!&#8221; he muttered, with an angry leer at Kitty. &#8220;She
+thinks what&#8217;s good eneuf fer t&#8217; sister is good eneuf fer her. We&#8217;ll see.
+Oad John Bollan&#8217; sent &#8217;im away wiv a flea i&#8217; t&#8217; lug a-Tuesday. I reckon
+he&#8217;ll hev one i&#8217; t&#8217; other ear if &#8217;e comes after Kitty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>One of the men grinned contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gan away!&#8221; he said. &#8220;George Pickerin&#8217; &#8217;ud chuck you ower t&#8217; top o&#8217; t&#8217;
+hotel if ye said &#8216;Booh&#8217; to &#8217;im.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Fred, too, grinned, blinking like an owl in daylight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Them as lives t&#8217; longest sees t&#8217; me&auml;st,&#8221; he muttered, and walked toward
+the stables, passing close to Kitty, who looked through him without
+seeing him.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly there was a stir among the loiterers. Mrs. Saumarez was walking
+through the village with Mr. Beckett-Smythe. Behind the pair came the
+squire&#8217;s two sons and Ang&egrave;le. The great man had called on the new
+visitor to Elmsdale, and together they strolled forth, while he
+explained the festivities of the coming week, and told the lady that
+these &#8220;feasts&#8221; were the creation of an act of Charles II. as a protest
+against the Puritanism of the Commonwealth.</p>
+
+<p>Martin stood at the side of the road. Mrs. Saumarez did not notice him,
+but Ang&egrave;le did. She lifted her chin and dropped her eyelids in clever
+burlesque of Elsie Herbert, the vicar&#8217;s daughter, but ignored him
+otherwise. Martin was hurt, though he hardly expected to be spoken to in
+the presence of distinguished company. But he could not help looking
+after the party. Ang&egrave;le turned and caught his glance. She put out her
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>He heard a mocking laugh and knew that Evelyn Atkinson was telling her
+sisters of the incident, whereupon he dug his hands in his pockets and
+whistled.</p>
+
+<p>A shooting gallery was in process of erection, and its glories soon
+dispelled the gloom of Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s snub. The long tube was supported on
+stays, the target put in place, the gaudy front pieced together, and
+half a dozen rifles unpacked. The proprietor meant to earn a few honest
+pennies that night, and some of the men were persuaded to try their
+prowess.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was a born sportsman. He watched the competitors so keenly that
+Ang&egrave;le returned with her youthful cavaliers without attracting his
+attention. Worse than that, Evelyn Atkinson, scenting the possibility of
+rustic intrigue, caught Martin&#8217;s elbow and asked quite innocently why a
+bell rang if the shooter hit the bull&#8217;s-eye.</p>
+
+<p>Proud of his knowledge, he explained that there was a hole in the iron
+plate, and that no bell, but a sheet of copper, was suspended in the box
+at the back where the lamp was.</p>
+
+<p>Both Ang&egrave;le and Evelyn appreciated the situation exactly. The boy alone
+was ignorant of their tacit rivalry.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le pointed out Martin to the Beckett-Smythes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is such a nice boy,&#8221; she said sweetly. &#8220;I see him every day. He can
+fight any boy in the village.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hum,&#8221; said the heir. &#8220;How old is he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fourteen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am fifteen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le smiled like a seraph.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Regardez-vous donc!&#8221; she said. &#8220;He could twiddle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>you round&mdash;so,&#8221; and
+she spun one hand over the other.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d like to see him try,&#8221; snorted the aristocrat. The opportunity
+offered itself sooner than he expected, but the purring of a
+high-powered car coming through the village street caused the
+pedestrians to draw aside. The car, a new and expensive one, was driven
+by a chauffeur, but held no passengers.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beckett-Smythe gazed after it reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I thought I knew every car in this district,&#8221; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is mine, I expect,&#8221; announced Mrs. Saumarez. &#8220;I&#8217;ve ordered one, and
+it should arrive to-day. I need an automobile for an occasional long
+run. For pottering about the village lanes, I may buy a pony cart.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What make is your car?&#8221; inquired the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A Mercedes. I&#8217;m told it is by far the best at the price.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s the best German car, of course, but I can hardly admit that it
+equals the French, or even our own leading types.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t profess to understand these things. I only know that my
+banker advised me to buy none other. He explained the matter simply
+enough. The German manufacturers want to get into the trade and are
+content to lose money for a year or so. You know how pushful they are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Beckett-Smythe saw the point clearly. He was even then hesitating
+between a Panhard and an Austin. He decided to wait a little longer and
+ascertain the facts about the Mercedes. A month later he purchased one.
+Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s chauffeur, a smart young mechanic from Bremen, who spoke
+English fluently, demonstrated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>that the buyer was given more than his
+money&#8217;s worth. The amiable Briton wondered how such things could be, but
+was content to benefit personally. He, in time, spread the story. German
+cars enjoyed a year&#8217;s boomlet in that part of Yorkshire. With nearly
+every car came a smart young chauffeur mechanic. Surely, this was wisdom
+personified. They knew the engine, could effect nearly all road repairs,
+demanded less wages than English drivers, and were always civil and
+reliable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go-ahead people, these Germans!&#8221; was the general verdict.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE FEAST</h2>
+
+<p>An Elmsdale Sunday was a day of rest for man and beast alike. There
+could be no manner of doubt that the horses and dogs were able to
+distinguish the Sabbath from the workaday week. Prince, six-year-old
+Cleveland bay, the strongest and tallest horse in the stable, when his
+headstall was taken off on Sunday morning, showed his canny Yorkshire
+sense by walking past the row of carts and pushing open a rickety gate
+that led to a tiny meadow kept expressly for odd grazing. After him, in
+Indian file, went five other horses; yet, on any other day in the week
+they would stand patiently in the big yard, waiting to be led away
+singly or in pairs.</p>
+
+<p>Curly and Jim, the two sheep-dogs&mdash;who never failed between Monday and
+Saturday to yawn and stretch expectantly by the side of John Bolland&#8217;s
+sturdy nag in the small yard near the house&mdash;on the seventh day made
+their way to the foreman&#8217;s cottage, there attending his leisure for a
+scamper over the breezy moorland.</p>
+
+<p>For, Sunday or weekday, sheep must be counted. If any are missing, the
+almost preternatural intelligence of the collie is invoked to discover
+the hollow in which the lost ones are reposing helplessly on their
+backs. They will die in a few hours if not placed on their legs <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>again.
+Turn over unaided they cannot. Man or dog must help, or they choke.</p>
+
+<p>Even the cocks and hens, the waddling geese and ducks, the huge
+shorthorns, which are the pride of the village, seemed to grasp the
+subtle distinction between life on a quiet day and the well-filled
+existence of the six days that had gone before. At least, Martin thought
+so; but he did not know then that the windows of the soul let in
+imageries that depend more on mood than on reality.</p>
+
+<p>Personally he hated Sunday, or fancied he did. He had Sunday clothes,
+Sunday boots, Sunday food, a Sunday face, and a Sunday conscience.
+Things were wrong on Sunday that were right during the rest of the week.
+Though the sky was as bright, the grass as green, the birds as tuneful
+on that day as on others, he was supposed to undergo a metamorphosis
+throughout all the weary waking hours. His troubles often began the
+moment he quitted his bed. As his &#8220;best&#8221; clothes and boots were so
+little worn, they naturally maintained a spick-and-span appearance
+during many months. Hence, he was given a fresh assortment about once a
+year, and the outfit possessed three distinct periods of use, of which
+the first tortured his mind and the third his body.</p>
+
+<p>He being a growing lad, the coat was made too long in the sleeves, the
+trousers too long in the legs, and the boots too large. At the beginning
+of this epoch he looked and felt ridiculous. Gradually, the effect of
+roast beef and suet dumplings brought about a better fit, and during
+four months of the year he was fairly smart in appearance. Then there
+came an ominous shrinkage. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>His wrists dangled below the coat cuffs,
+there was an ever-widening rim of stocking between the tops of the boots
+and the trousers&#8217; ends, while Mrs. Bolland began to grumble each week
+about the amount of darning his stockings required. Moreover, there were
+certain quite insurmountable difficulties in the matter of buttons, and
+it was with a joy tempered only by fear of the grotesque that he beheld
+the &#8220;best&#8221; suit given away to an urchin several sizes smaller than
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>Happily for his peace of mind, the Feast occurred in the middle stage of
+the current supply of raiment, so he was as presentable as a peripatetic
+tailor who worked in the house a fortnight at Christmas could make him.</p>
+
+<p>But this Sunday dragged terribly. The routine of chapel from 10:30 <small>A.M.</small>
+to noon, Sunday-school from 3 <small>P.M.</small> to 4:30 <small>P.M.</small>, and chapel again from
+6:30 <small>P.M.</small> to 8 <small>P.M.</small>, was inevitable, but there were compensations in the
+whispered confidences of Jim Bates and Tommy Beadlam, the latter
+nicknamed &#8220;White Head,&#8221; as to the nature of some of the shows.</p>
+
+<p>The new conditions brought into his life by Ang&egrave;le Saumarez troubled him
+far more than he could measure. Her mere presence in the secluded
+village carried a breath of the unknown. Her talk was of London and
+Paris, of parks, theatres, casinos, luxurious automobiles, deck-cabins,
+and Pullman cars. She seemed to have lived so long and seen so much. Yet
+she knew very little. Her ceaseless chatter in French and English, which
+sounded so smart at first, would not endure examination.</p>
+
+<p>She had read nothing. When Martin spoke of &#8220;Robinson <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>Crusoe&#8221; and
+&#8220;Ivanhoe,&#8221; of &#8220;Treasure Island&#8221; and &#8220;The Last of the Mohicans&#8221;&mdash;a
+literary medley devoured for incident and not for style&mdash;she had not
+even heard of them, but produced for inspection an astonishingly rude
+colored cartoon, the French comments on which she translated literally.</p>
+
+<p>He was a boy aglow with dim but fervent ideals; she, a girl who had
+evidently been allowed to grow up almost wild in the midst of
+fashionable life and flippant servants, all exigencies being fulfilled
+when she spoke nicely and cleverly and wore her clothes with the
+requisite chic. The two were as opposed in essentials as an honest
+English apple grown in a wholesome garden and a rare orchid, the product
+of some poisonous equatorial swamp.</p>
+
+<p>He tried to interest her in the sights and sounds of country life. She
+met him more than halfway by putting embarrassing questions as to the
+habits of animals. More than once he told her plainly that there were
+some things little girls ought not to know, whereat she laughed
+scornfully, but switched the conversation to a topic on which she could
+vex him, as was nearly always the case in her references to Elsie
+Herbert or John Bolland&#8217;s Bible teaching.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he was restless and irritable because he did not see her on the
+Sunday. Mrs. Saumarez, it is true, sped swiftly through the village
+about three o&#8217;clock, and again at half-past seven. On each occasion the
+particular chapel affected by the Bollands was resounding with a
+loud-voiced hymn or echoing the vibrant tones of a preacher powerful
+beyond question in the matter of lungs and dogmatism. The whir of the
+Mercedes shut <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>off these sounds; but Martin heard the passing of the car
+and knew that Ang&egrave;le was in it.</p>
+
+<p>It was a novel experience for the Misses Walker to find that their
+lodgers recognized no difference between Sunday and the rest of the
+week. Mrs. Saumarez dined at 6:30 <small>P.M.</small>, a concession of an hour and a
+half to rural habits, but she scouted the suggestion that a cold meal
+should be served to enable the &#8220;girls&#8221; to go to church. The old ladies
+dared not quarrel with one who paid so well. They remained at home and
+cooked and served the dinner.</p>
+
+<p>As Fran&ccedil;oise, to a large extent, waited on her mistress, this
+development might not have been noticed had not Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s quick eyes seen
+Miss Emmy Walker carrying a chicken and a dish of French beans to a
+small table in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>She told her mother, and Mrs. Saumarez was annoyed. She had informed
+Miss Martha that if the servants required a &#8220;night out,&#8221; the addition of
+another domestic to the household at her expense would give them a good
+deal more liberty, but this ridiculous &#8220;Sunday-evening&#8221; notion must stop
+forthwith.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It gets on my nerves, this British Sabbath,&#8221; she exclaimed peevishly.
+&#8220;In London I entertain largely on a Sunday and have never had any
+trouble. Do you mean to say I cannot invite guests to dinner on Sunday
+merely to humor a cook or a housemaid? Absurd!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Martha promised reform.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let her have her way,&#8221; she said to Miss Emmy. &#8220;Another servant will
+have nothing to do, and all the girls will grow lazy; but we must keep
+Mrs. Saumarez as long as we can. Oh, if she would only remain a year,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>we&#8217;d be out of debt, with the house practically recarpeted throughout!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately, Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s nerves were upset. She was snappy all the
+evening. Fran&ccedil;oise tried many expedients to soothe her mistress&#8217;s
+ruffled feelings. She brought a bundle of illustrated papers, a parcel
+of books, the scores of a couple of operas, even a gorgeous assortment
+of patterns of the new autumn dress fabrics, but each and all failed to
+attract. For some reason the preternaturally acute Ang&egrave;le avoided her
+mother. She seemed to be afraid of her when in this mood. The Misses
+Walker, seeing the anxiety of the maid and the unwonted retreat of the
+child to bed at an early hour, were miserable at the thought that such a
+trivial matter should have given their wealthy tenant cause for dire
+offense.</p>
+
+<p>So Sunday passed irksomely, and everyone was glad when the next morning
+dawned in bright cheerfulness.</p>
+
+<p>From an early hour there was evidence in plenty that the Elmsdale Feast
+would be an unqualified success, though shorn of many of its ancient
+glories.</p>
+
+<p>Time was when the village used to indulge in a week&#8217;s saturnalia, but
+the march of progress had affected rural Yorkshire even so long ago as
+1906. The younger people could visit Leeds, York, Scarborough, or Whitby
+by Saturday afternoon &#8220;trips&#8221;&mdash;special excursion trains run at cheap
+rates&mdash;while &#8220;week-ends&#8221; in London were not unknown luxuries, and these
+frequent opportunities for change of scene and recreation had lessened
+the scope of the annual revels. Still, the trading instinct kept alive
+the commercial side of the Feast; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>the splendid hospitality of the north
+country asserted itself; church and chapels seized the chance of
+reaching enlarged congregations, and a number of itinerant showmen
+regarded Elmsdale as a fixture in the yearly round.</p>
+
+<p>So, on the Monday, every neighboring village and moorland hamlet poured
+in its quota. The people came on foot from the railway station, distant
+nearly two miles, on horseback, in every sort of conveyance. The roads
+were alive with cattle, sheep, and pigs. The programme mapped out bore a
+general resemblance on each of the four days. The morning was devoted to
+business, the afternoon and evening to religion or pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>The proceedings opened with a horse fair. An agent of the German
+Government snapped up every Cleveland bay offered for sale. George
+Pickering, in sporting garb, and smoking a big cigar, was an early
+arrival. He bid vainly for a couple of mares which he needed to complete
+his stud. Germany wanted them more urgently.</p>
+
+<p>A splendid mare, the property of John Bolland, was put up for auction.
+The auctioneer read her pedigree, and proved its authenticity by
+reference to the Stud Book.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is she in foal?&#8221; asked Pickering, and a laugh went around. Bolland
+scowled blackly. If a look could have slain the younger man he would
+assuredly have fallen dead.</p>
+
+<p>The bidding commenced at &pound;40 and rose rapidly to &pound;60.</p>
+
+<p>Then Pickering lost his temper. The agent for Germany was too
+pertinacious.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Seventy,&#8221; he shouted, though the bids hitherto had mounted by single
+sovereigns.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Seventy-one,&#8221; said the agent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eighty!&#8221; roared Pickering.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eighty-one!&#8221; nodded the agent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The reserve is off,&#8221; interposed the auctioneer, and again the
+surrounding farmers guffawed, as the mare had already gone to twenty
+pounds beyond her value.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering swallowed his rage with an effort. He turned to Bolland.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s an offset for my hard words the other day,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>But the farmer thrust aside the proffered olive branch.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Once a fule, always a fule,&#8221; he growled. Pickering, though anything but
+a fool in business, took the ungracious remark pleasantly enough.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He ought to sing a rare hymn this afternoon,&#8221; he cried. &#8220;I&#8217;ve put a
+score of extra sovereigns in his pocket, and he doesn&#8217;t even say &#8216;Thank
+you.&#8217; Well, it&#8217;s the way of the world. Who&#8217;s dry?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This invitation caused an adjournment to the &#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; The
+auctioneer knew his clients.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering&#8217;s allusion to the hymn was not made without knowledge. At
+three o&#8217;clock, on a part of the green farthest removed from the thronged
+stalls and the blare of a steam-driven organ, Bolland and a few other
+earnest spirits surrounded the stentorian preacher and held an open-air
+service. They selected tunes which everybody knew and, as a result, soon
+attracted a crowd of older people, some of whom brought their children.
+Martin, of course, was in the gathering.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>Meanwhile, along the line of booths, a couple of leather-lunged men were
+singing old-time ballads, dealing for the most part with sporting
+incidents. They soon became the centers of two packed audiences, mainly
+young men and boys, but containing more than a sprinkling of girls. The
+ditties were couched in &#8220;broad Yorkshire&#8221;&mdash;sometimes too broad for
+modern taste. Whenever a particularly crude stanza was bawled forth a
+chuckle would run through the audience, and coppers in plenty were
+forthcoming for printed copies of the song, which, however, usually fell
+short of the blunt phraseology of the original. The raucous ballad
+singers took risks feared by the printer.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez, leading Ang&egrave;le by the hand, thought she would like to
+hear one of these rustic melodies, and halted. Instantly the vendor
+changed his cue. The lady might be the wife of a magistrate. Once he got
+fourteen days as a rogue and a vagabond at the instance of just such
+another interested spectator, who put the police in action.</p>
+
+<p>Quickly surfeited by the only half-understood humor of a song describing
+the sale of a dead horse, she wandered on, and soon came across the
+preacher and his lay helpers.</p>
+
+<p>To her surprise she saw John Bolland standing bareheaded in the front
+rank, and with him Martin. She had never pictured the keen-eyed, crusty
+old farmer in this guise. It amused her. The minister began to offer up
+a prayer. The men hid their faces in their hats, the women bowed
+reverently, and fervent ejaculations punctuated each pause in the
+preacher&#8217;s appeal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do believe!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Amen! Amen!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Spare us, O Lord!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez stared at the gathering with real wonderment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;C&#8217;est incroyable!&#8221; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are they doing, mamma?&#8221; cried Ang&egrave;le, trying to guess why Martin
+had buried his eyes in his cap.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are praying, dearest. It reminds one of the Covenanters. It really
+is very touching.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who were the Covenanters?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When you are older, ma belle, you will read of them in history.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s way. She treated her daughter&#8217;s education as a
+matter for governesses whom she did not employ and masters to whose
+control Ang&egrave;le would probably never be entrusted.</p>
+
+<p>The two entered the White House. There they found Mrs. Bolland, radiant
+in a black silk dress, a bonnet trimmed with huge roses, and a velvet
+dolman, the wings of which were thrown back over her portly shoulders to
+permit her the better to press all comers to partake of her hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>Several women and one or two men were seated at the big table, while
+people were coming and going constantly.</p>
+
+<p>It flustered and gratified Mrs. Bolland not a little to receive such a
+distinguished visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, my leddy,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;I&#8217;m glad to see ye. Will ye tek a chair? And
+t&#8217; young leddy, too? Will ye hev a glass o&#8217; wine?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was the recognized formula. There was a decanter of port wine on
+the sideboard, but most of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>visitors partook of tea or beer. One of
+the men drew himself a foaming tankard from a barrel in the corner.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez smiled wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No wine, thank you,&#8221; she said; &#8220;but that beer looks very nice. I&#8217;ll
+have some, if I may.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Not until that moment did Mrs. Bolland remember that her guest was a
+reputed teetotaller. So, then, Mrs. Atkinson, proprietress of the &#8220;Black
+Lion,&#8221; was mistaken.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That ye may, an&#8217; welcome,&#8221; she said in her hearty way.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le murmured something in French, but her mother gave a curt answer,
+and the child subsided, being, perhaps, interested by the evident
+amazement and admiration she evoked among the country people. To-day,
+Ang&egrave;le was dressed in a painted muslin, with hat and sash of the same
+material, long black silk stockings, and patent-leather shoes. She
+looked elegantly old-fashioned, and might have walked bodily out of one
+of Caran d&#8217;Ache&#8217;s sketches of French society.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she bounced up like an india-rubber ball.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tra la!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;V&#8217;l&agrave; mon cher Martin!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The prayer meeting had ended, and Martin was speeding home, well knowing
+who had arrived there.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le ran to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s a rale fairy,&#8221; whispered Mrs. Summersgill, mistress of the Dale
+End Farm. &#8220;She&#8217;s rigged out like a pet doll.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay,&#8221; agreed her neighbor. &#8220;D&#8217;ye ken wheer they coom frae?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Frae Lunnon, I reckon. They&#8217;re staying wi&#8217; t&#8217; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>Miss Walkers. That&#8217;s t&#8217;
+muther, a Mrs. Saumarez, they call her, but they say she&#8217;s a Jarman
+baroness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, bless her heart, she hez a rare swallow for a gill o&#8217; ale.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was perfectly true. The lady had emptied her glass with real gusto.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was so hot and tired,&#8221; she said, with an apologetic smile at her
+hostess. &#8220;Now, I can admire your wonderful store of good things to eat,&#8221;
+and she focussed the display through gold-rimmed eyeglasses.</p>
+
+<p>Truly, the broad kitchen table presented a spectacle that would kill a
+dyspeptic. A cold sirloin, a portly ham, two pairs of chickens, three
+brace of grouse&mdash;these solids were mere garnishings to dishes piled with
+currant cakes, currant loaves and plain bread cut and buttered, jam
+turnovers, open tarts of many varieties, &#8220;fat rascals,&#8221; Queen cakes,
+sponge cakes&mdash;battalions and army corps of all the sweet and toothsome
+articles known to the culinary skill of the North.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m feared, my leddy, they won&#8217;t suit your taste,&#8221; began Mrs. Bolland,
+but the other broke in eagerly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t say that! They look so good, so wholesome, so different from
+the French cooking we weary of in town. If I were not afraid of spoiling
+my dinner and earning a scolding from Fran&ccedil;oise I would certainly ask
+for some of that cold beef and a slice of bread and butter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tek my advice, ma&#8217;am, an&#8217; eat while ye&#8217;re in t&#8217; humor,&#8221; cried Mrs.
+Bolland, instantly helping her guest to the eatables named.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez laughed delightedly and peeled off a pair of white kid
+gloves. She ate a little of the meat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>and crumbled a slice of bread.
+Mrs. Bolland refilled the glass with beer.</p>
+
+<p>Then the lady made herself generally popular by asking questions. Did
+they use lard or butter in the pastry? How was the sponge cake made so
+light? What a curious custom it was to put currants into plain dough;
+she had never seen it done before. Were the servants able to do these
+things, or had they to be taught by the mistress of the house? She
+amused the women by telling of the airs and graces of London domestics,
+and evoked a feeling akin to horror by relating the items of the weekly
+bills in her town house.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Seven pund o&#8217; be&auml;can for breakfast i&#8217; t&#8217; kitchen!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs.
+Summersgill. &#8220;Whe&auml; ivver heerd tell o&#8217; sike waste?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; cried another, &#8220;but ye mun addle yer money aisy t&#8217; let &#8217;em
+carry on that gait.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin, who found Ang&egrave;le in her most charming mood&mdash;unconsciously
+pleased, too, that her costume was not so <i>outr&eacute;</i> as to run any risk of
+caustic comment by strangers&mdash;came in and asked if he might take her
+along the row of stalls. Mrs. Bolland had given him a shilling that
+morning, and he resolved magnanimously to let the shooting gallery wait;
+Ang&egrave;le should be treated to a shilling&#8217;s worth of aught she fancied.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Saumarez rose.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your mother will kill me with kindness, Martin, if I remain longer,&#8221;
+she said. &#8220;Take me, too, and we&#8217;ll see if the fair contains any toys.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She emptied the second glass of ale, drew on her gloves, bade the
+company farewell with as much courtesy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>as if they were so many
+countesses, and walked away with the youngsters.</p>
+
+<p>At one stall she bought Martin a pneumatic gun, a powerful toy which the
+dealer never expected to sell in that locality. At another she would
+have purchased a doll for Ang&egrave;le, but the child shrugged her shoulders
+and declared that she would greatly prefer to ride on the roundabouts
+with Martin. Mrs. Saumarez agreed instantly, and the pair mounted the
+hobby-horses.</p>
+
+<p>Among the children who watched them enviously were Jim Bates and Evelyn
+Atkinson. When the steam organ was in full blast and the horses were
+flying round at a merry pace, Mrs. Saumarez bent over Jim Bates and
+placed half a sovereign in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go to the &#8216;Black Lion,&#8217;&#8221; she said, &#8220;and bring me a bottle of the best
+brandy. See that it is wrapped in paper. I do not care to go myself to a
+place where there are so many men.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jim darted off. The roundabout slackened speed and stopped, but Mrs.
+Saumarez ordered another ride. The whirl had begun again when Bates
+returned with a parcel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was four shillin&#8217;s, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you, very much. Keep the change.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Even Evelyn Atkinson was so awed by the magnitude of the tip that she
+forgot for a moment to glue her eyes on Ang&egrave;le and Martin.</p>
+
+<p>But Ang&egrave;le, wildly elated though she was with the sensation of flight,
+and seated astride like a boy, until the tops of her stockings were
+exposed to view, did not fail to notice the conclusion of Jim Bates&#8217;s
+errand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mamma will be ill to-night,&#8221; she screamed in Martin&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>ear. &#8220;Fran&ccedil;oise
+will be busy waiting on her. I&#8217;ll come out again at eight o&#8217;clock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must not,&#8221; shouted the boy. &#8220;It will be very rough here then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;C&#8217;la va&mdash;I mean, I know that quite well. It&#8217;ll be all the more jolly.
+Meet me at the gate. I&#8217;ll bring plenty of money.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t,&#8221; protested Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;m supposed to be home myself at eight o&#8217;clock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you don&#8217;t come, I&#8217;ll find some other boy. Frank Beckett-Smythe said
+he would try and turn up every evening, in case I got a chance to sneak
+out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right. I&#8217;ll be there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin intended to hurry her through the fair and take her home again.
+If he received a &#8220;hiding&#8221; for being late, he would put up with it. In
+any case, the squire&#8217;s eldest son could not be allowed to steal his
+wilful playmate without a struggle. Probably Adam reasoned along similar
+lines when Eve first offered him an apple. Be that as it may, it never
+occurred to Martin that the third chapter of Genesis could have the
+remotest bearing on the night&#8217;s frolic.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h2>&#8220;IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS&#8221;</h2>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez and Ang&egrave;le returned to The Elms, but Martin had to forego
+accompanying them. He knew that&mdash;with Bible opened at the Third Book of
+Kings&mdash;John Bolland was waiting in a bedroom, every downstairs apartment
+being crowded.</p>
+
+<p>He ran all the way along the village street and darted upstairs,
+striving desperately to avoid even the semblance of undue haste. Bolland
+was thumbing the book impatiently. He frowned over his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why are ye late?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez asked me to walk with her through the village,&#8221; answered
+Martin truthfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay. T&#8217; wife telt me she was here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The explanation served, and Martin breathed more freely. The reading
+commenced:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him
+with clothes, but he gat no heat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my
+lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king,
+and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord
+the king may get heat.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Martin, with his mind in a tumult on account of the threatened escapade,
+did not care a pin what method <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>was adopted to restore the feeble
+circulation of the withered King so long as the lesson passed off
+satisfactorily.</p>
+
+<p>With rare self-control, he bent over the, to him, unmeaning page, and
+acquitted himself so well in the parrot repetition which he knew would
+be pleasing that he ventured to say:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I stay out a little later to-night, sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What for? You&#8217;re better i&#8217; bed than gapin&#8217; at shows an&#8217; listenin&#8217; te
+drunken men.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I only ask because&mdash;because I&#8217;m told that Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s little girl
+means to see the fair by night, and she&mdash;er&mdash;would like me to be with
+her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Bolland laughed dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;ll soon hev more&#8217;n eneuf on&#8217;t,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Ay, lad, ye can
+stay wi&#8217; her, if that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin never, under any circumstances, told a downright lie, but he
+feared that this was sailing rather too near the wind to be honest. The
+nature of Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s statement was so nebulous. He could hardly explain
+outright that Mrs. Saumarez was not coming&mdash;that Ang&egrave;le alone would be
+the sightseer. So he flushed, and felt that he was obtaining the
+required permission by false pretense. He could have pulled Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s
+pretty ears for placing him in such a dilemma, but with a man so utterly
+unsympathetic as Bolland it was impossible to be quite candid.</p>
+
+<p>He had clear ideas of right and wrong. He knew it was wrong for Ang&egrave;le
+to come out unattended and mix in the scene of rowdyism which the
+village would present until midnight. If she really could succeed in
+leaving The Elms unnoticed, the most effectual way to stop her was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>to
+go now to her mother or to one of the Misses Walker and report her
+intention. But this, according to the boy&#8217;s code of honor, was to play
+the sneak, than which there is no worse crime in the calendar. No. He
+would look after her himself. There was a spice of adventure, too, in
+acting as the chosen squire of this sprightly damsel. Strong-minded as
+he was, and resolute beyond his years, Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s wilfulness, her quick
+tongue, the diablerie of her glance, the witchery of her elegant little
+person, captivated heart and brain, and benumbed the inchoate murmurings
+of conscience.</p>
+
+<p>Oddly enough, he often found himself comparing her with Elsie Herbert, a
+girl with whom he had never exchanged a word, and Ang&egrave;le Saumarez
+invariably figured badly in the comparison. The boy did not know then
+that he must become a man, perhaps soured of life, bitter with
+experience, before he would understand the difference between respect
+and fascination.</p>
+
+<p>With housewife prudence, Mrs. Bolland hailed him as he was passing
+through the back kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noo, then, Martin, don&#8217;t ye go racketin&#8217; about too much in your best
+clothes. And mind your straw hat isn&#8217;t blown off if ye go on one o&#8217; them
+whirligigs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right, mother,&#8221; he said cheerfully, and was gone in a flash.</p>
+
+<p>Two hours must elapse before Ang&egrave;le could appear. Jim Bates, who bore no
+malice, stood treat in gingerbread and lemonade out of the largesse
+bestowed by Mrs. Saumarez. Martin, carried away by sight of a champion
+boxer who offered a sovereign to any local man under twelve stone who
+stood up to him for three two-minute rounds, spent sixpence in securing
+seats <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>for himself and Jim when the gage of combat was thrown down by
+his gamekeeper friend.</p>
+
+<p>There was a furious fight with four-ounce gloves. The showman discovered
+quickly that Velveteens &#8220;knew a bit.&#8221; Repeated attempts to &#8220;out&#8221; him
+with &#8220;the right&#8221; on the &#8220;point&#8221; resulted in heavy &#8220;counters&#8221; on the
+ribs, and a terrific uppercut failed because of the keeper&#8217;s quick
+sight.</p>
+
+<p>The proprietor of the booth, who acted as timekeeper, gave every favor
+to his henchman, but at the end of the third round the professional was
+more blown than the amateur. The sovereign was handed over with apparent
+good will, both showmen realizing that it might be money well spent. And
+it was, as the black eyes and swollen lips among the would-be pugilists
+of Elmsdale testified for many days thereafter.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, who had never before seen a real boxing match, was entranced.
+With a troop of boys he accompanied the two combatants to the door of
+the &#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; where a fair proportion of the sovereign was soon
+converted into beer.</p>
+
+<p>George Pickering had witnessed the contest. Generous to a fault, he
+started a purse to be fought for in rounds inside the booth. Wanting a
+pencil and paper, he ran upstairs to his room&mdash;he had resolved to stay
+at the inn for a couple of nights&mdash;and encountered Kitty Thwaites on the
+stairs.</p>
+
+<p>She carried a laden tray, so he slipped an arm around her waist, and she
+was powerless to prevent him from kissing her unless she dropped the
+tray or risked upsetting its contents. She had no intention of doing
+either of these things.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, go on, do!&#8221; she cried, not averting her face too much.</p>
+
+<p>He whispered something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not me!&#8221; she giggled. &#8220;Besides, I won&#8217;t have a minnit to spare till
+closin&#8217; time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering hugged her again. She descended the stairs, laughing and very
+red.</p>
+
+<p>The boys heard something of the details of the proposed Elmsdale
+championship boxing competition. Entries were pouring in, there being no
+fee. George Pickering was appointed referee, and the professional named
+as judge. The first round would be fought at 3 <small>P.M.</small> next day.</p>
+
+<p>The time passed more quickly than Martin expected; as for his money, it
+simply melted. Tenpence out of the shilling had vanished before he
+realized how precious little remained wherewith to entertain Ang&egrave;le. She
+said she would have &#8220;plenty of money,&#8221; but he imagined that a walk
+through the fair and a ride on the roundabout would satisfy her. Not
+even at fourteen does the male understand the female of twelve.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes before eight he escaped from his companions and strolled
+toward The Elms. The house was not like the suburban villa which stands
+in the center of a row and proudly styles itself Oakdene. It was hidden
+in a cluster of lordly elms, and already the day was so far spent that
+the entrance gate was invisible save at a few yards&#8217; distance.</p>
+
+<p>The nearest railway station was situated two miles along this very road.
+A number of slow-moving country people were sauntering to the station,
+where the north train was due at 9:05 <small>P.M.</small> Another train, that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>from the
+south, arrived at 9:20, and would be the last that night. A full moon
+was rising, but her glories were hidden by the distant hills. There was
+no wind; the weather was fine and settled. The Elmsdale Feast was lucky
+in its dates.</p>
+
+<p>Martin waited near the gate and heard the church clock chime the hour.
+Two boys on bicycles came flying toward the village. They were the
+Beckett-Smythes. They slackened pace as they neared The Elms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wonder if she&#8217;ll get out to-night?&#8221; said Ernest, the younger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no use waiting here. She said she&#8217;d dodge out one evening for
+certain. If she&#8217;s not in the village, we&#8217;d better skip back before we&#8217;re
+missed,&#8221; said the heir.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s all right. Pater thinks we&#8217;re in the grounds, and there
+won&#8217;t be any bother if we show up at nine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They rode on. The quarter-hour chimed, and Martin became impatient.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was humbugging me, as usual,&#8221; he reflected. &#8220;Well, this time I&#8217;m
+pleased.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>An eager voice whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hold the gate! It&#8217;ll rattle when I climb over. They&#8217;ve not heard me. I
+crept here on the grass.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le had changed her dress to a dark-blue serge and sailor hat. This
+was decidedly thoughtful. In her day attire she must have attracted a
+great deal of notice. Now, in the dark, neither the excellence of her
+clothing nor the elegance of her carriage would differentiate her too
+markedly from the village girls.</p>
+
+<p>She was breathless with haste, but her tongue rattled on rapidly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Mamma <i>is</i> ill. I knew she would be. I told Fran&ccedil;oise I had a headache,
+and went to bed. Then I crept downstairs again. Miss Walker nearly
+caught me, but she&#8217;s so upset that she never saw me. As for Fritz, if I
+meet him&mdash;poof!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter with Mrs. Saumarez?&#8221; asked Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Trop de cognac, mon ch&eacute;ri.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It means a &#8216;bit wobbly, my dear.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is her head bad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. It will be for a week. But never mind mamma. She&#8217;ll be all right,
+with Fran&ccedil;oise to look after her. Here! You pay for everything. There&#8217;s
+ten shillings in silver. I have a sovereign in my stocking, if we want
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were hurrying toward the distant medley of sound. Flaring naptha
+lamps gave the village street a Rembrandt effect. Love-making couples,
+with arms entwined, were coming away from the glare of the booths. Their
+forms cast long shadows on the white road.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ten shillings!&#8221; gasped Martin. &#8220;Whatever do we want with ten
+shillings?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To enjoy ourselves, you silly. You can&#8217;t have any fun without money.
+Why, when mamma dines at the Savoy and takes a party to the theater
+afterwards, it costs her as many pounds. I know, because I&#8217;ve seen the
+checks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That has nothing to do with it. We can&#8217;t spend ten shillings here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, can&#8217;t we? You leave that to me. Mais, voyez-vous, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>imb&eacute;cile, are
+you going to be nasty?&#8221; She halted and stamped an angry foot.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;m not; but&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then come on, stupid. I&#8217;m late as it is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The stalls remain open until eleven.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Magnifique! What a row there&#8217;ll be if I have to knock to get in!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin held his tongue. He resolved privately that Ang&egrave;le should be home
+at nine, at latest, if he dragged her thither by main force. The affair
+promised difficulties. She was so intractable that a serious quarrel
+would result. Well, he could not help it. Better a lasting break than
+the wild hubbub that would spring up if they both remained out till the
+heinous hour she contemplated.</p>
+
+<p>In the village they encountered Jim Bates and Evelyn Atkinson,
+surrounded by seven or eight boys and girls, for Jim was disposing
+rapidly of his six shillings, and Evelyn bestowed favor on him for the
+nonce.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello! here&#8217;s Martin,&#8221; whooped Bates. &#8220;I thowt ye&#8217;d gone yam (home).
+Where hev ye&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jim&#8217;s eloquence died away abruptly. He caught sight of Ang&egrave;le and was
+abashed. Not so Evelyn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin&#8217;s been to fetch his sweetheart,&#8221; she said maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le simpered sufficiently to annoy Evelyn. Then she laughed
+agreement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And won&#8217;t we have a time! Come on! Everybody have a ride.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sprang toward the horses. Martin alone followed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Come on!&#8221; she screamed. &#8220;Martin will pay for the lot. He has heaps of
+money.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No second invitation was needed. Several times the whole party swung
+round with lively yelling. From the roundabouts they went to the swings;
+from the swings to the cocoanut shies. Here they were joined by the
+Beckett-Smythes, who endeavored promptly to assume the leadership.</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s blood was fired by the contest. He was essentially a boy
+foredoomed to dominate his fellows, whether for good or evil. He pitched
+restraint to the winds. He could throw better than either of the young
+aristocrats; he could shoot straighter at the galleries; he could
+describe the heroic combat between the boxer and Velveteens; he would
+swing Ang&egrave;le higher than any, until they looked over the crossbar after
+each giddy swirl.</p>
+
+<p>The Beckett-Smythes kept pace with him only in expenditure, Jim Bates
+being quickly drained, and even they wondered how long the village lad
+could last.</p>
+
+<p>The ten shillings were soon dissipated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want that sovereign,&#8221; he shouted, when Ang&egrave;le and he were riding
+together again on the hobby-horses.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you so,&#8221; she screamed. She turned up her dress to extricate the
+money from a fold of her stocking. The light flashed on her white skin,
+and Frank Beckett-Smythe, who rode behind with one of the Atkinson
+girls, wondered what she was doing.</p>
+
+<p>She bent over Martin and whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are <i>two</i>! Keep the fun going!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young spark in the rear thought that she was kissing Martin; he was
+wild with jealousy. At the next <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>show&mdash;that of a woman grossly fat, who
+allowed the gapers to pinch her leg at a penny a pinch&mdash;he paid with his
+last half-crown. When they went to refresh themselves on ginger-beer,
+Martin produced a sovereign. The woman who owned the stall bit it,
+surveyed him suspiciously, and tried to swindle him in the change. She
+failed badly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eleven bottles at twopence and eleven cakes at a penny make
+two-and-nine. I want two more shillings, please,&#8221; he said coolly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be aff wid ye! I gev ye seventeen and thruppence. If ye thry anny uv
+yer tricks an me I&#8217;ll be afther askin&#8217; where ye got the pound.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give me two more shillings, or I&#8217;ll call the police.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Maguire was beaten; she paid up.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd left her, with cries of &#8220;Irish Molly!&#8221; &#8220;Where&#8217;s Mick?&#8221; and
+even coarser expressions. Ang&egrave;le screamed at her:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you stick to ginger-beer? You&#8217;re muzzy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The taunt stung, and the old Irishwoman cursed her tormentor as a
+black-eyed little witch.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le, seeing that Martin carried all before him, began straightway to
+flirt with the heir. At first the defection was not noted, but when she
+elected to sit by Frank while they watched the acrobats the new swain
+took heart once more and squeezed her arm.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn Atkinson, who was in a smiling temper, felt that a crisis might
+be brought about now. There was not much time. It was nearly ten
+o&#8217;clock, and soon her mother would be storming at her for not having
+taken herself and her sisters to bed, though, in justice be it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>said,
+the girls could not possibly sleep until the house was cleared.</p>
+
+<p>Ernest Beckett-Smythe was her cavalier at the moment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve seen all there is te see,&#8221; she whispered. &#8220;Let&#8217;s go and have a
+dance in our yard. Jim Bates can play a mouth-organ.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ernest was a slow-witted youth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where&#8217;s the good?&#8221; he said. &#8220;There&#8217;s more fun here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You try it, an&#8217; see,&#8221; she murmured coyly.</p>
+
+<p>The suggestion caught on. It was discussed while Martin and Jim Bates
+were driving a weight up a pole by striking a lever with a heavy hammer.
+Anything in the shape of an athletic feat always attracted Martin.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le was delighted. She scented a row. These village urchins were imps
+after her own heart.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, let&#8217;s,&#8221; she agreed. &#8220;It&#8217;ll be a change. I&#8217;ll show you the American
+two-step.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frank had his arm around her waist now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Right-o!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Evelyn, you and Ernest lead the way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The girl, flattered by being bracketed publicly with one of the squire&#8217;s
+sons, enjoined caution.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Once we&#8217;re past t&#8217; stables it&#8217;s all right,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t suppose
+Fred&#8217;ll hear us, anyhow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fred was at the front of the hotel watching the road, watching Kitty
+Thwaites as she flitted upstairs and down, watching George Pickering
+through the bar window, and grinning like a fiend when he saw that
+somewhat ardent wooer, hilarious now, but sober enough <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>according to his
+standard, glancing occasionally at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>There was a gate on each side of the hotel. That on the left led to the
+yard, with its row of stables and cart-sheds, and thence to a spacious
+area occupied by hay-stacks, piles of firewood, hen-houses, and all the
+miscellaneous lumber of an establishment half inn, half farm. The gate
+on the right opened into a bowling-green and skittle-alley. Behind these
+lay the kitchen garden and orchard. A hedge separated one section from
+the other, and entrance could be obtained to either from the back door
+of the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>The radiance of a full moon now decked the earth in silver and black; in
+the shade the darkness was intense by contrast. The church clock struck
+ten.</p>
+
+<p>Half a dozen youngsters crept silently into the stable yard. Ang&egrave;le
+kicked up a dainty foot in a preliminary <i>pas seul</i>, but Evelyn stopped
+her unceremoniously. The village girl&#8217;s sharp ears had caught footsteps
+on the garden path beyond the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>It was George Pickering, with his arm around Kitty&#8217;s shoulders. He was
+talking in a low tone, and she was giggling nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re sweetheartin&#8217;,&#8221; whispered a girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So are we,&#8221; declared Frank Beckett-Smythe. &#8220;Aren&#8217;t we, Ang&egrave;le?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sapristi! I should think so. Where&#8217;s Martin?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never mind. We don&#8217;t want him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he will be furious. Let&#8217;s hide. There will be such a row when he
+goes home, and he daren&#8217;t go till he finds me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Master Beckett-Smythe experienced a second&#8217;s twinge <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>at thought of the
+greeting he and his brother would receive at the Hall. But here was
+Ang&egrave;le pretending timidity and cowering in his arms. He would not leave
+her now were he to be flayed alive.</p>
+
+<p>The footsteps of Pickering and Kitty died away. They had gone into the
+orchard.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn Atkinson breathed freely again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Even if Kitty sees us now, I don&#8217;t care,&#8221; she said. &#8220;She daren&#8217;t tell
+mother, when she knows that we saw her and Mr. Pickerin&#8217;. He ought to
+have married her sister.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Poof!&#8221; tittered Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;Who heeds a domestic?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Someone came at a fast run into the yard, running in desperate haste,
+and making a fearful din. Two boys appeared. The leader shouted:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le! Ang&egrave;le! Are you there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin had missed her. Jim Bates, who knew the chosen rendezvous of the
+Atkinson girls, suggested that they and their friends had probably gone
+to the haggarth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shut up, you fool!&#8221; hissed Frank. &#8220;Do you want the whole village to
+know where we are?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin ignored him. He darted forward and caught Ang&egrave;le by the shoulder.
+He distinguished her readily by her outline, though she and the rest
+were hidden in the somber shadows of the outbuildings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why did you leave me?&#8221; he demanded angrily. &#8220;You must come home at
+once. It is past ten o&#8217;clock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be angry, Martin,&#8221; she pouted. &#8220;I am just a little tired of the
+noise. I want to show you and the rest a new dance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><p>The minx was playing her part well. She had read Evelyn Atkinson&#8217;s soul.
+She felt every throb of young Beckett-Smythe&#8217;s foolish heart. She was
+quite certain that Martin would find her and cause a scene. There was
+deeper intrigue afoot now than the mere folly of unlicensed frolic in
+the fair. Her vanity, too, was gratified by the leading r&ocirc;le she filled
+among them all. The puppets bore themselves according to their
+temperaments. Evelyn bit her lip with rage and nearly yielded to a wild
+impulse to spring at Ang&egrave;le and scratch her face. Martin was white with
+determination. As for Master Frank, he boiled over instantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You just leave her alone, young Bolland,&#8221; he said thickly. &#8220;She came
+here to please herself, and can stay here, if she likes. I&#8217;ll see to
+that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le,&#8221; he said quietly, &#8220;come away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that he had lived in the village nearly all his life, it was
+passing strange that this boy should have dissociated himself so
+completely from its ways. But the early hours he kept, his love of
+horses, dogs, and books, his preference for the society of grooms and
+gamekeepers&mdash;above all, a keen, if unrecognized, love of nature in all
+her varying moods, an almost pagan worship of mountain, moor, and
+stream&mdash;had kept him aloof from village life. A boy of fourteen does not
+indulge in introspection. It simply came as a fearful shock to find the
+daughter of a lady like Mrs. Saumarez so ready to forget her social
+standing. Surely, she could not know what she was doing. He was
+undeceived, promptly and thoroughly.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le snatched her shoulder from his grasp.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you dare hold me,&#8221; she snapped. &#8220;I&#8217;m not coming. I won&#8217;t come
+with you, anyhow. Ma foi, Frank is far nicer.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I&#8217;ll drag you home,&#8221; said Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, will you, indeed? I&#8217;ll see to that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Beckett-Smythe deemed Ang&egrave;le a girl worth fighting for. In any case,
+this clodhopper who spent money like a lord must be taught manners.</p>
+
+<p>Martin smiled. In his bemused brain the idea was gaining ground that
+Ang&egrave;le would be flattered if he &#8220;licked&#8221; the squire&#8217;s son for her sake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; he said, stepping back into the moonlight. &#8220;We&#8217;ll settle it
+that way. If <i>you</i> beat <i>me</i>, Ang&egrave;le remains. If <i>I</i> beat <i>you</i>, she
+goes home. Here, Jim. Hold my coat and hat. And, no matter what happens,
+mind you don&#8217;t play for any dancing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin stated terms and issued orders like an emperor. In the hour of
+stress he felt himself immeasurably superior to this gang of urchins,
+whether their manners smacked of Elmsdale or of Eton.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s acquaintance with popular fiction told her that at this stage
+of the game the heroine should cling in tears to the one she loved, and
+implore him to desist, to be calm for her sake. But the riot in her
+veins brought a new sensation. There were possibilities hitherto
+unsuspected in the darkness, the secrecy, the candid brutality of the
+fight. She almost feared lest Beckett-Smythe should be defeated.</p>
+
+<p>And how the other girls must envy her, to be fought for by the two boys
+pre-eminent among them, to be the acknowledged princess of this village
+carnival!</p>
+
+<p>So she clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;O l&agrave; l&agrave;!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Going to fight about poor little me! Well, I
+can&#8217;t stop you, can I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you can,&#8221; said one.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She won&#8217;t, anyhow,&#8221; scoffed the other. &#8220;Are you ready?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then &#8216;go.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And the battle began.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h2>WHEREIN THE RED BLOOD FLOWS</h2>
+
+<p>They fought like a couple of young bulls. Frank intended to demolish his
+rival at the outset. He was a year older and slightly heavier, but
+Martin was more active, more sure-footed, sharper of vision. Above all,
+he had laid to heart the three-pennyworth of tuition obtained in the
+boxing booth a few hours earlier.</p>
+
+<p>He had noted then that a boxer dodged as many blows with his head as he
+warded with his arms. He grasped the necessity to keep moving, and thus
+disconcert an adversary&#8217;s sudden rush. Again, he had seen the excellence
+of a forward spring without changing the relative positions of the feet.
+Assuming you were sparring with the left hand and foot advanced, a quick
+jump of eighteen inches enabled you to get the right home with all your
+force. You must keep the head well back and the eye fixed unflinchingly
+on your opponent&#8217;s. Above all, meet offense with offense. Hit hard and
+quickly and as often as might be.</p>
+
+<p>These were sound principles, and he proceeded to put them into
+execution, to the growing distress and singular annoyance of Master
+Beckett-Smythe.</p>
+
+<p>Ernest acted as referee&mdash;in the language of the village, he &#8220;saw fair
+play&#8221;&mdash;but was wise enough to call &#8220;time&#8221; early in the first round, when
+his brother drew off after a fierce set-to. The forcing tactics had
+failed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>but honors were divided. The taller boy&#8217;s reach had told in his
+favor, while Martin&#8217;s newly acquired science redressed the balance.</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s lip was cut and there was a lump on his left cheek, but Frank
+felt an eye closing and had received a staggerer in the ribs. He was
+aware of an uneasy feeling that if Martin survived the next round he
+(Frank) would be beaten, so there was nothing for it but to summon all
+his reserves and deliver a Napoleonic attack. The enemy must be crushed
+by sheer force.</p>
+
+<p>He was a plucky lad and was stung to frenzy by seeing Ang&egrave;le offer
+Martin the use of a lace handkerchief for the bleeding lip, a delicate
+tenderness quietly repulsed.</p>
+
+<p>So, when the rush came, Martin had to fight desperately to avoid
+annihilation. He was compelled to give way, and backed toward the hedge.
+Behind lay an unseen stackpole. At the instant when Beckett-Smythe
+lowered his head and endeavored to butt Martin violently in the stomach,
+the latter felt the obstruction with his heel. Had he lost his nerve
+then or flickered an eyelid, he would have taken a nasty fall and a
+severe shaking. As it was, he met the charge more than halfway, and
+delivered the same swinging upper stroke which had nearly proved fatal
+to his gamekeeper friend.</p>
+
+<p>It was wholly disastrous to Beckett-Smythe. It caught him fairly on the
+nose, and, as the blow was in accord with the correct theory of dynamics
+as applied to forces in motion, it knocked him silly. His head flew up,
+his knees bent, and he dropped to the ground with a horrible feeling
+that the sky had fallen and that stars were sparkling among the rough
+paving-stones.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That&#8217;s a finisher. He&#8217;s whopped!&#8221; exulted Jim Bates.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, he&#8217;s not. It was a chance blow,&#8221; cried Ernest, who was strongly
+inclined to challenge the victor on his own account. &#8220;Get up, Frank.
+Have another go at him!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Frank, who could neither see nor hear distinctly, was too groggy to
+rise, and the village girls drew together in an alarmed group. Such
+violent treatment of the squire&#8217;s son savored of sacrilege. They were
+sure that Martin would receive some condign punishment by the law for
+pummeling a superior being so unmercifully.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le, somewhat frightened herself, tried to console her discomfited
+champion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m so sorry,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It was all my fault.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, go away!&#8221; he protested. &#8220;Ernest, where&#8217;s there a pump?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Assisted by his brother, he struggled to his feet. His nose was bleeding
+freely and his face was ghastly in the moonlight. But he was a spirited
+youngster. He held out a hand to Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve had enough just now,&#8221; he said, with an attempt at a smile. &#8220;Some
+other day, when my eye is all right, I&#8217;d like to&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A woman&#8217;s scream of terror, a man&#8217;s cry of agony, startled the silent
+night and nearly scared the children out of their wits.</p>
+
+<p>Someone came running up the garden path. It was Kitty Thwaites. She
+swayed unsteadily as she ran; her arms were lifted in frantic
+supplication.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you&#8217;ve killed him!&#8221; she wailed. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>&#8220;Murder! Murder!
+Come, someone! For God&#8217;s sake, come!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stumbled and fell, shrieking frenziedly for help. Another woman&mdash;a
+woman whose extended right hand clutched a long, thin knife such as is
+used to carve game&mdash;appeared from the gloom of the orchard. Her wan face
+was raised to the sky, and a baleful light shone in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, I&#8217;ll swing for him,&#8221; she cried in a voice shrill with hysteria.
+&#8220;May the Lord deal wi&#8217; him as he dealt wi&#8217; me! And my own sister, too!
+Out on ye, ye strumpet! &#8217;Twould sarve ye right if I stuck ye wi&#8217; t&#8217; same
+knife.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a clatter of ironshod boots, most of the frightened children
+stampeded out of the stable yard. Martin, to whom Ang&egrave;le clung in
+speechless fear, and the two Beckett-Smythes alone were left.</p>
+
+<p>The din of steam organ and drums, the ceaseless turmoil of the fair, the
+constant fusillade at the shooting gallery, and the bawling of men in
+charge of the various sideshows, had kept the women&#8217;s shrieks from other
+ears thus far. But Kitty Thwaites, though almost shocked out of her
+senses, gained strength from the imminence of peril. Springing up from
+the path just in time to avoid the vengeful oncoming of her sister, she
+staggered toward the hotel and created instant alarm by her cries of
+&#8220;Murder! Help! George Pickering has been stabbed!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A crowd of men poured out from bar and smoking-room. One, who took
+thought, rushed through the front door and snatched a naphtha lamp from
+a stall. Meanwhile, the three boys and the girl on the other side of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>the hedge, seeing and hearing everything, but unseen and unheard
+themselves, took counsel in some sort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say,&#8221; Ernest Beckett-Smythe urged his brother, &#8220;let&#8217;s get out of
+this. Father will thrash us to death if we&#8217;re mixed up in this
+business.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The advice was good. Frank forgot his dizziness for the moment, and the
+two raced to secure their bicycles from a stall-holder&#8217;s care. They rode
+away to the Hall unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>Martin remained curiously quiet. All the excitement had left him. If
+Elmsdale were rent by an earthquake just then, he would have watched the
+toppling houses with equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you don&#8217;t wish to stop here now?&#8221; he said to Ang&egrave;le.</p>
+
+<p>The girl was sobbing bitterly. Her small body shook as though each gulp
+were a racking cough. She could not answer. He placed his arm around her
+and led her to the gate. While they were crossing the yard the people
+from the hotel crowded into the garden. The man with the lamp had
+reached the back of the house across the bowling green, and a stalwart
+farmer had caught Betsy Thwaites by the wrist. The blood-stained knife
+fell from her fingers. She moaned helplessly in disjointed phrases.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s all overed now. God help me! Why was I born?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Already a crowd was surging into the hotel through the front door.
+Martin guided his trembling companion to the right; in a few strides
+they were clear of the fair, only to run into Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s German
+chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>He was not in uniform; in a well-fitting blue serge <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>suit and straw hat,
+he looked more like a young officer in mufti than a mechanic. He was the
+first to recognize Ang&egrave;le, and was so frankly astonished that he bowed
+to her without lifting his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>You</i>, mees?&#8221; he cried, seemingly at a loss for other words.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le recovered her wits at once. She said something which Martin could
+not understand, though he was sure it was not in French, as the girl&#8217;s
+frequent use of that language was familiarizing his ears with its
+sounds. As a matter of fact, she spoke German, telling the chauffeur to
+mind his own business, and she would mind hers; but if any talking were
+done her tongue might wag more than his.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, the man did then raise his hat politely and walk on. The
+remainder of the road between Elmsdale and The Elms was deserted. Martin
+hardly realized the pace at which he was literally dragging his
+companion homeward until she protested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin, you&#8217;re hurting my arm! What&#8217;s the hurry?... Did she really kill
+him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She said so. I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he replied.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who was she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Kitty Thwaites&#8217;s sister, I suppose. I never saw her before. They were
+not bred in this village.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And why did she kill him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How can I tell?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She had a knife in her hand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps she killed him because she was jealous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin, don&#8217;t be angry with me. I didn&#8217;t mean any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>harm. I was only
+having a lark. I did it just to tease you&mdash;and Evelyn Atkinson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s all very fine. What will your mother say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The quietude, the sound of her own voice, were giving the girl courage.
+She tossed her head with something of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She can say nothing. You leave her to me. You saw how I shut Fritz&#8217;s
+mouth. What was the name of the man who was killed?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;George Pickering.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. He walked down the garden with Kitty Thwaites.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. When I get in I can tell Miss Walker and Fran&ccedil;oise all about it.
+They will be so excited. There will be no fuss about me being out. V&#8217;l&agrave;
+la bonne fortune!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Speak English, please.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it is good luck I was there. I can make up such a story.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good luck that a poor fellow should be stabbed!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That wasn&#8217;t my fault, was it? Good-night, Martin. You fought
+beautifully. Kiss me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t kiss you. Run in, now. I&#8217;ll wait till the door opens.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then <i>I&#8217;ll</i> kiss <i>you</i>. There! I like you better than all the
+world&mdash;just now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She opened the gate, careless whether it clanged or not. Martin heard
+her quick footsteps on the gravel of the short drive. She rattled loudly
+on the door.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Good-night, Martin&mdash;dear!&#8221; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer. There was some delay. Evidently she had not been
+missed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you there?&#8221; She was impatient of his continued coldness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why don&#8217;t you speak, silly?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The door opened with the clanking of a chain. There was a woman&#8217;s
+startled cry as the inner light fell on Ang&egrave;le. Then he turned.</p>
+
+<p>Not until he reached the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221; and its well-lighted area did he
+realize that he was coatless and hatless. Jim Bates had vanished with
+both of these necessary articles. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound!
+There would be a fearful row, and the thrashing would be the same in any
+case.</p>
+
+<p>He avoided the crowd, keeping to the darker side of the street. A
+policeman had just come out of the inn and was telling the people to go
+away. All the village seemed to have gathered during the few minutes
+which had elapsed since the tragedy took place. He felt strangely sorry
+for Betsy Thwaites. Would she be locked up, handcuffed, with chains on
+her ankles? What would they do with the knife? Why should she want to
+kill Mr. Pickering? Wouldn&#8217;t he marry her? Even so, that was no reason
+he should be stabbed. Where did she stick him? Did he quiver like
+Absalom when Joab thrust the darts into his heart?</p>
+
+<p>At last he ran up the slight incline leading to the White House; there
+was a light in the front kitchen. For one awful moment he paused, with a
+finger on the sneck; then he pressed the latch and entered.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>John Bolland, grim as a stone gargoyle, wearing his Sunday coat and
+old-fashioned tall hat, was leaning against the massive chimneypiece.
+Mrs. Bolland, with bonnet awry, was seated. She had been crying. A
+frightened kitchenmaid peeped through the passage leading to the back of
+the house when the door opened to admit the truant. Then she vanished.</p>
+
+<p>There was a period of chill silence while Martin closed the door. He
+turned and faced the elderly couple, and John Bolland spoke:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So ye&#8217;ve coom yam, eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; at a nice time, too. Afther half-past ten! An hour sen yer muther
+an&#8217; me searched high and low for ye. Where hev ye bin? Tell t&#8217; truth,
+ye young scamp. Every lie&#8217;ll mean more skin off your back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland, drying her eyes, now that Martin had returned, noticed his
+disheveled condition. His face was white as his shirt, and both were
+smeared with blood. A wave of new alarm paled her florid cheeks. She ran
+to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For mercy&#8217;s sake, boy, what hev ye bin doin&#8217;? Are ye hurt?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, mother, not hurt. I fought Frank Beckett-Smythe. That is all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;T&#8217; squire&#8217;s son. Why on earth&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go to bed, Martha,&#8221; said John, picking up a riding whip. But Mrs.
+Bolland&#8217;s sympathies discerned a deeper reason for Martin&#8217;s escapade
+than a mere boyish frolic which deserved a thrashing. He was unnaturally
+calm. Something out of the common had happened. He did not flinch at the
+sight of the whip.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;John,&#8221; she said sternly, &#8220;ye shan&#8217;t touch him t&#8217;-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stand aside, Martha. If all my good teachin&#8217; is of no avail&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mebbe t&#8217; lad&#8217;s fair sick o&#8217; yer good teachin&#8217;. You lay a hand on him at
+yer peril. If ye do, I don&#8217;t bide i&#8217; t&#8217; house this night!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Never before, during thirty years of married life, had Martha Bolland
+defied her husband. He glowered with anger and amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would ye revile the Word te shield that spawn o&#8217; Satan?&#8221; he roared.
+&#8220;Get away, woman, lest I do thee an injury.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But his wife&#8217;s temper was fierce as his own when roused. She was a
+Meynell, and there have been Meynells in Yorkshire as long as any
+Bollands.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tak&#8217; yer threats te those who heed &#8217;em,&#8221; she retorted bitterly. &#8220;D&#8217;ye
+think folk will stand by an&#8217; let ye raise yer hand te me?... David,
+William, Mary, coom here an&#8217; hold yer master. He&#8217;s like te have a fit
+wi&#8217; passion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a shuffling in the passage. The men servants, such as happened
+to be in the house, came awkwardly at their mistress&#8217;s cry. The farmer
+stood spellbound. What devil possessed the household that his authority
+should be set at naught thus openly?</p>
+
+<p>It was a thrilling moment, but Martin solved the difficulty. He wrenched
+himself free of Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s protecting arms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Father, mother!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Don&#8217;t quarrel on my account. If I must be
+beaten, I don&#8217;t care. I&#8217;ll take <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>all I get. But it&#8217;s only fair that I
+should say why I was not home earlier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, John Bolland, notwithstanding his dealing in the matter of the
+pedigree cow, prided himself on his sense of justice. Indeed, the man
+who does the gravest injury to his fellows is often cursed with a
+narrow-minded certainty of his own righteousness. Moreover, this matter
+had gone beyond instant adjustment by the unsparing use of a whip. His
+wife, his servants, were arrayed against him. By the Lord, they should
+rue it!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aye,&#8221; he said grimly. &#8220;Tell your muther why you&#8217;ve been actin&#8217; t&#8217;
+blackguard. Mebbe she&#8217;ll understand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland had the sense to pass this taunt unheeded. Her heart was
+quailing already at her temerity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le Saumarez came out without her mother,&#8221; said Martin. &#8220;Mrs.
+Saumarez is ill. I thought it best to remain with her and take her home
+again. Frank Beckett-Smythe joined us, and he&mdash;he&mdash;insulted her, in a
+way. So I fought him, and beat him, too. And then George Pickering was
+murdered&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bolland dropped the whip on the table. His wife sank into a chair with a
+cry of alarm. The plowmen and maids ventured farther into the room. Even
+the farmer&#8217;s relentless jaw fell at this terrific announcement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, it is quite true. Frank and I fought in the yard of the &#8216;Black
+Lion.&#8217; George Pickering and Kitty Thwaites went down the garden&mdash;at
+least, so I was told. I didn&#8217;t see them. But, suddenly, Kitty came
+screaming along the path, and after her a woman waving a long knife in
+the air. Kitty called her &#8216;Betsy,&#8217; and said she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>had killed George
+Pickering. She said so herself. I heard her. Then some men came with a
+light and caught hold of Betsy. She was going to stab Kitty, too, I
+think; and Jim Bates ran away with my coat and hat, which he was
+holding.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The effect of such a narration on a gathering of villagers, law-abiding
+folk who lived in a quiet nook like Elmsdale, was absolutely paralyzing.
+John Bolland was the first to recover himself. A man of few ideas, he
+could not adjust his mental balance with sufficient nicety to see that
+the tragedy itself in no wise condoned Martin&#8217;s offense.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are ye sure of what ye&#8217;re sayin&#8217;, lad?&#8221; he demanded, though indeed he
+felt it was absurd to imagine that such a tale would be invented as a
+mere excuse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite sure, sir. If you walk down to the &#8216;Black Lion,&#8217; you&#8217;ll see all
+the people standing round the hotel and the police keeping them back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, well, I&#8217;ll gan this minit. George Pickerin&#8217; was no friend o&#8217;
+mine, but I&#8217;m grieved te hear o&#8217; sike deeds as these in oor village. I
+was maist angered wi&#8217; you on yer muther&#8217;s account. She was grievin&#8217; so
+when we failed te find ye. She thowt sure you were runned over or
+drownded i&#8217; t&#8217; beck.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was meant as a graceful apology to his wife, and was taken in that
+spirit. Never before had he made such a concession.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s yer stick, John,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Hurry and find out what&#8217;s happened.
+Poor George! I wish my tongue hadn&#8217;t run so fast t&#8217; last time I seed
+him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bolland and the other men hastened away, and Martin was called on to
+recount the sensational episode, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>every detail known to him, for
+the benefit of the household. No one paid heed to the boy&#8217;s own
+adventures. All ears were for the vengeance taken by Betsy Thwaites on
+the man who jilted her. Even to minds blunted almost to callousness, the
+<i>crime passionel</i> had a vivid, an entrancing interest. The women were
+quick to see its motive, a passive endurance stung to sudden frenzy by
+the knowledge that the faithless lover was pursuing the younger sister.
+But how did Betsy Thwaites, who lived in far-off Hereford, learn that
+George Pickering was &#8220;making up&#8221; to Kitty? The affair was of recent
+growth. Indeed, none of those present was aware that Pickering and the
+pretty maid at the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221; were so much as acquainted with each
+other. And where did Betsy spring from? She could not have been staying
+in the village, or someone aware of her history must have seen her. Did
+Kitty know she was there? If so, how foolish of the younger woman to be
+out gallivanting in the moonlight with Pickering.</p>
+
+<p>The whole story was fraught with deepest mystery. Martin could not
+answer one-tenth of the questions put to him. Boy-like, he felt himself
+somewhat of a hero, until he remembered Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s glee at the &#8220;good luck&#8221;
+of the occurrence&mdash;how she would save herself from blame by telling Miss
+Walker and Fran&ccedil;oise &#8220;all about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flushed deeply. He wished now that Bolland had given him a hiding
+before he blurted out his news.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bless the lad, he&#8217;s fair tired te death!&#8221; said Mrs. Bolland. &#8220;Here,
+Martin, drink a glass o&#8217; port an&#8217; off te bed wi&#8217; ye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sipped the wine, wondering dimly what Frank <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>Beckett-Smythe was
+enduring and how he would explain that black eye. He was about to go
+upstairs, when hasty steps sounded without, and Bolland entered with a
+policeman.</p>
+
+<p>This was the village constable, and, of course, well known to all.
+During the feast other policemen came from neighboring villages, but the
+local officer was best fitted to conduct inquiries into a case requiring
+measures beyond a mere arrest. His appearance at this late hour created
+a fresh sensation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; said the farmer gravely, &#8220;did ye surely hear Kitty Thwaites
+say that Betsy had killed Mr. Pickering?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir; I did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And ye heerd Betsy admit it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes&mdash;that is, if Betsy is the woman with the knife.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There!&#8221; said Bolland, turning to the policeman. &#8220;I telt ye so. T&#8217; lad
+has his faults, but he&#8217;s nae leear; I&#8217;ll say that for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man took off his helmet and wiped his forehead, for the night was
+close and warm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ll just leave it for the &#8216;Super&#8217; te sattle. Mr.
+Pickerin&#8217; sweers that Betsy never struck him. She ran up tiv him wi&#8217; t&#8217;
+knife, an&#8217; they quarrelled desperately. That he don&#8217;t deny. She
+threatened him, too, an&#8217; te get away frev her he was climin&#8217; inte t&#8217;
+stackyard when he slipped, an&#8217; a fork lyin&#8217; again&#8217; t&#8217; fence ran intiv
+his ribs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t he dead, then?&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Bolland shrilly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not he, ma&#8217;am, and not likely te be. He kem to as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>soon as he swallowed
+some brandy, an&#8217; his first words was, &#8216;Where&#8217;s Betsy?&#8217; He was fair wild
+when they telt him she was arrested. He said it was all the fault of
+that flighty lass, Kitty, an&#8217; that a lot of fuss was bein&#8217; made about
+nowt. I didn&#8217;t know what te de&auml;. Be&auml;th women were fair ravin&#8217;, and said
+all soarts o&#8217; things, but t&#8217; upshot is that Betsy is nussin&#8217; Mr.
+Pickerin&#8217; now until t&#8217; doctor comes frae Nottonby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He still mopped his head, and his glance wandered to the goodly cask in
+the corner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will ye hev a pint?&#8221; inquired Bolland.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, that I will, Mr. Bolland, an&#8217; welcome.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; a bite o&#8217; bread an&#8217; meat?&#8221; added Mrs. Bolland.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I doan&#8217;t min&#8217; if I do, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A glance at a maid produced eatables with lightning speed. Mary feared
+lest she should miss a syllable of the night&#8217;s marvels.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman had many &#8220;bites,&#8221; and talked while he ate. Gradually the
+story became lucid and consecutive.</p>
+
+<p>Fred, the groom, was jealous of Pickering&#8217;s admiration for Kitty. Having
+overheard the arrangement for a meeting on Monday, he wrote to Betsy,
+sending her the information in the hope that she would come from
+Hereford and cause a commotion at the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>He expected her by an earlier train, but she did not arrive until 9:20
+<small>P.M.</small>, and there was a walk of over two miles from the station.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, he had seen Kitty and Pickering steal off into the garden. He
+knew that any interference on his part would earn him a prompt beating,
+so, when Betsy put in a belated appearance, he met her in the passage
+and told her where she would find the couple.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p><p>Instantly she ran through the kitchen, snatching a knife as she went.
+Before the drink-sodden meddler could realize the extent of the mischief
+he had wrought, Kitty was shrieking that Pickering was dead. All this he
+blurted out to the police before the injured man gave another version of
+the affair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin bears out one side o&#8217; t&#8217; thing,&#8221; commented the constable
+oracularly, &#8220;but t&#8217; chief witness says that summat else happened. There
+was blood on t&#8217; knife when it was picked up; but there, again, there&#8217;s a
+doubt, as Betsy had cut her own arm wi&#8217;t. Anyhow, Betsy an&#8217; Kitty were
+cryin&#8217; their hearts out when they kem out of Mr. Pickerin&#8217;s room for
+towels; and he&#8217;s bleedin&#8217; dreadful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This final gory touch provided an artistic curtain. The constable
+readjusted his belt and took his departure.</p>
+
+<p>After another half-hour&#8217;s eager gossip among the elders, in which Fred
+suffered much damage to his character, Martin was hurried off to bed.
+Mrs. Bolland washed his bruised face and helped him to undress. She was
+folding his trousers, when a shower of money rattled to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Marcy on us!&#8221; she cried in real bewilderment, &#8220;here&#8217;s a sovereign, a
+half-sovereign, an&#8217; silver, an&#8217; copper! Martin, my boy, whatever....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le gave it to me, mother. She gave me two pounds ten to spend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two pund ten!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I suppose it was very wrong. I&#8217;ll give back all that is left to
+Mrs. Saumarez in the morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>Martha Bolland was very serious now. She crept to the door of the
+bedroom and listened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do hope yer father kens nowt o&#8217; this,&#8221; she whispered anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>Then she counted the money.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve spent sixteen shillin&#8217;s and fowerpence, not reckonin&#8217; t&#8217;
+shillin&#8217; I gev ye this mornin&#8217;. Seventeen an&#8217; fowerpence! Martin,
+Martin, whatever on?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Such extravagance was appalling. Her frugal mind could not assimilate it
+readily. This sum would maintain a large family for a week.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We stood treat to a lot of other boys and girls. But don&#8217;t be vexed
+to-night, mother, dear. I&#8217;m so tired.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Vexed, indeed. What&#8217;ll Mrs. Saumarez say? There&#8217;ll be a bonny row i&#8217; t&#8217;
+mornin&#8217;. You tak&#8217; it back t&#8217; first thing. An&#8217;, here. If she sez owt
+about t&#8217; balance, come an&#8217; tell me an&#8217; I&#8217;ll make it up. You fond lad; if
+John knew this, he&#8217;d never forgive ye. There, honey, go te sleep.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There were tears in her eyes as she bent and kissed him. But he was
+incapable of further emotion. He was half asleep ere she descended the
+stairs, and his last sentient thought was one of keen enjoyment, for his
+knuckles were sore when he closed his right hand, and he remembered the
+smashing force of that uppercut as it met the aristocratic nose of
+Master Beckett-Smythe.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h2>GEORGE PICKERING PLAYS THE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Martin was awakened by the rays of a bright autumn sun. He sprang out of
+bed in a jiffy, lest he should be late for breakfast, a heinous offense
+at the farm; but the sight of William feeding the pigs in the yard
+beneath told him that it was only half-past six.</p>
+
+<p>The first puzzle that presented itself was one of costume. Should he
+wear his commonplace corduroys, or don all that was left of his gray
+tweeds? During the Feast he was supposed to dress in his best each day;
+he decided to obey orders as far as was possible.</p>
+
+<p>He missed the money from his trousers pocket and knew that his mother
+had taken it. Also, he found that she had selected a clean shirt and
+collar from the drawer and placed them ready for use. By degrees his
+active brain recalled the startling events of the previous evening in
+their proper sequence, and he found himself speculating more on the
+reception Mrs. Saumarez might accord than on the attitude John Bolland
+would certainly adopt when the overnight proceedings arranged themselves
+in a slow-moving mind.</p>
+
+<p>He was downstairs long before seven. The farmer was out. Mrs. Bolland,
+immersed in the early cares of the household, showed no traces of the
+excitement of eight hours earlier.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; she cried as soon as she caught sight of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>him, &#8220;I heerd a hen
+cluckin&#8217; a bit sen at t&#8217; bottom o&#8217; t&#8217; garth. Just look i&#8217; t&#8217; hedge an&#8217;
+see if she&#8217;s nestin&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was a daily undertaking in a house where poultry were plentiful as
+sparrows in Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<p>Martin hailed the mission as a sign that normal times were come again. A
+gate led into the meadow from the garden, but to go that way meant
+walking twenty yards or more, so the boy took a running jump, caught a
+stout limb of a pear tree, swung himself onto a ten-foot pile of wood,
+and dropped over into the field beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland witnessed the feat with some degree of alarm. In the course
+of a few hours she had come to see her adopted son passing from
+childhood into vigorous adolescence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Drat that lad!&#8221; she cried irately. &#8220;Does he want to break his neck?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He larnt that trick t&#8217; other day, missus,&#8221; commented William, standing
+all lopsided to balance a huge pail of pig&#8217;s food. &#8220;He&#8217;ll mek a rare
+chap, will your Martin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s larnin&#8217; a lot o&#8217; tricks that I ken nowt about,&#8221; cried Mistress
+Martha. &#8220;Nice doin&#8217;s there was last night. How comes it none o&#8217; you men
+saw him carryin&#8217; on i&#8217; t&#8217; fair wi&#8217; that little French la-di-dah?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dunno, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>William grinned, though, for some of the men had noted the children&#8217;s
+antics, and none would &#8220;split&#8221; to the farmer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I did hear as how Martin gev t&#8217; Squire&#8217;s son a fair weltin&#8217;,&#8221; he
+went on. &#8220;One o&#8217; t&#8217; grooms passed here an oor sen, exercisin&#8217; a young
+hoss, an&#8217; he said that be&auml;th young gentlemen kem yam at half-past ten.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>Master Frank had an eye bunged up, an&#8217; a nose like a bad apple. He was
+that banged about that t&#8217; Squire let him off a bastin&#8217; an&#8217; gev t&#8217; other a
+double allowance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gan on wi&#8217; yer wark,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Here&#8217;s it&#8217;s seven o&#8217;clock, half t&#8217; day
+gone, an&#8217; nothin&#8217; done.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin, searching for stray eggs, suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He
+looked around and saw Jim Bates&#8217;s head over the top of the lane hedge.</p>
+
+<p>Jim held up a bundle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s yer coat an&#8217; hat,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I dursent bring &#8217;em last neet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why did you run away?&#8221; inquired Martin, approaching to take his
+property.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was skeert. Yon woman&#8217;s yellin&#8217; was awful. I went straight off yam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you catch it for being out late?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noa; but feyther gev me a clout this mornin&#8217; for not tellin&#8217; him about
+t&#8217; murder. He&#8217;d gone te bed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nobody was murdered,&#8221; said Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That wasn&#8217;t Betsy&#8217;s fault. It&#8217;s all my eye about Mr. Pickerin&#8217; stickin&#8217;
+a fork into hisself. There was noa fork there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Coss I was pullin&#8217; carrots all Saturday mornin&#8217; for Mrs. Atkinson, an&#8217;
+if there&#8217;d bin any fork I should ha&#8217; seen it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; cried a shrill voice from the garth, &#8220;is that lookin&#8217; fer
+eggs?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jim Bates&#8217;s head and shoulders shot out of sight instantaneously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right, mother, I&#8217;m only getting back my lost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>clothes,&#8221; explained
+Martin. He began a painstaking survey of the hedge bottom and was
+rewarded by the discovery of a nest of six hidden away by a hen anxious
+to undertake the cares of maternity.</p>
+
+<p>At breakfast John Bolland was silent and severe. He passed but one
+remark to Martin:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Happen you&#8217;ll be wanted some time this mornin&#8217;. Stop within hail until
+Mr. Benson calls.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Benson was the village constable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What will he want wi&#8217; t&#8217; lad?&#8221; inquired Mrs. Bolland tartly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin is t&#8217; main witness i&#8217; this case o&#8217; Pickerin&#8217;s. Kitty Thwaites
+isn&#8217;t likely te tell t&#8217; truth. Women are main leears when there&#8217;s a man
+i&#8217; t&#8217; business.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;More fools they.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, let be. I&#8217;m fair vexed that Martin&#8217;s ne&auml;m should be mixed up i&#8217;
+this affair. Fancy the tale that&#8217;ll be i&#8217; t&#8217; <i>Messenger</i>&mdash;John Bolland&#8217;s
+son fightin&#8217; t&#8217; young squire at ten o&#8217;clock o&#8217; t&#8217; neet in t&#8217; &#8216;Black
+Lion&#8217; yard&mdash;fightin&#8217; ower a lass. What ailed him I cannot tell. He must
+ha&#8217; gone clean daft.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer pushed back his chair angrily, and Mrs. Bolland wondered what
+he would say did he know of Martin&#8217;s wild extravagance. Mother and son
+were glad when John picked up a riding-whip and lumbered out to mount
+Sam, the pony, for an hour&#8217;s ride over the moor.</p>
+
+<p>Evidently, he had encountered Benson before breakfast, as that worthy
+officer arrived at half-past ten and asked Martin to accompany him.</p>
+
+<p>The two walked solemnly through the fair, in which there was already
+some stir. A crowd hanging around <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>the precincts of the inn made way as
+they approached, and Martin saw, near the door, two saddled horses in
+charge of a policeman.</p>
+
+<p>He was escorted to an inner room, receiving a tremulous, but gracious,
+smile from Evelyn as he passed. To his very genuine astonishment and
+alarm, he was confronted not only by the district superintendent of
+police but also by Mr. Frank Reginald de Courcy Beckett-Smythe, the
+magnate of the Hall.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is the boy, your wuship,&#8221; said Benson.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. What is his name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin Court Bolland, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One of John Bolland&#8217;s sons, eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir. Mr. Bolland has no son. He adopted this lad some thirteen
+years ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Had a bolt from the blue struck Martin at that moment he could not have
+been more dumbfounded. Both John and Martha had thought fit to keep the
+secret of his parentage from his knowledge until he was older, as the
+fact might tend to weaken their authority during his boyhood. The adults
+in Elmsdale, of course, knew the circumstances thoroughly, and respected
+Mr. and Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s wishes, while the children with whom he grew up
+regarded him as village-born like themselves.</p>
+
+<p>It took a good deal to bring tears to Martin&#8217;s eyes, but they were
+perilously near at that instant. Though the words almost choked him, he
+faltered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that true, Mr. Benson?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;True? It&#8217;s true eneuf, lad. Didn&#8217;t ye know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, they never told me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A mist obscured his sight. The presence of the magistrate and
+superintendent ceased to have any awe-inspiring <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>effect. What disgrace
+was this so suddenly blurted out by this stolid policeman? Whose child
+was he, then, if not theirs? Could he ever hold up his head again in
+face of the youthful host over which he lorded it by reason of his
+advanced intelligence and greater strength? There was comfort in the
+thought that no one had ever taunted him in this relation. The veiled
+hint in Pickering&#8217;s words to the farmer was the only reference he could
+recall.</p>
+
+<p>Benson seemed to regard the facts as to his birth as matters of common
+knowledge. Perhaps there was some explanation which would lift him from
+the sea of ignominy into which he had been pitched so unexpectedly.</p>
+
+<p>He was aroused by Mr. Beckett-Smythe saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, my lad, was it you who fought my son last night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;sir,&#8221; stammered Martin.</p>
+
+<p>The question sharpened his wits to some purpose. A spice of dread helped
+the process. Was he going to be tried on some dire charge of malicious
+assault?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hum,&#8221; muttered the squire, surveying him with a smile. &#8220;A proper
+trouncing you gave him, too. I shall certainly thrash him now for
+permitting it. What was the cause of the quarrel?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About a girl, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You young rascals! A girl! What girl?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps it was all my fault, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is not answering my question.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would rather not tell, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then Mr. Beckett-Smythe leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Pon my honor,&#8221; he said to the superintendent, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>&#8220;these young sparks are
+progressive. They don&#8217;t care what happens, so long as the honor of the
+lady is safeguarded. My son refused point-blank to say even why he
+fought. Well, well, Martin, I see you did not come out of the fray
+scatheless; but you are not brought here because you decorated Frank&#8217;s
+ingenuous countenance. I want you to tell me exactly what took place in
+the garden when Mr. Pickering was wounded.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat reassured, Martin told all he knew, which was not a great deal.
+The magistrate, who, of course, was only assisting the police inquiry,
+was perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There were others present?&#8221; he commented.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. Master Frank and Master Ernest&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Master Frank could not see much at the moment, eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin blushed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Ernest&mdash;surely, he might have noted something that you missed?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think not, sir. He was&mdash;er&mdash;looking after his brother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And the other children?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Several boys and girls of the village, but they were frightened by the
+screaming, sir, and ran away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Including the young lady who caused the combat?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No answer. Martin thought it best to leave the point open. Again Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose this village belle is one of Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s daughters. Gad!
+I never heard tell of such a thing. All right, Martin, you can go now,
+but let me give you a parting word of advice. Never again fight for a
+woman, unless to protect her from a blackguard, which, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>I presume, was
+hardly the cause of the dispute with Frank.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think he was to blame at all, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. Good-day, Martin. Here&#8217;s a half-crown to plaster that
+damaged lip of yours.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Left to themselves, the magistrate and superintendent discussed the
+advisability of taking proceedings against Betsy Thwaites.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sure Pickering made up his story in order to screen the woman,&#8221;
+said the police officer. &#8220;A rusty fork was found in the stackyard, but
+it was thirty feet away from the nearest point of the track made by the
+drops of blood, and separated from the garden by a stout hedge.
+Moreover, Pickering and Kitty were undoubtedly standing in the orchard,
+many yards farther on. Then, again, the girl was collared by Thomas
+Metcalfe, of the Leas Farm, and the knife, one of Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s, fell
+from her hand; while a dozen people will swear they heard her sister
+calling out that she had murdered George Pickering.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Beckett-Smythe shook his head doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a queer affair, looked at in any light. Do you think I ought to
+see Pickering himself? You can arrest Betsy Thwaites without a warrant,
+I believe, and, in any event, I&#8217;ll not sit on the bench if the case
+comes before the court.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent was only too glad to have the squire&#8217;s counsel in
+dealing with a knotty problem. The social position of the wounded man
+required some degree of caution before proceedings were commenced, in
+view of his emphatic declaration that his wound was self-inflicted. If
+his state became dangerous, there was only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>one course open to the
+representatives of the law; but the doctor&#8217;s verdict was that
+penetration of the lung had been averted by a hair&#8217;s breadth, and
+Pickering would recover. Indeed, he might be taken home in a carriage at
+the end of the week. Meanwhile, the hayfork and the blood-stained knife
+were impounded.</p>
+
+<p>The two men went upstairs and were shown to the room occupied by the
+injured gallant. Kitty Thwaites, pale as a ghost, was flitting about
+attending to her work, the hotel being crowded with stock-breeders and
+graziers. Her unfortunate sister, even more woebegone in appearance, was
+nursing the invalid, at his special request. It was a puzzling
+situation, and Mr. Beckett-Smythe, who knew Pickering intimately, was
+inclined to act with the utmost leniency that the law allowed.</p>
+
+<p>Betsy Thwaites, who was sitting at the side of the bed, rose when they
+entered. Her white face became suffused with color, and she looked at
+the police officer with frightened eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate saw this, and he said quite kindly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If Mr. Pickering is able to speak with us for a little while, you may
+leave us with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no,&#8221; interrupted the invalid in an astonishingly strong and hearty
+voice. &#8220;There&#8217;s nothing to be said that Betsy needn&#8217;t hear. Is there,
+lass?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She began to tremble, and lifted a corner of her apron. Notwithstanding
+her faithless swain&#8217;s statement to her sister, she was quite as
+good-looking as Kitty, and sorrow had given her face a pathetic dignity
+that in no wise diminished its charm.</p>
+
+<p>She knew not whether to stay or go. The superintendent took the hint
+given by the squire.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;It would be best, under the circumstances, if we were left alone while
+we talk over last night&#8217;s affair, Mr. Pickering.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not a bit of it. Don&#8217;t go, Betsy. What is there to talk over? I made a
+fool of myself&mdash;not for the first time where a woman was concerned&mdash;and
+Betsy here, brought from Hereford by a meddlesome scamp, lost her
+temper. No wonder! Poor girl, she had traveled all day in a hot train,
+without eatin&#8217; a bite, and found me squeezing her sister at the bottom
+of the garden. There&#8217;s no denying that she meant to do me a mischief,
+and serve me right, too. I&#8217;ll admit I was scared, and in running away I
+got into worse trouble, as, of course, I could easily have mastered her.
+Kitty, too, what between fear and shame, lost her senses, and poor Betsy
+cut her own arm. You see, a plain tale stops all the nonsense that has
+been talked since ten o&#8217;clock last night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not quite, George.&#8221; Mr. Beckett-Smythe was serious and magisterial.
+&#8220;You forget, or perhaps do not know, that there were witnesses.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering looked alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Witnesses!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;What d&#8217;you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, no outsider saw the blow, or accident, whichever it was; but a
+number of children saw and heard incidents which, putting it mildly,
+tend to discredit your story.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Betsy began to sob.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you you had better leave the room,&#8221; went on the squire in a low
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering endeavored to raise himself in the bed, but sank back with a
+groan. The unfortunate girl forgot <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>her own troubles at the sound, and
+rushed to arrange the pillow beneath his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It comes to this, then,&#8221; he said huskily; &#8220;you want to arrest, on a
+charge of attempting to murder me, a woman whom I intend to marry long
+before she can be brought to trial!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Betsy broke down now in real earnest. Beckett-Smythe and the
+superintendent gazed at Pickering with blank incredulity. This
+development was wholly unlooked for. They both thought the man was
+light-headed. He smiled dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I mean it,&#8221; he continued, placing his hand on the brown hair of
+the girl, whose face was buried in the bedclothes. &#8220;I&mdash;I didn&#8217;t sleep
+much last night, and I commenced to see things in a different light to
+that which presented itself before. I treated Betsy shamefully&mdash;not in a
+monied sense, but in every other way. She&#8217;s not one of the general run
+of girls. I promised to marry her once, and now I&#8217;m going to keep my
+promise. That&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was desperately in earnest. Of that there could be no manner of
+doubt. The superintendent stroked his chin reflectively, and the
+magistrate could only murmur:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad, that changes the venue, as the lawyers say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>One thought dominated the minds of both men; Pickering was behaving
+foolishly. He was a wealthy man, owner of a freehold farm of hundreds of
+acres; he might aspire to marry a woman of some position in the county
+and end his days in all the glory of J. P.-dom and County Aldermanship.
+Yet, here he was deliberately throwing himself away on a dairymaid who,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>not many hours since, had striven to kill him during a burst of jealous
+fury. The thing was absurd. Probably when he recovered he would see this
+for himself; but for the time it was best to humor him and give official
+sanction to his version of the overnight quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t keep us in suspense, squire,&#8221; cried the wounded man, angered by
+his friend&#8217;s silence. &#8220;What are you going to do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing, George; nothing, I think. I only hope your accident with the
+pitchfork will not have serious results&mdash;in any shape.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The policeman nodded a farewell. As they quitted the room they heard
+Pickering say faintly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Betsy, my dear, no more crying. I can&#8217;t stand it. Damn it all, one
+doesn&#8217;t get engaged to be married and yelp over it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the landing they saw Kitty, a white shadow, anxious, but afraid to
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cheer up,&#8221; said Beckett-Smythe pleasantly. &#8220;This affair looks like
+ending in smoke.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Gaining courage from the magistrate&#8217;s affability, the girl said
+brokenly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Pickering and&mdash;my&mdash;sister&mdash;are quite friendly. You saw that for
+yourself, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad, yes. They&#8217;re going to be&mdash;well&mdash;er&mdash;I was going to say we have
+quite decided that an accident took place and there is no call for
+police interference&mdash;so long as Mr. Pickering shows progress toward
+recovery, you understand. There, there! You women always begin to cry,
+whether pleased or vexed. Bless my heart, let&#8217;s get away, Mr.
+Superintendent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h2>SHOWING HOW MARTIN&#8217;S HORIZON WIDENS</h2>
+
+<p>The sufferings of the young are strenuous as their joys. When Martin
+passed into the heart of the bustling fair its glamour had vanished. The
+notes of the organ were harsh, the gay canvas of the booths tawdry, the
+cleanly village itself awry. The policeman&#8217;s surprise at his lack of
+knowledge on the subject of his parentage was disastrously convincing.
+The man treated the statement as indisputable. There was no question of
+hearsay; it was just so, a recognized fact, known to all the grown-up
+people in Elmsdale.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Beadlam, he of the white head, ran after him to ask why the
+&#8220;bobby&#8221; brought him to the &#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; but Martin averted eyes laden
+with misery, and motioned his little friend away.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy, who had seen the fight, and knew of the squire&#8217;s presence this
+morning, drew his own conclusions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin&#8217;s goin&#8217; to be locked up,&#8221; he told a knot of awe-stricken
+youngsters, and they thrilled with sympathy, for their champion&#8217;s
+victory over the &#8220;young swell frae t&#8217; Hall&#8221; was highly popular.</p>
+
+<p>The front door of the White House stood hospitably open. Already a
+goodly number of visitors had gathered, and every man and woman talked
+of nothing but the dramatic events of the previous night. When Martin
+arrived, fresh from a private conversation with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>the squire and the
+chief of police, they were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Perhaps he
+might add to the store of gossip. Even Mrs. Bolland felt a certain pride
+that the boy should be the center of interest in this <i>cause c&eacute;l&egrave;bre</i>.</p>
+
+<p>But his glum face created alarm in her motherly breast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, Martin,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;what&#8217;s gone wrong? Ye look as if ye&#8217;d seen a
+ghost wi&#8217; two he&auml;ds!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The all-absorbing topic to Martin just then was his own history and not
+the half-comprehended tragedy of the rural lovers. If his mother&#8217;s
+friends knew that which was hidden from him, why should he compel his
+tongue to wag falsely? Somehow, the air seemed thick with deception just
+now, but his heart would have burst had he attempted to restrain the
+words that welled forth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother,&#8221; he said, and his lips quivered at the remembrance that the
+affectionate title was itself a lie, &#8220;Mr. Benson told the squire I was
+not your boy&mdash;that father and you adopted me thirteen years ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s face glowed with quick indignation. No one spoke.
+Martin&#8217;s impetuous repudiation of his name was the last thing they
+looked for.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is true, I suppose,&#8221; he went on despairingly. &#8220;If I am not your son,
+then whose son am I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martha lifted her eyes to the ceiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, of all the deceitful scoundrels!&#8221; she gasped. &#8220;Te think of me
+fillin&#8217; his blue coat wi&#8217; meat an&#8217; beer last neet, an&#8217; all t&#8217; return he
+maks is te worry this poor lad&#8217;s brains wi&#8217; that owd tale!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he&#8217;s sly, is Benson,&#8221; chimed in stout Mrs. Summersgill. &#8220;A
+fortnight sen last Tuesday I caught him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>i&#8217; my dairy wi&#8217; one o&#8217; t&#8217;
+maids, lappin&#8217; up cream like a great tomcat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A laugh went round. None paid heed to Martin&#8217;s agony. A dullness fell on
+his soul. Even the woman he called mother was angered more by the
+constable&#8217;s blurting out of a household secret than by the destruction
+of an ideal. Such, in confused riot, was the thought that chilled him.</p>
+
+<p>But he was mistaken. Martha Bolland&#8217;s denunciations of the policeman
+only covered the pain, sharp as the cut of a knife, caused by the boy&#8217;s
+cry of mingled passion and sorrow. She was merely biding her time. When
+chance served, she called him into the larder, the nearest quiet place
+in the house, and closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin, my lad,&#8221; she said, while big tears shone in her honest eyes,
+&#8220;ye are dear to me as my own. I trust I may be spared to be muther te ye
+until ye&#8217;re a man. John an&#8217; me meant no unkindness te ye in not tellin&#8217;
+ye we found ye i&#8217; Lunnun streets, a poor, deserted little mite, wi&#8217;
+nather feyther nor muther, an&#8217; none te own ye. What matter was it that
+ye should know sooner? Hev we not done well by ye? When ye come to
+think over &#8217;t, ye&#8217;re angered about nowt. Kiss me, honey, an&#8217; if anyone
+says owt cross te ye, tell &#8217;em ye hev both a feyther an&#8217; a muther, which
+is more&#8217;n some of &#8217;em can say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This display of feeling applied balm to Martin&#8217;s wounds. Certainly Mrs.
+Bolland&#8217;s was the common sense view to take of the situation. He forbore
+to question her further just then, and hugged her contentedly. The very
+smell of her lavender-scented clothes was grateful, and this embrace
+seemed to restore her to him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>His brightened countenance, the vanishing of that unwonted expression of
+resentful humiliation, was even more comforting to Martha herself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here,&#8221; she said, thrusting a small paper package into his hand, &#8220;I
+mayn&#8217;t hev anuther chance. Ye&#8217;ll find two pun ten i&#8217; that paper. Gie it
+te Mrs. Saumarez an&#8217; tell her I&#8217;ll be rale pleased if there&#8217;s no more
+talk about t&#8217; money. An&#8217; mebbe, later i&#8217; t&#8217; day, I&#8217;ll find a shillin&#8217; fer
+yersen. But, fer goodness&#8217; sake, come an&#8217; tell t&#8217; folk all that t&#8217;
+squire said te ye. They&#8217;re fair crazed te hear ye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother, dear!&#8221; he cried eagerly, &#8220;I was so&mdash;so mixed up at first that I
+forgot to tell you. Mr. Beckett-Smythe gave me half a crown.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye doan&#8217;t say! Well, I can&#8217;t abide half a tale. Let&#8217;s hae t&#8217; lot i&#8217; t&#8217;
+front kitchen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was noon, and dinner-time, before Martin could satisfy the cackling
+dames as to all within his cognizance concerning Betsy Thwaites&#8217;s
+escapade. Be it noted, they unanimously condemned Fred, the groom;
+commiserated with Betsy, and extolled George Pickering as a true
+gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>P. C. Benson, all unconscious of the rod in pickle for his broad back,
+strolled in about the eating hour. Mrs. Bolland, brindling with
+repressed fury, could scarce find words wherewith to scold him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, of all the brazen-faced men I&#8217;ve ever met&mdash;&#8221; she began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you&#8217;ve heerd t&#8217; news?&#8221; he interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heerd? I should think so, indeed! Martin kem yam&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin! Did he know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Know!&#8221; she shrilled. &#8220;Wasn&#8217;t it ye as said it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he replied stolidly. &#8220;Mrs. Atkinson told me, and she said
+that Mr. Pickerin&#8217; had ta&#8217;en his solemn oath te do&#8217;t in t&#8217; presence of
+t&#8217; super and t&#8217; squire!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do what?&#8221; was the chorus.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, marry Betsy, to be sure, as soon as he can be led te t&#8217; church.
+What else is there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This stupendous addition to the flood of excitement carried away even
+Martha Bolland for the moment. In her surprise she set a plate for
+Benson with the others, and, after that, the paramount rite of
+hospitality prevented her from &#8220;having it out wi&#8217; him&#8221; until hunger was
+sated. Then, however, she let him &#8220;feel the edge of her tongue&#8221;; he was
+so flustered that John had to restore his mental poise with another pint
+of ale.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Martin managed to steal out unobserved, and made the best of
+his way to The Elms. Although in happier mood, he was not wholly pleased
+with his errand. He was not afraid of Mrs. Saumarez&mdash;far from it, but he
+did not know how to fulfill his mission and at the same time exonerate
+Ang&egrave;le. His chivalrous nature shrank from blaming her, yet his unaided
+wits were not equal to the task of restoring so much money to her mother
+without answering truthfully the resultant deluge of questions.</p>
+
+<p>He was battling with this problem when, near The Elms, he encountered
+the Rev. Charles Herbert, M.A., vicar of Elmsdale, and his daughter
+Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>Martin doffed his straw hat readily, and would have passed, but the
+vicar hailed him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Martin, is it correct that you were in the stableyard of the &#8216;Black
+Lion&#8217; last night and saw something of this sad affair of Mr.
+Pickering&#8217;s?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin blushed. The girl&#8217;s blue eyes were fixed on his with the innocent
+curiosity of a fawn. She knew him well by sight, but they had never
+exchanged a word. He found himself wondering what her voice was like.
+Would she chatter with the excited volubility of Ang&egrave;le? Being better
+educated than he, would she pour forth a jargon of foreign words and
+slang? Ang&egrave;le was quiet as a mouse under her mother&#8217;s eye. Was Elsie
+aping this demure demeanor because her father was present? Certainly,
+she looked a very different girl. Every curve of her pretty face, each
+line in her graceful contour, suggested modesty and nice manners. Why,
+he couldn&#8217;t tell, but he knew instinctively that Elsie Herbert would
+have drawn back horrified from the mad romp overnight, and he was
+humbled in spirit before her.</p>
+
+<p>The worthy vicar never dreamed that the farmer&#8217;s sturdy son was capable
+of deep emotion. He interpreted Martin&#8217;s quick coloring to knowledge of
+a discreditable episode. He said to the girl:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll follow you home in a few minutes, my dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin thought that an expression of disappointment swept across the
+clear eyes, but Elsie quitted them instantly. The boy had endured too
+much to be thus humiliated before one of his own age.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would have said nothing to offend the young lady,&#8221; he cried hotly.</p>
+
+<p>Very much taken aback, Mr. Herbert&#8217;s eyebrows arched themselves above
+his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;My good boy,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I did not choose that my daughter should hear
+the&mdash;er&mdash;offensive details of this&mdash;er&mdash;stabbing affray, or worse, that
+took place at the inn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you didn&#8217;t mind slighting me in her presence, sir,&#8221; was the
+unexpected retort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not slighting you. Had I met Mr. Beckett-Smythe and sought
+information as to this matter, I would still have asked her to go on to
+the Vicarage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was a novel point of view for Martin. He reddened again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, sir,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Everything has gone wrong with me to-day. I
+didn&#8217;t mean to be rude.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar deemed him a strange youth, but tacitly accepted the apology,
+and drew from Martin the story of the night&#8217;s doings.</p>
+
+<p>It shocked him to hear that Martin and Frank Beckett-Smythe were
+fighting in the yard of the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221; at such an hour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How came you to be there?&#8221; he said gently. &#8220;You do not attend my
+church, Martin, but I have always regarded Mr. Bolland as a God-fearing
+man, and your teacher has told me that you are gifted with intelligence
+and qualities beyond your years or station in life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was there quite by accident, sir, and I couldn&#8217;t avoid the fight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What caused it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We fought to settle that question, sir, and it&#8217;s finished now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Which means you will not tell me. Well, I am no disbeliever in a manly
+display of fisticuffs. It breaks <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>no bones and saves many a boy from the
+growth of worse qualities. I suppose you are going to the fair this
+afternoon?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir. I&#8217;m not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you mind telling me how you will pass the time between now and
+supper?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am taking a message from my mother to Mrs. Saumarez, and then I&#8217;ll go
+straight to the Black Plantation&#8221;&mdash;a dense clump of firs situate at the
+head of the ghylls, or small valleys, leading from the cultivated land
+up to the moor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear me! And what will you do there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy smiled, somewhat sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a nest in a tree there, sir, where I often sit and read.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you read?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just now, sir, I am reading Scott&#8217;s poems.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed. What books do you favor, as a rule?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Delighted to have a sympathetic listener, Martin forgot his troubles in
+pouring forth a catalogue of his favorite authors. The more Mr. Herbert
+questioned him the more eager and voluble he became. The boy had the
+rare faculty of absorbing the joys and sorrows, the noble sentiments,
+the very words of the heroes of romance, and in this scholarly gentleman
+he found an auditor who appreciated all that was hitherto dumb thought.</p>
+
+<p>Several people passing along the road wondered what &#8220;t&#8217; passon an&#8217; oad
+John Bolland&#8217;s son were makkin&#8217; sike deed about,&#8221; and the conversation
+must have lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, when the vicar heard the
+chimes of the church clock.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>He laughed genially. Although, on his part, there was an underlying
+motive in the conversation, Martin had fairly carried it far afield.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have had your revenge on me for sending my daughter away,&#8221; he
+cried. &#8220;My lunch will be cold. Now, will you do me a favor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, sir; anything you ask.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay, Martin, make that promise to no man. But this lies within your
+scope. About four o&#8217;clock leave your crow&#8217;s nest and drop over to Thor
+ghyll. I may be there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Overjoyed at the prospect of a renewed chat on topics dear to his heart,
+the boy ran off, light-heartedly, to The Elms. His task seemed easier
+now. The wholesome breeze of intercourse with a cultivated mind had
+momentarily swept into the background a host of unpleasing things.</p>
+
+<p>He found he could not see Mrs. Saumarez, so he asked for Miss Walker.
+The lady came. She was prim and severe. Instantly he detected a note of
+hostility which her first words put beyond doubt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My mother sent me to return some money to Mrs. Saumarez,&#8221; he explained.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez is ill. Mrs. Bolland must wait until she recovers. As for
+you, you bad boy, I wonder you dare show your face here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin never flinched from a difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; he demanded. &#8220;What have I done?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you ask? To drag that poor little mite of a girl into such horrible
+scenes as those which took place in the village? Be off! You just wait
+until Mrs. Saumarez is better, and you will hear more of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>With that, she slammed the door on him.</p>
+
+<p>So Ang&egrave;le had posed as a simpleton, and he was the villain. This phase
+of the medley amused him. He was retreating down the drive, when he
+heard his name called. He turned. A window on the ground floor opened,
+and Mrs. Saumarez appeared, leaning unsteadily on the sill.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come here!&#8221; she cried imperiously.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow she puzzled, indeed flustered, him. For one thing, her attire
+was bizarre. Usually dressed with unexceptionable taste, to-day she wore
+a boudoir wrap&mdash;a costly robe, but adjusted without care, and all untidy
+about neck and breast. Her hair was coiled loosely, and stray wisps hung
+out in slovenly fashion. Her face, deathly white, save for dull red
+patches on the cheeks, served as a fit setting for unnaturally brilliant
+eyes which protruded from their sockets in a manner quite startling,
+while the veins on her forehead stood out like whipcord.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was utterly dismayed. He stood stock-still.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come!&#8221; she said again, glaring at him with a curious fixity. &#8220;I want
+you. Fran&ccedil;oise is not here, and I wish you to run an errand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Save for a strange thickness in her speech, she had never before
+reminded him so strongly of Ang&egrave;le. She had completely lost her
+customary air of repose. She spoke and acted like a peevish child.</p>
+
+<p>Anyhow, she had summoned him, and he could now discharge his trust. In
+such conditions, Martin seldom lacked words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I asked for you at the door, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he explained, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>drawing nearer,
+&#8220;but Miss Walker said you were ill. My mother sent me to give you this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He produced the little parcel of money and essayed to hand it to her.
+She surveyed it with lackluster eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; she said. &#8220;I do not understand. Here is plenty of money. I
+want you to go to the village, to the &#8216;Black Lion,&#8217; and bring me a
+sovereign&#8217;s worth of brandy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She held out a coin. They stood thus, proffering each other gold.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But this is yours, ma&#8217;am. I came to return it. I&mdash;er&mdash;borrowed some
+money from Ang&mdash;from Miss Saumarez&mdash;and mother said&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cease, boy. I do not understand, I tell you. Keep the money and bring
+me what I ask.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In her eagerness she leaned so far out of the window that she nearly
+overbalanced. The sovereign fell among some flowers. With an effort she
+recovered an unsteady poise. Martin stooped to find the money. A door
+opened inside the house. A hot whisper reached him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell no one. I&#8217;ll watch for you in half an hour&mdash;remember&mdash;a
+sovereign&#8217;s worth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy, not visible from the far side of the room, heard the voice of
+Fran&ccedil;oise. The window closed with a bang. He discovered the coin and
+straightened himself. The maid was seating her mistress in a chair and
+apparently remonstrating with her. She picked up from the floor a
+wicker-covered Eau de Cologne bottle and turned it upside down with an
+angry gesture. It was empty.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, whose experience of intoxicated people was confined to the
+infrequent sight of a village toper, heavy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>with beer, lurching homeward
+in maudlin glee or fury, imagined that Mrs. Saumarez must be in some
+sort of fever. Obviously, those in attendance on her should be consulted
+before he brought her brandy secretly.</p>
+
+<p>Back he marched to the front door and rang the bell. Lest Miss Walker
+should shut him out again, he was inside the hall before anyone could
+answer his summons, for the doors of country houses remain unlocked all
+day. The elder sister reappeared, very starchy at this unheard-of
+impertinence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was forced to return, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said civilly. &#8220;Mrs. Saumarez saw me
+in the drive and asked me to buy her some brandy. She gave me a
+sovereign. She looked very ill, so I thought it best to come and tell
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady was thoroughly nonplussed by this plain statement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; she stammered, so confused that he did not know what to make of
+her agitation, &#8220;this is very nice of you. She must not have brandy. It
+is&mdash;quite unsuitable&mdash;for her illness. It is really very good of you to
+tell me. I&mdash;er&mdash;I&#8217;m sorry I spoke so harshly just now, but&mdash;er&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s all right, ma&#8217;am. It was all a mistake. Will you kindly take
+charge of this sovereign, and also of the two pounds ten which Miss
+Ang&egrave;le lent me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Which Miss Ang&egrave;le lent you! Two pounds ten! I thought you said your
+mother&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is mine, please,&#8221; said a voice from the broad landing above their
+heads. Ang&egrave;le skipped lightly down the stairs and held out her hand.
+Martin gave her the money.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t understand this, at all,&#8221; said the mystified Miss Walker. &#8220;Does
+Mrs. Saumarez know&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez knows nothing. Neither does Martin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With wasp-like suddenness, the girl turned and faced a woman old enough
+to be her grandmother. Their eyes clashed. The child&#8217;s look said
+plainly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dare to utter another word and I&#8217;ll disgrace your house throughout the
+village.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The woman yielded. She waved a protesting hand. &#8220;It is no business of
+mine. Thank you, Martin, for coming back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le lashed out at him next.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Allez, donc! I&#8217;ll never speak to you again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She ran up the stairs. He stood irresolute.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow, not now,&#8221; she added. &#8220;I may be out in an hour&#8217;s time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Walker was holding the door open. He hurried away, and Fran&ccedil;oise
+saw him, wondering why he had called.</p>
+
+<p>And for hours thereafter, until night fell, a white-faced woman paced
+restlessly to and fro in the sitting-room, ever and anon raising the
+window, and watching for Martin&#8217;s return with a fierce intensity that
+rendered her almost maniacal in appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Happily, the boy was unaware of the pitiful tragedy in the life of the
+rich and highly placed Mrs. Saumarez. While she waited, with a rage
+steadily dwindling into a wearied despair, he was passing, all
+unconsciously, into the next great phase of his career.</p>
+
+<p>He took one forward step into the unknown before leaving the tree-lined
+drive. He met Fritz, the chauffeur, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>who was so absorbed in the study of
+a folding road-map that he did not see Martin until the latter hailed
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello!&#8221; was the boy&#8217;s cheery greeting. &#8220;That affair is ended. Please
+don&#8217;t say anything to Mrs. Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The German closed the map.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whad iss ented?&#8221; he inquired, surveying Martin with a cool hauteur rare
+in chauffeurs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, last night&#8217;s upset in the village.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yez. Id iss nod my beeznez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t quite mean that. But there&#8217;s no use in getting Miss Ang&egrave;le
+into a row, is there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dat iss zo. Vere do you leeve?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At the White House Farm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Vere de brize caddle are?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin smiled. He had never before heard English spoken with a strong
+German accent. Somehow he associated these resonant syllables with a
+certain indefinite stress which Mrs. Saumarez laid on a few words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said. &#8220;My father&#8217;s herd is well known.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fritz&#8217;s manner became genial.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Zome tay you vill show me, yez?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll be very pleased. And will you explain your car to me&mdash;the engine,
+I mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Komm now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry, but I have an engagement.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was plenty of time at Martin&#8217;s disposal, but he did not want to
+loiter about The Elms that afternoon. This man was a paid servant who
+could hardly refuse to carry out any reasonable order, and it would have
+been awkward for Martin if Mrs. Saumarez asked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>him to give Fritz the
+sovereign she had intrusted to his keeping.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All aright,&#8221; agreed the chauffeur, whose strong, intellectual face was
+now altogether amiable; in fact, a white scar on his left cheek creased
+so curiously when he grinned that his aspect was almost comical. &#8220;We
+vill meed when all dis noise sdops, yez?&#8221; and he waved a hand toward the
+distant drone of the fair.</p>
+
+<p>Thus began for Martin another strange friendship&mdash;a friendship destined
+to end so fantastically that if the manner of its close were foretold
+then and there by any prophet, the mere telling might have brought the
+seer to the madhouse.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h2>THE WILDCAT</h2>
+
+<p>It was nearly three o&#8217;clock when Martin re-entered the village. Outside
+the boxing booth a huge placard announced, in sprawling characters, that
+the first round of the boxing competition would start punctually at 3
+<small>P.M.</small> &#8220;Owing to the illness of Mr. George Pickering, deeply regretted,&#8221;
+another referee would be appointed.</p>
+
+<p>It cost the boy a pang to stride on. He would have dearly liked to watch
+the display of pugilism. He might have gone inside the tent for an hour
+and still kept his tryst with Mr. Herbert, but John Bolland&#8217;s dour
+teaching had scored grooves in his consciousness not readily effaced.
+The folly of last night must be atoned in some way, and he punished
+himself deliberately now by going straight home.</p>
+
+<p>The house was only a little less thronged than the &#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; so he
+made his way unobserved to the great pile of dry bracken in which he hid
+books borrowed from the school library. Ten minutes later he was seated
+in the fork of a tree full thirty feet from the ground and consoling
+himself for loss of the reality by reading of a fight far more
+picturesque in detail&mdash;the Homeric combat between FitzJames and Roderick
+Dhu.</p>
+
+<p>From his perch he could see the church clock. Shortly before the
+appointed hour he climbed down and surmounted the ridge which divided
+the Black Plantation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>from Thor ghyll. It was a rough passage, naught
+save gray rock and flowering ling, or heather, growing so wild and bushy
+that in parts it overtopped his height. But Martin was sure-footed as a
+goat. Across the plateau and down the tree-clad slope on the other side
+he sped, until he reached a point whence he could obtain a comprehensive
+view of the winding glen.</p>
+
+<p>On a stretch of turf by the side of the silvery beck that rushed so
+frantically from the moorland to the river, he spied a small garden
+tent. In front was a table spread with china and cakes, while a copper
+kettle, burnished so brightly that it shone like gold in the sunlight,
+was suspended over a spirit lamp. Mr. Herbert was there, and an elderly
+lady, his aunt, who acted as his housekeeper&mdash;also Elsie and her
+governess and two young gentlemen who &#8220;read&#8221; with the vicar during the
+long vacation. Evidently a country picnic was toward; Martin was at a
+loss to know why he had been invited.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps they wished him to guide them over the moor to some distant glen
+or to the early British camp two miles away. Sometimes a tourist
+wandering through Elmsdale called at the farm for information, and
+Martin would be dispatched with the inquirer to show the way.</p>
+
+<p>It was a pity that Mr. Herbert had not mentioned his desire, as the
+daily reading of the Bible was due in an hour, and most certainly,
+to-day of all days, Martin must be punctual.</p>
+
+<p>If his brain were busy, his eye was clear. He sprang from rock to rock
+like a chamois. Once he swung himself down a small precipice by the
+tough root of a whin. He knew the root was there, and had already tested
+its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>capabilities, but the gathering beneath watched him with dismay,
+for the feat looked hazardous in the extreme. In a couple of minutes he
+had descended two hundred feet of exceedingly rough going. He stopped at
+the beck to wash his hands and dry them on his handkerchief. Then he
+approached the group.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you always descend the ghyll in that fashion, Martin?&#8221; cried the
+vicar.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. It is the nearest way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A man might say that who fell out of a balloon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I have been up and down there twenty times, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, well; my imaginary balloonist could make no such answer. Sit down
+and have some tea. Elsie, this is young Martin Bolland, of whom I have
+been telling you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The girl smiled in a very friendly way and brought Martin a cup of tea
+and a plate of cakes. So he was a guest, and introduced by the vicar to
+his daughter! How kind this was of Mr. Herbert! How delighted Mrs.
+Bolland would be when she heard of it, for, however strict her
+Nonconformity, the vicar was still a social power in the village, and
+second only to the Beckett-Smythes in the estimation of the parish.</p>
+
+<p>At first poor Martin was tongue-tied. He answered in monosyllables when
+the vicar or Mrs. Johnson, the old lady, spoke to him; but to Elsie he
+said not a word. She, too, was at a loss how to interest him, until she
+noticed a book in his pocket. When told that it was Scott&#8217;s poems she
+said pleasantly that a month ago she went with her father to a place
+called Greta Bridge and visited many of the scenes described in
+&#8220;Rokeby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>Unhappily, Martin had not read &#8220;Rokeby.&#8221; He resolved to devour it at the
+first opportunity, but for the nonce it offered no conversational
+handle. He remained dumb, yet all the while he was comparing Elsie with
+Ang&egrave;le, and deciding privately that girls brought up as ladies in
+England were much nicer than those reared in the places which Ang&egrave;le
+named so glibly.</p>
+
+<p>But his star was propitious that day. One of the young men happened to
+notice a spot where a large patch of heather had been sliced off the
+face of the moor.</p>
+
+<p>He asked Mr. Herbert what use the farmers made of it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing that I can recall,&#8221; said the vicar, a man who, living in the
+country, knew little of its ways; &#8220;perhaps Martin can tell you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We make besoms of it, sir,&#8221; was the ready reply, &#8220;but that space has
+been cleared by the keepers so that the young grouse may have fresh
+green shoots to feed on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Here was a topic on which he was crammed with information. His face grew
+animated, his eyes sparkled, the words came fast and were well chosen.
+As he spoke, the purple moor, the black firs, the meadows, the corn land
+red with poppies, became peopled with fur and feather. On the hilltops
+the glorious black cock, in the woods the dandy pheasant and swift
+pigeon, among the meadows and crops the whirring partridge, became
+actualities, present, but unseen. There were plenty of hares on the
+arable land and the rising ground; as for rabbits, they swarmed
+everywhere.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This ghyll will be alive with them in little more than an hour,&#8221; said
+Martin confidently. &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>be surprised, if we had a dog and put
+him among those whins, but half-a-dozen rabbits would bolt out in all
+directions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please, can I be a little bow-wow?&#8221; cried Elsie. She sprang to her feet
+and ran toward the clump of gorse and bracken he had pointed out,
+imitating a dog&#8217;s bark as she went.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take care of the thorns,&#8221; shouted Martin, making after her more
+leisurely.</p>
+
+<p>She paused on the verge of the tangled mass of vegetation and said,
+&#8220;Shoo!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s no good,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;You must walk through and kick the thick
+clumps of grass&mdash;this way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He plunged into the midst of the gorse. She followed. Not a rabbit
+budged.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s odd,&#8221; he said, rustling the undergrowth vigorously. &#8220;There ought
+to be a lot here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know Ang&egrave;le Saumarez?&#8221; said the girl suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He ceased beating the bushes and looked at her fixedly, the question was
+so unexpected. Yet Ang&egrave;le had asked him the selfsame question concerning
+Elsie Herbert. One girl resembled another as two peas in a pod.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you like her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I do, sometimes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think she is pretty?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, often.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean by &#8216;sometimes,&#8217; &#8216;often?&#8217; How can a girl be
+pretty&mdash;&#8216;often&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you see, I think she is nice in many ways, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>that if&mdash;she knew
+you&mdash;and copied your manner&mdash;your voice, and style, and behavior&mdash;she
+would improve very greatly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin had recovered his wits. Elsie tittered and blushed slightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really!&#8221; she said, and recommenced the kicking process with ardor.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, with a fierce snarl, an animal of some sort flew at her. She
+had a momentary vision of a pair of blazing eyes, bared teeth, and
+extended claws. She screamed and turned her head. In that instant a
+wildcat landed on her back and a vicious claw reached for her face. But
+Martin was at her side. Without a second&#8217;s hesitation he seized the
+growling brute in both hands and tore it from off her shoulders. His
+right hand was around its neck, but he strove in vain to grasp the small
+of its back in the left. It wriggled and scratched with the ferocity of
+an undersized tiger. Martin&#8217;s coat sleeves and shirt were slashed to
+shreds, his waistcoat was rent, and deep gashes were cut in his arms,
+but he held on gamely.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert and the others ran up, but came unarmed. They had not even a
+stick. The vicar, with some presence of mind, rushed back and wrenched a
+leg from the camp table, but by the time he returned the cat was moving
+its limbs in its final spasms, for Martin had choked it to death.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar danced about with his improvised weapon, imploring the boy to
+&#8220;throw it down and let me whack the life out of it,&#8221; but Martin was
+enraged with the pain and the damage to his clothing. In his anger he
+felt that he could wrench the wretched beast limb from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>limb, and he
+might have endeavored to do that very thing were it not for the presence
+of Elsie Herbert. As it was, when the cat fell to the ground its
+struggles had ended, but Mr. Herbert gave it a couple of hearty blows to
+make sure.</p>
+
+<p>It was a tremendous brute, double the size of its domestic progenitors.
+At one period in its career it had been caught in a rabbit trap, for one
+of its forelegs was removed at the joint, and the calloused stump was
+hard as a bit of stone.</p>
+
+<p>A chorus of praise for Martin&#8217;s promptitude and courage was cut short
+when he took the table leg and went back to the clump of gorse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought it was curious that there were no rabbits here,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;Now I know why. This cat has a litter of kittens hidden among the
+whins.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you gug-gug-going to kuk-kuk-kill them?&#8221; sobbed Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>He paused in his murderous search.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It makes no matter now,&#8221; he said, laughing. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell the keeper.
+Wildcats eat up an awful lot of game.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His coolness, his absolute disregard of the really serious cuts he had
+received, were astounding to the town-bred men. The vicar was the first
+to recover some degree of composure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;come this instant and have your wounds washed and
+bound up. You are losing a great deal of blood, and that brute&#8217;s claws
+may have been venomous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy obeyed at once. He presented a sorry spectacle. His arms and
+hands were bathed in blood and his clothes were splashed with it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>Elsie Herbert&#8217;s eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is nothing,&#8221; he said to cheer her. &#8220;They&#8217;re only scratches, but
+they look bad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, he did not realize until long afterwards that were
+it not for the fortunate accident which deprived the cat of her off
+foreleg, some of the tendons of his right wrist might have been severed.
+From the manner in which he held her she could not get the effective
+claws to bear crosswise.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar looked grave when a first dip in the brook revealed the extent
+of the boy&#8217;s injuries.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are plucky enough to bear the application of a little brine,
+Martin?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Suiting the action to the word, he emptied the contents of a paper of
+salt into a teacup and dissolved it in hot water. Then he washed the
+wounds again in the brook and bound them with handkerchiefs soaked in
+the mixture. It was a rough-and-ready cauterization, and the pain made
+Martin white, but later on it earned the commendation of the doctor. Mr.
+Herbert was pallid himself when Elsie handed him the last handkerchief
+they could muster, while Mrs. Johnson was already tearing the tablecloth
+into strips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is bad enough to have your wrists scored in this way, my lad,&#8221; he
+murmured, &#8220;but it will be some consolation for you to know that
+otherwise these cuts would have been in my little girl&#8217;s face, perhaps
+her eyes&mdash;great Heaven!&mdash;her eyes!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar could have chosen no better words. Martin&#8217;s heart throbbed
+with pride. At last the bandages were secured and the tattered sleeve
+turned down. All <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>this consumed nearly half an hour, and then Martin
+remembered a forgotten duty.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What time is it?&#8221; he said anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A quarter past five.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, bother!&#8221; he murmured. &#8220;I&#8217;ll get into another row. I have missed my
+Bible lesson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your Bible lesson?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. My father makes me read a portion of Scripture every day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar passed unnoticed the boy&#8217;s unconsciously resentful tone. He
+sighed, but straightway resumed his wonted cheeriness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There will be no row to-day, Martin,&#8221; he promised. &#8220;We shall escort you
+home in triumphal procession. We leave the things here for my man, who
+will bring a pony and cart in a few minutes. Now, you two, tie the hind
+legs of that beast with a piece of string and carry it on the stick. The
+cat is Martin&#8217;s <i>spolia opima</i>. Here, Elsie, guide your warrior&#8217;s
+faltering footsteps down the glen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They all laughed, but by the time they reached the White House the boy
+was ready to drop, for he had lost a quantity of blood, and the torment
+of the saline solution was becoming intolerable.</p>
+
+<p>John Bolland, after waiting with growing impatience long after the
+appointed time, closed the Bible with a bang and went downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s wrang wi&#8217; ye now?&#8221; inquired his spouse as he dropped morosely
+into a chair and answered but sourly a hearty greeting from a visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where&#8217;s that lad?&#8221; he growled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin. Hasn&#8217;t he come yam?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>She trembled for her adopted son&#8217;s remissness on this, the first day
+after the great rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yam!&#8221;&mdash;with intense bitterness&mdash;&#8220;he&#8217;s not likely te hearken te t&#8217; Word
+when he&#8217;s encouraged in guile.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but there&#8217;s some good cause this time,&#8221; cried the old lady, more
+flustered than she cared to show. &#8220;Happen he&#8217;s bin asked to see t&#8217;
+squire again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;T&#8217; squire left Elmsdale afore noon,&#8221; was the gruff reply.</p>
+
+<p>Then the vicar entered, and Elsie, leading Martin, and the two pupils
+carrying the gigantic cat. Mrs. Johnson and the governess-companion had
+remained with the tent and would drive home in the dogcart.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert&#8217;s glowing account of Martin&#8217;s conduct, combined with a
+judicious reference to his anxiety when he discovered that the hour for
+his lesson had passed, placed even Bolland in a good humor. Once again
+the boy filled the mouths of the multitude, since nothing would serve
+the farmhands but they must carry off the cat to the fair for exhibition
+before they skinned it.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor came, waylaid on his return from the &#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; He removed
+the salt-soaked bandages, washed the wounds in tepid water, examined
+them carefully, and applied some antiseptic dressing, of which he had a
+supply in his dogcart for the benefit of George Pickering.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; how is Mr. Pickerin&#8217; te-night?&#8221; inquired Mrs. Bolland, who was
+horrified at first by the sight of Martin&#8217;s damages, but reassured when
+the doctor said the boy would be all right in a day or two.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not so well, Mrs. Bolland,&#8221; was the answer.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, ye don&#8217;t say so. Poor chap! Is it wuss than ye feared for?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; the wound is progressing favorably, but he is feverish. I don&#8217;t
+like that. Fever is weakening.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No more would the doctor say, and Mrs. Bolland soon forgot the
+sufferings of another in her distress at Martin&#8217;s condition. She
+particularly lamented that he should be laid up during the Feast.</p>
+
+<p>At that the patient laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Surely I can go out, doctor!&#8221; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go out, you imp! Of course, you can. But, remember, no larking about
+and causing these cuts to reopen. Better stay in the house until I see
+you in the morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Martin, fearless of consequences, hunted up &#8220;Rokeby,&#8221; and read it
+with an interest hardly lessened by the fact that that particular poem
+is the least exciting of the magician&#8217;s verse. At last the light failed
+and the table was laid for supper, so the boy&#8217;s reading was disturbed.
+More than once he fancied he had heard at the back of the house a long,
+shrill whistle which sounded familiar. Curiosity led him to the meadow.
+He waited a little while, and again the whistle came from the lane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is it?&#8221; he called.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Me. Is that you, Martin?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Me&#8221; was Tommy Beadlam, but his white top did not shine in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s up?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come nearer. I mustn&#8217;t shout.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Wondering what mystery was afoot, Martin approached the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yon lass,&#8221; whispered Tommy&mdash;&#8220;I can&#8217;t say her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>name, but ye ken fine
+whe&auml; &#8217;tis&mdash;she&#8217;s i&#8217; t&#8217; fair age&auml;n.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What! Ang&egrave;le?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s her. She gemme sixpence te coom an&#8217; tell yer. I&#8217;ve bin whistlin&#8217;
+till me lips is sore.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You tell her from me she is a bad girl and ought to go home at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not me! She&#8217;d smack my fe&auml;ce.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I can&#8217;t get out. I&#8217;ve had an accident and must go to bed soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s a rare yarn about you an&#8217; a cat. I seed it. Honest truth&mdash;did
+you really kill it wi&#8217; your hands?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; but it gave me something first. Can you see? My arms and left hand
+are all bound up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; it jumped fust on Elsie Herbert?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; yer grabbed it offen her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gosh! Yon lass is fair wild te hear all about it. She greeted when
+Evelyn Atkinson telt her yer were nearly dead, but yan o&#8217; t&#8217; farmhands
+kem along an&#8217; we axed him, an&#8217; he said ye were nowt worse.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s heart softened when he heard of Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s tears, but he was
+sorry she should have stolen out a second time to mix with the rabble of
+the village.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t come out to-night,&#8221; he said firmly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Happen ye&#8217;d be able to see her if I browt her here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The white head evidently held brains, but Martin had sufficient strength
+of character to ask himself what his new friends, the Herbert family,
+would think if they knew he was only too willing to dance to any tune
+the temptress played.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no,&#8221; he cried, retreating a pace or two. &#8220;You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>must not bring her.
+I&#8217;m going to supper and straight to bed. And, look here, Tommy. Try and
+persuade her to go home. If you and Jim Bates and the others take her
+round the fair to-night you&#8217;ll all get into trouble. You ought to have
+heard the parson to-day, and Miss Walker, too. I wouldn&#8217;t be in your
+shoes for more than sixpence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was crafty counsel. Beadlam, after consulting Jim Bates,
+communicated it to Ang&egrave;le. She stared with wide-open eyes at the
+doubting pair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Misericorde!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Were there ever such idiots! Because he
+cannot come himself, he doesn&#8217;t want me to be with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was something in this. Their judgment wavered, and&mdash;and&mdash;Ang&egrave;le
+had lots of money.</p>
+
+<p>But she laughed them to scorn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I want you!&#8221; she screamed. &#8220;Bah! I spit at you. Evelyn, ma
+ch&eacute;rie, walk with me to The Elms. I want to hear all about the man who
+was stabbed and the woman who stabbed him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon, Evelyn and one of her sisters went off with a girl whom they
+hated. But she was clever, in their estimation, and pretty, and well
+dressed, and, oh, so rich! Above all, she was not &#8220;stuck up&#8221; like Elsie
+Herbert, but laughed at their simple wit, and was ready to sink to their
+level.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, taking thought before he slept, wondered why Ang&egrave;le had not come
+openly to the farm. It did not occur to him that Ang&egrave;le dared not face
+John Bolland. The child feared the dour old farmer. She dreaded a single
+look from the shrewd eyes which seemed to search her very soul.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h2>DEEPENING SHADOWS</h2>
+
+<p>The doctor came late next morning. He did not reach Elmsdale until after
+eleven o&#8217;clock. He called first at the White House and handed Mrs.
+Bolland a small package.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;These are the handkerchiefs I took away yesterday,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I suppose
+they belong to Mr. Herbert&#8217;s household. My servant has washed them. Will
+you see that they are returned?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mercy o&#8217; me!&#8221; cried Martha. &#8220;I nivver knew ye took &#8217;em. What did ye
+want &#8217;em for, docthor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There might have been some malignant substance&mdash;some poisonous
+matter&mdash;in the cat&#8217;s claws, and as the county analyst was engaged at my
+place on some other business I&mdash;Oh, come now, Mrs. Bolland, there&#8217;s no
+need to be alarmed. Martin&#8217;s wounds were cleansed, and the salt applied
+to the raw edges so promptly, that any danger which might have existed
+was stopped effectually.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet the doctor&#8217;s cheery face was grave that morning and his brow was
+wrinkled as he unfastened the bandages. Beyond a slight stiffness of
+certain sinews and the natural soreness of the cut flesh, Martin had
+never felt better in his life. After a disturbed slumber, when he
+dreamed that he was choking a wildcat&mdash;a cat with Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s face which
+changed suddenly in death to Elsie <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>Herbert&#8217;s smiling features&mdash;he lay
+awake for some hours. Then the pain in his wrists abated gradually, he
+fell sound asleep, and Mrs. Bolland took care that he was left alone
+until he awoke of his own accord at half-past eight, an unprecedented
+hour.</p>
+
+<p>So the boy laughed at his mother&#8217;s fears. Her lips quivered, and she
+tried to choke back a sob. The doctor turned on her angrily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stop that!&#8221; he growled. &#8220;I suppose you think I&#8217;m hoodwinking you. It is
+not so. I am very much worried about another matter altogether, so
+please accept my assurance that Martin is all right. He can run about
+all day, if he likes. The only consequence of disturbing these cuts will
+be that they cannot heal rapidly. Otherwise, they will be closed
+completely by the end of the week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>While he talked he worked. The dressings were changed and fresh lint
+applied. He handed Mrs. Bolland a store of materials.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I need not come again, but I&#8217;ll call on Monday, just
+to satisfy you. Apply the lotion morning and night. Good-by, Martin. You
+did a brave thing, I hear. Good-by, Mrs. Bolland.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He closed his bag hurriedly and rushed away. Mrs. Bolland, drying her
+eyes, and quite satisfied now, went to the door and gazed after him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s fair rattled wi&#8217; summat,&#8221; she told another portly dame who labored
+up the incline at the moment. &#8220;He a&#8217;most snapped my head off. Did he
+think a body wouldn&#8217;t be scared wi&#8217; his talk about malignous p&#8217;ison i&#8217; t&#8217;
+lad&#8217;s bluid, I wonder?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor did not pull up outside the &#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>He drove to the
+Vicarage&mdash;a circumstance which would most certainly have given Mrs.
+Bolland renewed cause for alarm, were she aware of it&mdash;and asked Mr.
+Herbert to walk in the garden with him for a few minutes.</p>
+
+<p>The two conversed earnestly, and the vicar seemed to be greatly shocked
+at the outcome of their talk. At last they arrived at a decision. The
+doctor hastened back to the &#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; He did not remain long in the
+sick room, but scribbled a note downstairs and gave it to his man.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take that to Mr. Herbert,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;ll make a few calls on foot and
+meet you at the bridge in a quarter of an hour.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The note read:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no hope. Things are exactly as I feared.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar, looking most woebegone, murmured that there was no answer. He
+procured his hat and walked slowly to the inn, which was crowded, inside
+and out. Nearly every man knew him and spoke to him, and many noted that
+&#8220;t&#8217; passon looked varra down i&#8217; t&#8217; mooth this mornin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went upstairs. The conjecture flew around at once that Pickering was
+worse. Someone remembered that Kitty Thwaites said the patient had
+experienced a touch of fever overnight. Surely, his wound had not
+developed serious symptoms. The chief herd of his Nottonby estate had
+seen him during the preceding afternoon and found his master looking
+wonderfully well. Indeed, Pickering spoke of attending to some business
+matter in person on Saturday, or on Monday for certain. Why, then, the
+vicar&#8217;s visit? What did it portend? People gathered in small groups and
+their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>voices softened. By contrast, the blare of lively music and the
+whistle of the roundabout were intolerably loud.</p>
+
+<p>In the quiet room at the back of the hotel, with its scent of iodoform
+mingling with the sweet breath of the garden wafted in through an open
+window, Pickering moved restlessly in bed. His face was flushed, his
+eyes singularly bright, with a glistening sheen that was abnormal.</p>
+
+<p>By his side sat the pallid Betsy, reading a newspaper aloud. She
+followed the printed text with difficulty. Her mind was troubled. The
+fatigue of nursing was nothing to one of her healthy frame, but her
+thoughts were terrifying. She lived in a waking nightmare. Had she dared
+to weep, she might have felt relief, but this sure solace of womankind
+was denied her.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar&#8217;s entrance caused a sensation. Betsy, in a quick access of
+fear, dropped the paper, and Pickering&#8217;s face blanched. Some secret
+doubt, some inner monitor, brought a premonition of what was to come. He
+flinched from the knowledge, but only for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert essayed most gallantly to adopt his customary cheerful mien.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dr. MacGregor asked me to call and see you, George,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I hope
+you are not suffering greatly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all, thanks, vicar. Just a trifle restless with fever, perhaps,
+but the wound is nothing, a mere cut. I&#8217;ve had as bad a scratch and much
+more painful when thrusting through a thorn hedge after hounds.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. That is well.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The reverend gentleman seemed to be strangely at a loss for words. He
+glanced at Betsy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Would you mind leaving me alone with Mr. Pickering for a little while?&#8221;
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>The wounded man laughed, and there was a note in his voice that showed
+how greatly the tension had relaxed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If that&#8217;s what you&#8217;re after, Mr. Herbert,&#8221; he said promptly, &#8220;you may
+rest assured that the moment I&#8217;m able to stir we&#8217;ll be married. I told
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe so yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed; I am glad to hear it. Nevertheless, I want to talk with you
+alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar&#8217;s insistence was a different thing to the wish expressed by a
+magistrate and a police superintendent. Betsy went out at once.</p>
+
+<p>For an appreciable time after the door had closed no word was spoken by
+either of the men. The vicar&#8217;s eyes were fixed mournfully on the valley,
+through which a train was winding its way. The engine left in its track
+white wraiths of steam which vanished under the lusty rays of the sun.
+The drone of the showman&#8217;s organ playing &#8220;Tommy Atkins&#8221; reached the
+hardly conscious listeners as through a telephone. From a distant
+cornfield came the busy rattle of a reaping machine. The harvest had
+commenced a fortnight earlier than usual. Once again was the bounteous
+earth giving to man a hundredfold what he had sown. &#8220;As ye sow, so shall
+ye reap.&#8221; Out there in the field were garnered the wages of honest
+endeavor; here in the room, with its hospital perfume, were being
+awarded the wages of sin, for George Pickering was condemned to death,
+and it was the vicar&#8217;s most doleful mission to warn him of his doom.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Now, Mr. Herbert, pitch into me as much as you like,&#8221; said the patient,
+breaking an uneasy silence. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been a bad lot, but I&#8217;ll try to make
+amends. Betsy&#8217;s case is a hard one. You&#8217;re a man of the world and you
+know what the majority of these village lasses are like; but Betsy&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar could bear the suspense no longer. He must perform his task,
+no matter what the cost.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;George,&#8221; he broke in tremulously, &#8220;my presence here to-day is due to a
+very sad and irrevocable fact. Dr. MacGregor tells me that your
+condition is serious, most serious. Indeed&mdash;indeed&mdash;there is no hope of
+your recovery.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering, who had raised himself on an elbow, gazed at the speaker for
+an instant with fiery eyes. Then, as though he grasped the purport of
+the words but gradually, he sank back on the pillow in the manner of one
+pressed down by overwhelming force. The vicar moved his chair nearer and
+grasped his friend&#8217;s right hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;George,&#8221; he murmured, &#8220;bear up, and try to prepare your soul for that
+which is inevitable. What are you losing? A few years of joys and
+sorrows, to which the end must come. And the end is eternity, compared
+with which this life is but a passing shadow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering did not answer immediately. He raised his body again. He moved
+his limbs freely. He looked at a square bony wrist and stretched out the
+free hand until he caught an iron rail, which he clenched fiercely. In
+his veins ran the blood of a race of yeomen. His hardy ancestors had
+exchanged blow for blow with Scottish raiders who sought to steal their
+cattle. They had cracked the iron rind of many a marauder, broken many
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>a border skull in defense of their lives and property. Never had they
+feared death by flood or field, and their descendant scoffed at the grim
+vision now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What nonsense is this MacGregor has been talking?&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;Die! A
+man like me! By gad, vicar, I&#8217;d laugh, if I wasn&#8217;t too vexed!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be patient, George, and hear me. Things are worse than you can guess.
+Your wound alone is a small matter, but, unfortunately, the knife&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was no knife! It was a pitchfork!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bear with me, I pray you. You will need to conserve your energy, and
+your protest only makes my duty the harder. The knife has been submitted
+to analysis, as well as corpuscles of your blood. Alas, that it should
+fall to me to tell it! Alas, for the poor girl whom you have declared
+your intention to marry! The knife had been used to carve grouse, and
+some putrid matter from a shot wound had dried on the blade. This was
+communicated to your system. The wound was cleansed too late. Your blood
+was poisoned before the doctor saw you, and&mdash;and&mdash;there is no hope now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar bowed his head. He dared not look in the eyes of the man to
+whom he was conveying this dire sentence. He felt Pickering subsiding
+gently to the pillow and straightening his limbs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How long?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words were uttered in a singularly calm voice&mdash;so calm that the
+pastor ventured to raise his sorrow-laden face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Soon. Perhaps three days. Perhaps a week. But you will be delirious.
+You have little time in which to prepare.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>Again a silence. A faint shriek reached them from afar, the whistle of
+the train entering Nottonby, the pleasant little town which Pickering
+would never more see.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a finish!&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;I&#8217;d have liked it better in the saddle. I
+wouldn&#8217;t have cared a damn if I broke my neck after hounds.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Another pause, and the vicar said gently:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you made your will?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it must be attended to at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, of course. Then, there&#8217;s Betsy. Oh, God, I&#8217;ve treated her badly.
+Now, help me, won&#8217;t you? There&#8217;s a hundred pounds in notes and some
+twenty-odd in gold in that drawer. Telegraph first to Stockwell, my
+lawyer in Nottonby. Bring him here. Then, spare no money in getting a
+license for my marriage. I can&#8217;t die unless that is put right. Don&#8217;t
+delay, there&#8217;s a good chap. You have to apply to the Archbishop, don&#8217;t
+you? You&#8217;ll do everything, I know. Will you be a trustee under my will?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, if you wish it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;ll please me more than anything. Of course, I&#8217;ll make it worth your
+while. I insist, I tell you. Go, now! Don&#8217;t lose a moment. Send Betsy.
+And, vicar, for Heaven&#8217;s sake, not a word to her until we are married.
+I&#8217;ll tell her the fever is serious; just that, and no more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One other matter, George. Mr. Beckett-Smythe will come here to-day or
+to-morrow to take your sworn deposition. You must not die with a lie on
+your conscience, however good the motive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll jump that fence when I reach it, Mr. Herbert. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>Meanwhile, the
+lawyer and the license. They&#8217;re all-important.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar left it at that. He deemed it best to take the urgent measures
+of the hour off the man&#8217;s mind before endeavoring to turn his thoughts
+toward a fitting preparation for the future state. With a reassuring
+handclasp, he left him.</p>
+
+<p>The two sisters waylaid him in the passage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye had but ill news, I fear, sir,&#8221; said Betsy despairingly, catching
+Mr. Herbert by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>The worried man stooped to deception.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, why should you jump to conclusions?&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Dr. MacGregor
+asked me to look up his patient. Am I a harbinger of disaster, like
+Mother Carey&#8217;s chickens?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, parson,&#8221; she wailed, &#8220;I read it i&#8217; yer face, an&#8217; in t&#8217; doctor&#8217;s.
+Don&#8217;t tell me all is well. I know better. Pray God I may die&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hush, my poor girl, you know not what you say. Go to Mr. Pickering. He
+wants you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He knew the appeal would be successful. She darted off. Before Kitty, in
+turn, could question him, he escaped.</p>
+
+<p>It was easier to run the gantlet of friendly inquirers outside. He
+telegraphed to the solicitor and sent a telegraphic remittance of the
+heavy fees demanded for the special license. Within two hours he had the
+satisfaction of knowing that the precious document was in the post and
+would reach him next morning.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell&#8217;s protests against Pickering&#8217;s testamentary designs were
+cut short by his client.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Stockwell,&#8221; was the irritated comment, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>&#8220;you are an old
+friend of mine and I&#8217;d like this matter to remain in your hands, but if
+you say another word I&#8217;ll be forced to send for someone else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you put it that way&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; began the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do, most emphatically. Now, what is it to be? Yes or no?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For answer the legal man squared some foolscap sheets on a small table
+and produced a stylographic pen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me understand clearly,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You intend to marry
+this&mdash;er&mdash;lady, and mean to settle four hundred a year on her for life?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suppose she marries again?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;God in heaven, man, do you think I want to play dog-in-the-manger in my
+grave?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it had better take the form of a marriage settlement. It is the
+strongest instrument known in the law and avoids the death duties.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering winced, but the lawyer went on remorselessly. He regarded the
+marriage as a wholly quixotic notion, and knew only too well that Betsy
+Thwaites would be tried for murder if Pickering died.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you no relatives?&#8221; he said. &#8220;I seem to recollect&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My cousin Stanhope? He&#8217;s quite well off, an M.P., and likely to be made
+a baronet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He will not object to the chance of dropping in for &pound;1,500 a year.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think the estate will yield so much?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;More, I imagine. Did you ever know what you spent?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Well, is it to be this Mr. Stanhope?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. He never gave me a thought. Why should I endow him and his whelps?
+Let the lot go to the County Council in aid of the county orphanage. By
+Jove, that&#8217;s a good idea! I like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything else?&#8221; demanded the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. You and Mr. Herbert are to be the trustees.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The deuce we are. Who said so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say so. You are to receive &pound;50 a year each from the estate for
+administering it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. That gilds the pill. Next?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have nearly a thousand in the bank. Keep half as working capital,
+give a hundred to my company in the Territorials, and divide the
+balance, according to salary, among all my servants who have more than
+five years&#8217; service. And&mdash;Betsy is to have the use of the house and
+furniture, if she wishes it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything else?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering was exhausted, but continued to laugh weakly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; I had almost forgotten. I bequeath to John Bolland the shorthorn
+cow he sold me, and to that lad of his&mdash;you must find out his proper
+name&mdash;my pair of hammerless guns and my sword. He frames to be a
+sportsman, and I think he&#8217;ll make a soldier. He picked up a poker like a
+shot the other day when I quarreled with old John.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was the quarrel about?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When you send back the cow, you&#8217;ll be told.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell scanned his notes rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll put my clerks to work at this to-night,&#8221; he said. &#8220;As I am a
+trustee, my partner will attend to-morrow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>to get your signature. Of
+course, you know you must be married before you make your will, or it
+will be invalid? Before I go, George, are you sure it is all over with
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;MacGregor says so. I suppose he knows.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, he knows, if any man does. Yet I can&#8217;t believe it. It seems
+monstrous, incredible.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They gazed fixedly at each other. Of the two, the man of law was the
+more affected. Before either could speak again they heard Betsy&#8217;s
+agonized cry:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, for God&#8217;s sake, miss, don&#8217;t tell me I may not be with him always!
+I&#8217;ve done my best; I have, indeed. I&#8217;ll give neither him nor you any
+trouble. Don&#8217;t keep me away from him now, or I&#8217;ll go mad!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer, wondering what new frenzy possessed the woman who had struck
+down his friend, opened the door. He was confronted by a hospital nurse
+sent by Dr. MacGregor. She looked like a strong-minded person and was
+probably a stickler for the etiquette of the sick room. He took in the
+situation at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There need be no difficulty, nurse, where Miss Thwaites is concerned,&#8221;
+he said. &#8220;She is to be married to Mr. Pickering to-morrow, and as he has
+only a few days to live they should see as much of each other as
+possible. Any other arrangement would irritate your patient greatly, and
+be quite contrary to Dr. MacGregor&#8217;s wishes, I am sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The nurse bowed, and Betsy sobbed as the secret that was no secret to
+her was revealed. None of the three realized that several men standing
+in the hall beneath, whose talk had been silenced by Betsy&#8217;s frenzied
+exclamation, must have heard every word the lawyer uttered.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h2>FOR ONE, THE NIGHT; FOR ANOTHER,<br />
+THE DAWN</h2>
+
+<p>So Elmsdale was given another thrill, and a lasting one. The Feast was
+ruined. Not a man or a woman had heart for enjoyment. If a child sought
+a penny, it was chided sharply and asked what it meant by gadding about
+&#8220;when poor George Pickerin&#8217; an&#8217; that lass of his were in such trouble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin heard the news while standing outside the boxing booth, waiting
+for the sparring competition to commence. He went in, it is true, and
+saw some hard hitting, but the tent was nearly empty. When he and Jim
+Bates came out an hour later, Elmsdale was a place of mourning.</p>
+
+<p>A series of exciting events, each crowding on its predecessor&#8217;s heels as
+though some diabolical agency had resolved to disturb the community, had
+roused the hamlet from its torpor.</p>
+
+<p>Five slow-moving years had passed since the village had been stirred so
+deeply. Then it endured a fortnight&#8217;s epidemic of suicide. A traveling
+tinker began the uncanny cycle. On a fine summer&#8217;s day he was repairing
+his kettles on a corner of the green, when he was observed to leave his
+little handcart and to go into a neighboring wood. He did not return.
+Search next day discovered him swaying from a branch of a tall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>tree,
+looking like some forlorn scarecrow suspended there by a practical
+joker.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning a soldier on furlough, one of the very men who
+helped to cut down the tinker&#8217;s body, went into a cow-house at the back
+of his mother&#8217;s cottage and suspended himself from a rafter. An odd
+feature of this man&#8217;s exit was that the rope had yielded so much that
+his feet rested on the ground. Before the hanging he had actually cut
+letters out of his red-cloth tunic and formed the word, &#8220;Farewell&#8221; in a
+semicircle on the stable floor. A girl soon afterwards selected the
+mill-dam for a consoling plunge; and, to crown all, the vicar, Mr.
+Herbert&#8217;s forerunner, having received a telegram announcing the failure
+of a company in which he had invested some money, opened his jugular
+vein with a sharp scissors. That these tragedies should happen within a
+fortnight in a community of less than three hundred people was enough to
+give a life-insurance actuary an attack of hysteria.</p>
+
+<p>But each lacked the dramatic flavor attached to the ill-governed passion
+of Betsy Thwaites and her fickle swain. Kitty was known to all in
+Elmsdale, Betsy to few, but George Pickering was a popular man
+throughout the whole countryside. It was sensation enough that one of
+his many amours should result in an episode more typical of Paris than
+of an English Sleepy Hollow. But the sequel&mdash;the marriage of this
+wealthy gentleman-farmer to a mere dairymaid, followed by his death from
+a wound inflicted by the bride-to-be&mdash;this was undiluted melodrama drawn
+from the repertoire of the Petit Guignol.</p>
+
+<p>That night the story spread over England. A reporter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>from the
+<i>Messenger</i> came to Elmsdale to glean the exact facts as to Mr.
+Pickering&#8217;s &#8220;accident.&#8221; Owing to the peculiar circumstances, he,
+perforce, showed much discretion in compiling the story telegraphed to
+the Press Association. Not even the use of that magic word &#8220;alleged&#8221;
+would enable him to charge Betsy Thwaites with attempted murder, after
+the police had apparently withdrawn the accusation. But he contrived to
+retail the legend by throwing utter discredit on it, and the rest was
+plain sailing. Moreover, he was a smart young man. He pondered deeply
+after dispatching the message. He was employed on the staff of a local
+weekly newspaper, so his traveling allowance was limited to a
+third-class return ticket and a shilling for &#8220;tea.&#8221; Yet he decided to
+remain in Elmsdale at his own expense. The departure of the German
+Government agent for another horse-fair left a vacant bedroom at the
+&#8220;Black Lion.&#8221; This he secured. He foresaw a golden harvest.</p>
+
+<p>Luck favored him. Conversing with a village Solon in the bar, he caught
+a remark that &#8220;John Bolland&#8217;s lad&#8221; would be an important witness at the
+inquest. Of course, he made inquiries and was favored with a full and
+accurate account of the wanderings of the farmer and his wife in London
+thirteen years earlier, together with their adoption of the baby which
+had literally fallen from the skies. To the country journalist, Fleet
+Street is the Mecca of his earthly pilgrimage, and St. Martin&#8217;s Court,
+Ludgate Hill, was near enough to newspaperdom to be sacred ground. The
+very name of the boy smacked of &#8220;copy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John Bolland, lumbering out of the stockyard at tea-time, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>encountered
+Dr. MacGregor. The farmer had been thinking hard while striding through
+his diminished cornfields, and crumbling ears of wheat, oats, and barley
+in his strong hands to ascertain the exact date when they would be ripe.
+Already some of his neighbors were busy, but John was more anxious about
+the condition of the straw than the forwardness of the grain; moreover,
+men and women did not work so well during feast-time. Next week he would
+obtain full measure for his money.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I reckon Martin&#8217;ll soon be fit?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s a bright lad, yon?&#8221; went on the farmer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. What are you going to make of him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. MacGregor knew the ways of Elmsdale folk. They required leading up
+to a subject by judicious questioning. Rarely would they unburden their
+minds by direct statements.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s what&#8217;s worryin&#8217; me,&#8221; said John slowly. &#8220;What d&#8217;ye think yersen,
+docthor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is hard to say. It all hinges on what you intend doing for him,
+Bolland. He is not your son. If he has to depend on his own resources
+when he&#8217;s a man, teach him a useful trade. No matter how able he may be,
+that will never come amiss.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer gazed around. As men counted in that locality, he was rich,
+not in hard cash, but in lands, stock, and tenements. His expenses did
+not grow proportionately with his earnings. He ate and dressed and
+economized now as on the day when Martha and he faced the world
+together, with the White House and its small meadows their only
+belongings. In a few years <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>the produce of his shorthorn herd alone
+would bring in hundreds annually, and his Cleveland bays were noted
+throughout the county.</p>
+
+<p>He took the doctor&#8217;s hint.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve nayther chick nor child but Martin,&#8221; he said. &#8220;When Martha an&#8217; me
+are gone te t&#8217; Lord, all that we hev&#8217;ll be Martin&#8217;s. That&#8217;s settled lang
+syne. I med me will four years agone last Easter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was something behind this, and MacGregor probed again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t he cut out for a farmer?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hae me doots,&#8221; was the cautious answer.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor waited, so John continued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was sair set on t&#8217; lad being a minister. But I judge it&#8217;s not t&#8217;
+Lord&#8217;s will. He&#8217;s of a rovin&#8217; stock, I fancy. When he&#8217;s a man, Elmsdale
+won&#8217;t be big eneuf te hold him. He cooms frae Lunnon, an&#8217; te Lunnon
+he&#8217;ll gang. It&#8217;s in his fe&auml;ce. Lunnon&#8217;s a bad ple&auml;ce for a youngster
+whe&auml; kens nowt but t&#8217; ways o&#8217; moor folk, docthor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then the other laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a word, Bolland, you have made up your mind, and want me to agree
+with you. Of course, if Martin succeeds you, and you have read his
+character aright, there is but one line open. Send him to a good school,
+leave the choice of a profession to his more cultivated mind, and tie up
+your property so that it cannot be sold and wasted in a young man&#8217;s
+folly. When he is forty he may be glad to come back to Elmsdale and give
+thanks for your foresight on his bended knees. In any event, a little
+extra book lore will make him none the worse stock-raiser. Eh, is that
+what you think?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You&#8217;re a sound man, docthor. There&#8217;s times I wunner hoo it happens ye
+cling te sike nonsense as that mad Dutchman&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>MacGregor laughed again, and nudged his groom&#8217;s arm as a signal to drive
+on. He favored neither church nor chapel, but claimed a devoted
+adherence to the doctrines of Emanuel Swedenborg, thus forming a sect
+unto himself. There was not a Swedenborgian temple within a hundred
+miles. Mayhap the doctor&#8217;s theological views had a geographical
+foundation.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer lumbered across the street and took a corner of the crowded
+tea-table. Mrs. Summersgill was entertaining the company with a
+description of George Pickering&#8217;s estate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a meracle, that&#8217;s what it is!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Te think of Betsy
+Thwaites livin&#8217; i&#8217; style in yon fine hoos! There&#8217;s a revenue o&#8217; trees
+quarther of a mile long, an&#8217; my husband sez t&#8217; high-lyin&#8217; land grows t&#8217;
+best wuts (oats) i&#8217; t&#8217; county. An&#8217; she&#8217;s got it by a prod wi&#8217; a
+carving-knife, while a poor body like me hez te scrat sae hard for a
+livin&#8217; that me fingers are worn te t&#8217; bone!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Summersgill weighed sixteen stone, but she was heedless of satire.
+Her eye fell on Martin, eating silently, but well.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some folks git their bread easy, I&#8217;m sure,&#8221; she went on. &#8220;Ivver sen I
+was a bit lass I&#8217;ve tewed and wrowt an&#8217; mead sike deed ower spendin&#8217;
+hawpenny, whiles uthers hev a silver spoon thrust i&#8217; their gob frae t&#8217;
+time they&#8217;re born!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;T&#8217; Lord gives, an&#8217; t&#8217; Lord taks away. Ye munnot fly i&#8217; t&#8217; fe&auml;ce o&#8217; t&#8217;
+Lord,&#8221; said Bolland.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not built for flyin&#8217; anywhere,&#8221; cried the old lady. &#8220;I wish I was.
+&#8217;Tis flighty &#8217;uns as wins nowadays. Look at Betsy Thwaites! Look at Mrs.
+Saumarez! She mun hae gotten her money varra simple te fling it about as
+she does. My man telt me that her little gal, t&#8217; other neet&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yer cup&#8217;s empty, Mrs. Summersgill,&#8221; put in Martha quickly. &#8220;Bless my
+heart, ye talk an&#8217; eat nowt. Speakin&#8217; o&#8217; Mrs. Saumarez, hez anyone heerd
+if she&#8217;s better? One o&#8217; Miss Walker&#8217;s maids said she was poorly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin caught his mother&#8217;s eye, and rose. He went upstairs; the farmer
+followed him. The two sat near the window; on the broad ledge reposed
+the Bible; but Bolland did not open the book. He laid his hand on it
+reverently and looked at the boy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; he began, &#8220;yer muther tells me that Benson med yer mind sair
+by grabbin&#8217; te t&#8217; squire aboot yer bringin&#8217; up. Nay, lad, ye needn&#8217;t say
+owt. &#8217;Tis no secret. We on&#8217;y kept it frae ye for yer good. Anyhow, &#8217;tis
+kent noo, an&#8217; there&#8217;s nae need te chew on &#8217;t. What troubled me maist was
+yer muther&#8217;s defiance when I was minded te punish ye for bein&#8217; out
+late.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It won&#8217;t occur again, sir,&#8221; said Martin quietly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mebbe. T&#8217; spirit is willin&#8217;, but t&#8217; flesh is wake. Noo, I want a
+straight answer te a straight question. Are these Bible lessons te yer
+likin&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was so rare for the farmer to speak in this downright fashion that
+the boy was alarmed. He knew not what lay behind; but he had not earned
+his reputation for honesty on insufficient grounds.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, they&#8217;re not,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p><p>Bolland groaned. &#8220;T&#8217; minister said so. Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can hardly explain. For one thing, I don&#8217;t understand what I read.
+And often I would like to be out in the fields or on the moor when I&#8217;m
+forced to be here. All the same, I do try hard, and if I thought it
+would please you and mother, I&#8217;d do much more than give up half an hour
+a day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, ay. &#8217;Tis compulsion, not love. I telt t&#8217; minister that Paul urged
+insistence in season an&#8217; out o&#8217; season, but he held that the teachin&#8217;
+applied te doctrine, an&#8217; not te Bible lessons for t&#8217; young. Well,
+Martin, I&#8217;ve weighed this thing, an&#8217; not without prayer. I&#8217;ve seen many
+a field spoiled by bad farmin&#8217;, an&#8217;, when yer muther calls my own hired
+men te help her age&auml;n me; when a lad like you goes fightin&#8217; young
+gentlemen aboot a lass; when yon Frenchified ninny eggs ye on te spend
+money like watter, an&#8217; yer muther gies ye t&#8217; brass next day te pay Mrs.
+Saumarez, lest it should reach my ears&mdash;why, I&#8217;ve coom te believe that
+my teachin&#8217; is mistakken.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin was petrified at hearing his delinquencies laid bare in this
+manner. He had not realized that the extravagant display of Monday must
+evoke comment in a small village, and that Bolland could not fail to
+interpret correctly his wife&#8217;s anxiety to hush up all reference to it.
+He blushed and held his tongue, for the farmer was speaking again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;T&#8217; upshot of all this is that I&#8217;ve sought counsel. Ye&#8217;re an honest lad,
+I will say that fer ye, but ye&#8217;re a lad differin&#8217; frae those of yer age
+i&#8217; Elmsdale. If all goes well wi&#8217; me, ye&#8217;ll nivver want food nor
+lodgin&#8217;, but an idle man is a wicked man, nine times out o&#8217; ten, an&#8217;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>I&#8217;d like te see ye sattled i&#8217; summat afore I go te my rest. You&#8217;re not
+cut out fer t&#8217; ministry, ye&#8217;re none for farmin&#8217;, an&#8217; I&#8217;d sooner see ye
+dead than dancin&#8217; around t&#8217; countryside after women, like poor George
+Pickerin&#8217;. Soa ye mun gang te college an&#8217; sharpen yer wits, an&#8217; happen
+fower or five years o&#8217; delvin&#8217; i&#8217; books&#8217;ll shape yer life i&#8217; different
+gait te owt I can see at this minnit. What think you on&#8217;t?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I should like it better than anything else in the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy&#8217;s eyes sparkled at this most unlooked-for announcement. Never
+before had his heart so gone out to the rugged old man whose stern
+glance was now searching him through the horn-rimmed spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>What magician had transformed John Bolland? Was it possible that beneath
+the patriarchial inflexibility of the rugged farmer&#8217;s character there
+lay a spring of human tenderness, a clear fountain hidden by half a
+century of toil and narrow religion, but now unearthed forcibly by
+circumstances stronger than the man himself? The boy could not put these
+questions into words. He was too young to understand even the meaning of
+psychological analysis. He could only sit there mute, stunned by the
+glory of the unexpected promise.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, if a thinker like Dr. MacGregor were aware of all the facts,
+he would have seen that the rebellion of Martha had been a lightning
+stroke. The few winged words she shot at her husband on that memorable
+night had penetrated deeper than she thought. It chanced, too, that the
+revivalist preacher whom Bolland took into his confidence was a man of
+sound common sense, and much more acute in private life than anyone
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>could imagine who witnessed his methods of hammering the Gospel into
+the dullards of the village. He it was who advised a timely diminution
+of devotional exercises which were likely to become distasteful to a
+spirited lad. He recommended the farmer to educate Martin beyond the
+common run, while the choice of a profession might be left to maturer
+consideration. Among the many influences conspiring in that hour to mold
+the boy&#8217;s future life, none was more wholesome than that of the
+tub-thumping preacher.</p>
+
+<p>Bolland seemed to be gratified by Martin&#8217;s tongue-tied enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, rising. &#8220;Noo my hand&#8217;s te t&#8217; plow I&#8217;ll keep it there.
+Remember, Martin, when ye tak te study t&#8217; Word o&#8217; yer own accord, ye can
+start at t&#8217; second chapter o&#8217; t&#8217; Third Book o&#8217; Kings. I&#8217;ll be throng wi&#8217;
+t&#8217; harvest until t&#8217; middle o&#8217; September, but I&#8217;ll ax Mr. Herbert te
+recommend a good school. He&#8217;s a fair man, if he does lean ower much te
+t&#8217; Romans. Soa, fer t&#8217; next few days, run wild an&#8217; enjoy yersen. Happen
+ye&#8217;ll never hae as happy a time again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He patted the boy&#8217;s head, a rare sign of sentiment, and walked heavily
+out of the room. Martin saw him cross the road and clout a stable-boy&#8217;s
+ears because the yard was not swept clean. Then he called to his
+foreman, and the two went off to the low-lying meadows. Bolland had been
+turning over in his mind Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s remarks about draining; they
+were worthy of consideration and, perhaps, of experiment.</p>
+
+<p>Martin remained standing at the window. So he was to leave Elmsdale, go
+out into the wide world beyond the hills, mix with people who spoke and
+acted and moved <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>like the great ones of whom he had read in books. He
+was glad of it; oh, so glad! He would learn Greek and Latin, French and
+German. No longer would the queer-looking words trouble his eyes. Their
+meaning would be made clear to his understanding. He would soon acquire
+that nameless manner of which the squire, the vicar, Mrs. Saumarez, the
+young university students he met yesterday, possessed the secret. Elsie
+Herbert had it, and Ang&egrave;le was veneered with it, though in her case he
+knew quite well that the polish was only skin deep.</p>
+
+<p>It was what he had longed for with all his heart, yet now that the
+longing was to be appeased he had never felt more drawn to his parents;
+his only by adoption, it was true; but nevertheless father and mother by
+every tie known to him.</p>
+
+<p>By the way, whose child was he? No one had told him the literal manner
+in which he fell into the hands of the Bollands. Probably his real
+progenitors were dead long since. Were it not for the kindness of the
+farmer and his wife he might have been reared in that awful place, the
+&#8220;Union,&#8221; of which the poverty-stricken old people in the parish spoke
+with such dread. His own folk must have been poor. Those who were well
+off were fond of their children and loth to part from them. Well, he
+must be a real son to John and Martha Bolland. They should have reason
+to be proud of him. He would do nothing to disgrace their honored name.</p>
+
+<p>What was it his father said just now? When he studied the Bible of his
+own accord he might begin at the second chapter of the Second Book of
+Kings.</p>
+
+<p>It would please the old man to know that he gave the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>first moment of
+liberty to reading the Word which was held so precious. He opened the
+book at the page where the long, narrow strip of black silk marked the
+close of the last lesson. For the first time in his life the boy brought
+to bear on the task an unaided and sympathetic intelligence, and this is
+what he read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Now the days of David drew nigh that he should die; and he charged
+Solomon his son, saying,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I go the way of all the earth: be thou strong therefore, and shew
+thyself a man;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, to
+keep his statutes, and his commandments, and his judgments, and his
+testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, that thou mayest
+prosper in all that thou doest, and whithersoever thou turnest
+thyself:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That the Lord may continue his word which he spake concerning me,
+saying, If thy children take heed to their way, to walk before me
+in truth with all their heart and with all their soul, there shall
+not fail thee (said he) a man on the throne of Israel.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Not even a boy of fourteen could peruse these words unmoved, coming, as
+they did, after the memorable interview with Bolland. The black letters
+seemed to Martin to have fiery edges. They burnt themselves into his
+brain. In years to come they were fated to stand out unbidden before the
+eyes of his soul many a time and oft.</p>
+
+<p>He read on, but soon experienced the old puzzled feeling when he
+encountered the legacy of revenge which David bequeathed to his son
+after delivering that inspired <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>message. It reminded Martin of the
+farmer&#8217;s dignified and quite noble-hearted renunciation of his own
+dreams in order to follow what he thought was the better way, to be
+succeeded by his passage to the farm buildings across the road in order
+to box the ears of a lazy hind.</p>
+
+<p>Ere he closed the book, Martin went over the opening verses of the
+chapter. He promised himself to obey the injunctions therein contained,
+and it was with a host of unformed ideals churning in his brain that he
+descended the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland was gazing through the front door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mercy on us,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;if there isn&#8217;t Mrs. Saumarez coomin&#8217; doon t&#8217;
+road wi&#8217; t&#8217; nuss an&#8217; her little gell. An&#8217; don&#8217;t she look ill, poor
+thing! I&#8217;ll lay owt she hez eaten summat as disagreed wi&#8217; her, an&#8217; it
+gev her a bilious attack.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dod, ay,&#8221; said Mrs. Summersgill. &#8220;Some things are easy te swallow, but
+hard te digest. Ye could hev knocked me down wi&#8217; a feather when our
+Tommy bolted a glass ally last June twelve months.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h2>A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT</h2>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez did indeed look unwell. It was not that her pallor was
+marked or her gait feeble; obviously, she had applied cosmetics to her
+face, and her carriage was as imposing and self-possessed as ever. But
+her cheeks were swollen, her eyes bloodshot, her eyelids puffy and
+discolored. To a certain extent, too, she simulated the appearance of
+illness by wearing a veil of heliotrope tint, for it was part of her
+intent to-day to persuade Elmsdale that her complete seclusion from its
+society during the past forty-eight hours was due to a cause beyond her
+own control.</p>
+
+<p>In very truth this was so; she suffered from a malady far worse than any
+case of dyspepsia ever diagnosed by doctor. The unfortunate woman was an
+erratic dipsomaniac. She would exist for weeks without being troubled by
+a craving for drink; then, without the slightest warning or contributory
+error on her part, the demon of intoxication would possess her, and she
+yielded so utterly as to become a terror to her immediate associates.</p>
+
+<p>The Normandy nurse, Fran&ccedil;oise, exercised a firmer control over her than
+any other maid she had ever employed; hence, Fran&ccedil;oise&#8217;s services were
+retained long after other servants had left their mistress in disgust or
+fright. This distressing form of lunacy seemed also <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>to account for the
+roving life led by Mrs. Saumarez. She was proud, with the inbred
+arrogance of the Junker class from which she sprang. She would not
+endure the scorn, or, mayhap, the sympathy of her friends or dependants.
+Whenever she succumbed to her malady she usually left that place on the
+first day she was able to travel.</p>
+
+<p>But the Elmsdale attack, thanks to a limited supply of brandy and Eau de
+Cologne, was of brief duration. Fran&ccedil;oise knew exactly what to do. Every
+drop of alcoholic liquor&mdash;even the methylated spirit used for heating
+curling-irons&mdash;must be kept out of her mistress&#8217;s way during the ensuing
+twenty-four hours, and a deaf ear turned to frantic pleadings for the
+smallest quantity of any intoxicant. Threats, tears, pitiable requests,
+physical violence at times, must be disregarded callously; then would
+come reaction, followed by extreme exhaustion. Fran&ccedil;oise, despising her
+German mistress, nevertheless had the avaricious soul of a French
+peasant, and was amassing a small fortune by attending to her.</p>
+
+<p>The Misses Walker were so eager to retain their wealthy guest that they
+pretended absolute ignorance of her condition. They succeeded so
+well&mdash;their own dyspeptic symptoms were described with such ingenuous
+zeal&mdash;that the lady believed her secret was unknown to the household at
+The Elms.</p>
+
+<p>Oddly enough, certain faculties remained clear during these attacks. She
+took care that the chauffeur should not see her, and remembered also
+that young Martin Bolland had conversed with her while she was in the
+worst paroxysm of drink-craving. He was a quick boy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>observant beyond
+his age. What did he know? What wondrous tale had he spread through the
+village? A visit to his mother, a meeting with the gossip-loving women
+sure to be gathered beneath the farmer&#8217;s hospitable roof, would tell her
+all. She nerved herself for the ordeal, and approached slowly,
+fearfully, but outwardly dignified as ever.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s hearty greeting was reassuring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, my lady, but ye do look poorly, te be sure. I&#8217;ve bin worritin&#8217; te
+think ye&#8217;ve mebbe bin upset by all this racket i&#8217; t&#8217; place, when ye kem
+here for rest an&#8217; quiet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Bolland,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I cannot blame Elmsdale,
+except, perhaps, that your wonderful air braced up my appetite too
+greatly, and I had to pay the penalty for so many good things to eat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, I said so,&#8221; chimed in Mrs. Summersgill, in the accents of deep
+conviction. &#8220;Ower much grub an&#8217; nowt te do is bad for man or beast.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez laughed frankly at that.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In which category do you place me, Mrs. Summersgill?&#8221; she inquired.
+Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to where Martin stood. She was asking
+herself why the boy should gaze so fixedly at Ang&egrave;le.</p>
+
+<p>The stout party did not know what a category was. She thought it was
+some species of malady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;if I was you, I&#8217;d try rabbit meat for a few
+days. Eat plenty o&#8217; green stuff an&#8217; shun t&#8217; teapot. It&#8217;s slow p&#8217;ison.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stretched out a huge arm and poured out a cup <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>of tea. There was a
+general laugh at this forgetfulness. Mrs. Summersgill waved aside
+criticism.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, ay!&#8221; she went on, &#8220;it&#8217;s easier te preach than te practice, as t&#8217;
+man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv him
+te ho&#8217;d fast.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why did
+Martin avoid her?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin, my little friend,&#8221; she said, &#8220;why did you not come in and see
+me yesterday when you called at The Elms?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Walker did not wish it,&#8221; was the candid answer. &#8220;I suppose she
+thought I might be in the way when you were so ill.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There nivver was sike a bairn,&#8221; protested Martha Bolland. &#8220;He&#8217;s close
+as wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well,
+Mrs. Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady&#8217;s glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed his
+bandaged arms and hands.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the matter?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;Have you been scalding yourself?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin reddened. It was Ang&egrave;le who answered quickly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, ch&egrave;re maman. It
+was all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin saved
+Elsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic of
+Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s sudden ailment. She praised Martin&#8217;s bravery in her
+polished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat&#8217;s skin was
+brought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, that
+she actually asked Mrs. Bolland for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>some tea, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Summersgill&#8217;s earnest warnings.</p>
+
+<p>She made a hearty meal. Fran&ccedil;oise, too, joined in the feast, her homely
+Norman face perceptibly relaxing its grim vigilance. Her mistress was
+safe now, for a month, two months, perchance six. The desire for food
+was the ultimate sign of complete recovery&mdash;for the time. Had Mrs.
+Saumarez dared ask for a glass of beer from the majestic cask in the
+corner, Fran&ccedil;oise would have prevented her from taking it, using force
+if necessary. The sturdy peasant from Tinchebrai was of stronger moral
+fiber than the born aristocrat, and her mistress knew it.</p>
+
+<p>Martin stood somewhat shyly near the broad ingle. Ang&egrave;le approached. She
+caressed his lint-wrapped arms, saying sweetly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do they pain you a great deal?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not. They&#8217;re just a bit sore to the touch&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His manner was politely repellant. He wished she would not pat him with
+her nervous fingers. She pawed him like a playful cat. To-day she wore
+the beautiful muslin frock he had admired so greatly on the first day of
+the fair. The deep brim of her hat concealed her eyes from all but his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am quite jealous of Elsie,&#8221; she murmured. &#8220;It must be simply lovely
+to be rescued in that way. Poor little me! At home nursing mamma, while
+you were fighting for another girl!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The thing was not worth so much talk. I did nothing that any other boy
+would not have done.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My wud,&#8221; cried Mrs. Summersgill suddenly, &#8220;it&#8217;d <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>do your little lass a
+power o&#8217; good te git some o&#8217; that fat be&auml;can intiv her, Mrs. Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>From the smoke-blackened rafters over the spacious fireplace were
+hanging a dozen sides of home-cured bacon, huge toothsome slabs
+suggesting mounds of luscious rashers. The sturdy boy beneath gave proof
+that there was good nutriment in such ample store, but the girl was so
+fragile, so fairy-like in her gossamer wings, that she might have been
+reared on the scent of flowers.</p>
+
+<p>The attention thus drawn to the two caused Martin to flush again, but
+Ang&egrave;le wheeled round.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do all pigs grow fat when they are old?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay, lass, that they don&#8217;t. We feed &#8217;em te mak&#8217; &#8217;em fat while they&#8217;re
+young, but some pigs are skinny &#8217;uns always.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez smiled indulgently at this passage between two such
+sharp-tongued combatants. Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s eyes blazed. Fran&ccedil;oise, eating
+steadily, wondered what had been said to make the women laugh, the child
+angry.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le caught the astonished expression on the nurse&#8217;s face. Quickly her
+mood changed. Fran&ccedil;oise sat near. She bent over and whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fran&ccedil;oise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs.
+Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgill
+described &#8220;an old sow who talks like one of us!&#8221; Ang&egrave;le cried airily to
+Martin:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take me to the stables. I haven&#8217;t seen the pony and the dogs for days
+and days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was glad to escape. He dreaded Mrs. Summersgill&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>mordant humor if a
+war of wits broke out between her and the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;ll whistle for Curly and Jim at the back and
+join you at the gate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Ang&egrave;le skipped lightly toward her hostess.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please, Mrs. Bolland,&#8221; she said coaxingly, &#8220;may I not go through the
+back kitchen, too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sure-ly, honey,&#8221; cried Martha. &#8220;One way&#8217;s as good as another. Martin,
+tak t&#8217; young leddy anywheres she wants te go, an&#8217; dinnat be so gawky.
+She won&#8217;t bite ye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The two passed into the farmyard.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see, Martin,&#8221; explained Ang&egrave;le coolly, &#8220;I must find out how Jim
+Bates and Tommy Beadlam always get hold of you without other people
+being the wiser. Show me the lane and the paddock they tell me of.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why it should interest you,&#8221; was the ungracious reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You dear boy! Are you angry yet because I wouldn&#8217;t let you kiss me the
+other night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was compelled to laugh at the outrageous untruth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid I spoke very crossly then,&#8221; he admitted, thinking it best to
+avoid argument.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes. I wept for hours. My poor little eyes were sore yesterday.
+Look and see if they are red now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were standing behind the woodpile. She thrust her face temptingly
+near. Her beautiful eyes, clear and limpid in their dark depths, blinked
+saucily. Her parted lips revealed two rows of white, even teeth, and her
+sweet breath mingled with the fragrance that always clung to her
+garments. He experienced a new timidity <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>now; he was afraid of her in
+this mood, though secretly flattered by the homage she was paying.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; she whispered, &#8220;I like you better than any of the other boys,
+oh, a great deal better, even though Evelyn Atkinson does say you are a
+milksop.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>What a hateful word to apply to one whose flesh was scarred by the claws
+of an infuriated wildcat conquered in fair fight. Milksop, indeed! He
+knew Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s ways well enough by this time to give convincing proof
+that he was no milksop.</p>
+
+<p>He placed his bandaged right arm around her waist, boldly drew her
+toward him, and kissed her three times&mdash;on the lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is more than I ever did to Evelyn Atkinson,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>She returned the embrace with ardor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Martin, I do love you,&#8221; she sighed. &#8220;And you fought for me as well
+as for Elsie, didn&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>If the thought were grateful to Ang&egrave;le, it stung the boy&#8217;s conscience.
+Under what different circumstances had he defended the two girls! He
+grew scarlet with confusion and sought to unclasp those twining arms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Someone may see us,&#8221; he protested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care,&#8221; she cooed. &#8220;Tommy Beadlam is watching us now over the
+hedge. Tell him to go away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He wrenched himself free. True enough, &#8220;White Head&#8221; was gazing at them,
+eyes and mouth wide open.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello, Tommy!&#8221; shouted Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By gum!&#8221; gasped Tommy.</p>
+
+<p>But the spell was broken, and the three joined company to make a tour of
+the farm. Ang&egrave;le was quite unembarrassed and promptly rescued both boys
+from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>sheepishness. She knew that the observant &#8220;White Head&#8221; would
+harrow Evelyn Atkinson&#8217;s soul with a full description of the tender
+episode behind the big pile of wood. This pleased her more than Martin&#8217;s
+gruff &#8220;spooning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Inside the farmhouse conversation progressed vigorously. Mrs. Saumarez
+joined in the talk with zest. The quaint gossip of the women interested
+her. She learnt, seemingly with surprise, that these, her humble
+sisters, were swayed by emotions near akin to her own. Some quiet
+chronicle of a mother&#8217;s loss by the death of a soldier son in far-off
+South Africa touched a dormant chord in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My husband was killed in that foolish war,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I never think of
+it without a shudder.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I reckon he&#8217;d be an officer, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; said Martha.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; he was shot while leading his regiment in a cavalry charge at the
+Modder River.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a dreadful thing, is war,&#8221; observed the bereaved mother. &#8220;My lad
+wouldn&#8217;t hurt a fly, yet his capt&#8217;in wrote such a nice letter, sayin&#8217; as
+how Willie had killed four Boers afore he was struck down. T&#8217; capt&#8217;in
+meant it kindly, no doot, but it gev me small consolation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is the wives and mothers who suffer most. Men like the army. I
+suppose if my child were a boy he would enter the service.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank the Lord, Martin won&#8217;t be a sojer!&#8221; cried Martha fervently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re going to make him a minister, are you not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noa,&#8221; said John Bolland&#8217;s deep voice from the door. &#8220;He&#8217;s goin&#8217; to
+college. I&#8217;ve settled it to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>None present appreciated the force of this statement <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>like Martha, and
+she resented such a momentous decision being arrived at without her
+knowledge. Her head bent, and twitching fingers sought the ends of her
+apron. John strode ponderously forward and placed a huge hand on her
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dinnat be vexed, Martha,&#8221; he said gently. &#8220;I hadn&#8217;t a chance te speak
+wi&#8217; ye sen Dr. MacGregor an&#8217; me had a bit crack about t&#8217; lad. I didn&#8217;t
+need te coom te you for counsel. Who knew better&#8217;n me that yer heart was
+set on Martin bein&#8217; browt up a gentleman?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This recognition of motherly rights somewhat mollified his wife.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but I&#8217;m main pleased, John,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Yet I&#8217;ll be sorry to lose
+him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye&#8217;ll wear yer knuckles te t&#8217; bone makkin&#8217; him fine shirts an&#8217; fallals,
+all t&#8217; same,&#8221; laughed her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez had seen the glint of tears in Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s eyes, and
+came to the rescue with a request for a second cup of tea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;England is fortunate in being an island,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Now, in my native
+land every man has to serve in the army. It cannot be avoided, you know.
+Germany has France on the one hand and Russia on the other, each ready
+to spring if she relaxes her vigilance for a moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that so?&#8221; inquired Bolland. &#8220;I wunner why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is a wide political question,&#8221; she replied. &#8220;To give one reason
+out of many, look at our&mdash;at Germany&#8217;s thousand miles of open frontier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Right enough, ma&#8217;am. But why is Jarmany buildin&#8217; such a big fleet?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette. She had not expected so apt a
+retort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is gathering colonies, and already owns a huge mercantile marine.
+Surely, these interests call for adequate protection?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nobody&#8217;s threatenin&#8217; &#8217;em, so far as I can see,&#8221; persisted Bolland.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at present. But a wise government looks ahead of the hour.
+Germany&#8217;s aim is to educate the world by her culture. She is doing it
+already, as any of your own well-informed leading men will tell you; but
+the time may come when, in her zeal for advancement, she may tread on
+somebody&#8217;s toes, so she must be prepared, both on land and sea.
+Fortunately, this is the one country she will never attack.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m none so sure,&#8221; he said slowly. &#8220;I hevn&#8217;t much time fer readin&#8217;, but
+I did happen t&#8217; other day on a speech by Lord Roberts which med me scrat
+me head. Beg pardon, ma&#8217;am. I mean it med me think.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lord Roberts!&#8221; began the lady scornfully. Then she sipped her tea, and
+the pause gave time to collect her wits. &#8220;You must remember that he is a
+professional soldier, and his views are tainted by militarism.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t that the trouble i&#8217; Jarmany?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez drank more tea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Circumstances alter cases,&#8221; she said. &#8220;The broad fact remains that
+Germany harbors no evil designs against Great Britain. She believes the
+world holds plenty of room for both powers. And, when all is said and
+done, why should the two nations quarrel? They are kith and kin. They
+look at life from the same viewpoints. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>Even their languages are alike.
+Hardly a word in your quaint Yorkshire dialect puzzles me now, because I
+recognize its source in the older German and in the current speech of
+our Baltic provinces. Germany and England should be friends, not
+enemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worrying
+about German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate her
+wonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who uses
+fabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how to
+make aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-time
+theories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, can
+surely bear out that contention?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Steady on, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; said Bolland, leaning forward, with hands on knees,
+and with eyes fixed on the speaker in an almost disconcerting intensity.
+&#8220;T&#8217; Jarmans hev med all t&#8217; wo&#8217;ld <i>buy</i> their dyes, but there hezn&#8217;t been
+much <i>teachin&#8217;</i>, as I&#8217;ve heerd tell of. As for farmin&#8217;, they coom here
+year after year an&#8217; snap up our best stock i&#8217; horses an&#8217; cattle te
+improve their own breeds. <i>I</i> can&#8217;t grummel at that. They compete wi&#8217; t&#8217;
+Argentine an&#8217; t&#8217; United States, an&#8217; up go my prices. Still, I do think
+our government is te blame for lettin&#8217; our finest stallions an&#8217; brood
+mares leave t&#8217; country. They differ frae cattle. They&#8217;re bowt for use i&#8217;
+t&#8217; army, an&#8217; we&#8217;re bein&#8217; drained dhry. That&#8217;s bad for us. An&#8217; why are
+they doin&#8217; it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez pushed away her cup and saucer. She laughed nervously,
+with the air of one who had gone a little further than was intended.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, there!&#8221; she cried pleasantly. &#8220;I am only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>trying to show you
+Germany&#8217;s open aims, but some Englishmen persist in attributing a
+hostile motive to her every act. You see, I know Germany, and few people
+here trouble either to learn the language or visit the country.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Likely not, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; was the ironical answer. &#8220;Mr. Pickerin&#8217; went te
+some ple&auml;ce&mdash;Bremen, I think they call it&mdash;two year sen this July, te
+see a man who&#8217;d buy every Cleveland bay he could offer. George had just
+been med an officer i&#8217; t&#8217; Territorials&mdash;which meant a week&#8217;s swankin&#8217;
+aboot i&#8217; uniform at a camp, an&#8217; givin&#8217; his men free beer an&#8217; pork pies
+te attend a few drills&mdash;an&#8217; he was fule enough te carry a valise wi&#8217; his
+rank an&#8217; regiment painted on it. Why, they watched him like a cat
+watchin&#8217; a mouse. He couldn&#8217;t eat a bite or tak a pint o&#8217; their light
+beer that a &#8217;tec wasn&#8217;t sittin&#8217; at t&#8217; next table. They fairly chased him
+away. Even his friend, the hoss-buyer, got skeered at last, an&#8217; advised
+him te quit te avoid arrest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That must have been a wholly exceptional case,&#8221; said Mrs. Saumarez,
+speaking in a tone of utter indifference. &#8220;Had <i>I</i> known him, for
+instance, and given him a letter of introduction, he would have been
+welcomed, not suspected. By the way, how is he? I hear&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The conversation was steered into a safer channel. They were discussing
+the wounded man&#8217;s condition when Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s car passed. The door
+stood open, so they all noted that the vehicle was white with dust, but
+the chauffeur was the sole occupant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Her ladyship&#8221; was pleased to explain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day,&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>she said.
+&#8220;You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself,
+as the phrase goes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Expensive work, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; smiled John, rising. &#8220;An&#8217; now, good folk,&#8221; he
+continued, &#8220;whe&auml;&#8217;s coomin&#8217; te t&#8217; love feast?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a general movement. The assembly dear to old-time Methodism
+appealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised her
+lorgnette once more.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is a love feast?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a gathering o&#8217; members o&#8217; our communion, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; was Bolland&#8217;s
+ready answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I come, too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even John
+Bolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the lady
+seemed to be in earnest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I really mean it,&#8221; she went on. &#8220;I have a spare hour, and, as I don&#8217;t
+care for dinner to-night, I&#8217;ll be most pleased to attend&mdash;that is, if I
+may?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenly
+tinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps saw
+more than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Happen it&#8217;ll be an hour well spent, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;Admission
+is by membership ticket, but t&#8217; minister gev&#8217; me a few &#8216;permits&#8217; for
+outside friends, an&#8217; I&#8217;ll fill yan in for ye wi&#8217; pleasure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, &#8220;Admit
+Brother&#8221; or &#8220;Sister &mdash;&mdash;,&#8221; and signed, &#8220;Eli Todd.&#8221; With a stubby pencil
+he scrawled &#8220;Saumarez&#8221; in a blank space. The lady thanked him, and gave
+some instructions in French to Fran&ccedil;oise. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Five minutes later &#8220;Sister
+Saumarez,&#8221; escorted by &#8220;Brother&#8221; and &#8220;Sister&#8221; Bolland, entered the
+village meetinghouse.</p>
+
+<p>The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mild
+sensation among the small congregation already collected. They were
+mostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by their
+absence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field close
+to the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be fought
+for the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions the
+Gospel was not a &#8220;draw.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Gradually the spacious but bare room&mdash;so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarez
+knew of churches&mdash;became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimed
+the half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboring
+classroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but his
+bell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer.
+He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from the
+people. The first time John Bolland cried &#8220;Amen!&#8221; Mrs. Saumarez started.
+She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge.
+But the next period produced a hearty &#8220;Hallelujah!&#8221; and others joined in
+with &#8220;Glory be!&#8221; &#8220;Thy will, O Lord!&#8221; and kindred ejaculations.</p>
+
+<p>One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord&#8217;s
+Prayer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give us this day our daily bread,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And no baccy, Lord!&#8221; growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>the petition, and
+a broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learned
+subsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandoned
+his pipe, together with gun and beer jug, &#8220;when he found Christ.&#8221; Eli
+Todd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on the
+point.</p>
+
+<p>All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:</p>
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox3"><p><i>O what a joyful meeting there,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In robes of white arrayed;</i></span><br />
+<i>Palms in our hands we all shall bear</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And crowns upon our heads.</i></span></p></div>
+
+<p>The joyous energy of his declamation, the no less eager volume of sound
+that arose from the congregation, atoned for any deficiencies of meter
+or rhyme. The village worshipers lost themselves in the influence of the
+moment. With spiritual vision they saw the last great meeting, and
+thundered vociferously the closing lines of the chorus:</p>
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox3"><p><i>And then we shall in Heaven reign,<br />
+And never, never part again.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Grace before meat&#8221; was sung, and, to Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s great
+discomfiture, bread and water were passed round. Each one partook save
+herself; Bolland, with real tact, missed her in handing the tray and
+pitcher to the other occupants of their pew.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Grace after meat&#8221; followed, and forthwith Eli Todd began to deliver an
+address. His discourse was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>simple and well reasoned, dealing wholly
+with the sustenance derived from God&#8217;s saving spirit. It may be that the
+unexpected presence of a stranger like Mrs. Saumarez exercised a
+slightly unnerving influence, as he spoke more seriously and with less
+dramatic intensity than was his wont.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he rebelled against this sensation of restraint. Changing, with
+the skill of a born revivalist, from the rounded periods of ordinary
+English to the homely vernacular of the district, he thundered out:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s noa cittidell o&#8217; sin &#8217;at God cannot destroy. Ay, friends, t&#8217;
+sword o&#8217; t&#8217; Spirit s&#8217;all oppen a way through walls o&#8217; brass an&#8217; iron
+yats (gates). We&auml;n&#8217;t ye jine His conquerin&#8217; army? He&#8217;s willin&#8217; te list
+ye noo. There&#8217;s none o&#8217; yer short service whilst ye de&auml; t&#8217; Lord&#8217;s
+work&mdash;it&#8217;s for ivver an&#8217; ivver, an&#8217; yer pension is life ivverlastin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And so the curious service went to its end, which came not until various
+members of the congregation made public confession of faith, personal
+statements which often consisted of question and answer between pastor
+and penitent. It was a strange interrogatory. Eli Todd had a ready quip,
+a quick appreciation, an emphatic or amusing disclaimer, for each and
+every avowal of broad-minded Christianity or intolerant views. For these
+dalesfolk did not all think alike. Some were inclined to damn others who
+did not see through the myopic lenses of their own spiritual spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>The preacher would have none of this exclusive righteousness. As he
+said, in his own strenuous way:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Lord is ivverywhere. He isn&#8217;t a prisoner i&#8217; this little room
+te-night. He&#8217;s yonder i&#8217; t&#8217; street amang <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>t&#8217; organs an&#8217; shows. He&#8217;s
+yonder i&#8217; t&#8217; tent where foolish youths an&#8217; maidens cannot see Him. If ye
+seek Him ye&#8217;ll find Him, ay, in the abodes of sin and the palaces of
+wantonness. No door can be closed to His saving mercy, no heart too
+hardened to resist His love.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, his glance fell on Mrs. Saumarez as he uttered the
+concluding words, and his voice unconsciously tuned itself to suit her
+understanding. She dropped her eyes, and the observant minister thought
+that she was reading a personal meaning into his address.</p>
+
+<p>At once he began the &#8220;Doxology,&#8221; which was sung with great fervor, and
+the love feast broke up after a brief prayer. Mr. Todd overtook Mrs.
+Saumarez on the green. Bolland and his wife were escorting her to The
+Elms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope you liked the service, madam,&#8221; he said politely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought it most interesting,&#8221; she answered slowly. &#8220;I think I shall
+come again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He took off his hat and assured her that she would always be welcome at
+Bethel Chapel. He, worthy man, no less than the Bollands, could little
+guess this woman&#8217;s motives in thus currying favor with the villagers.
+Had an angel from Heaven laid bare her intent, they would scarce have
+believed, or, if conviction came, they would only have deemed her mad.</p>
+
+<p>A breathless Fran&ccedil;oise met her mistress at the gate. Ang&egrave;le was not to
+be found anywhere, and it was so late, nearly eight o&#8217;clock. Nor was
+Martin to be seen. Madam would remember, they had gone off together.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez explained what all the gesticulation was about.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;If she&#8217;s wi&#8217; Martin, she&#8217;ll be all right,&#8221; said Bolland. &#8220;He&#8217;ll bring
+her yam afore ye git yer things off, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was right. Ang&egrave;le had discovered that Elsie Herbert would be at the
+church bazaar that evening, and planned the ramble with Martin so that
+the vicar&#8217;s daughter might meet them together on the high road.</p>
+
+<p>It delighted her to see the only rival she feared flash a quick side
+glance as she bowed smilingly and passed on, for Mr. Herbert did not
+wholly approve of Ang&egrave;le, so Elsie thought it best not to stop for a
+chat. Martin, too, was annoyed as he doffed his cap. He thought Elsie
+would surely ask how he was. Moreover, those hot kisses were burning yet
+on his lips; the memory made him profoundly uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>That was all. When he left Ang&egrave;le at the gate she did not suggest a
+rendezvous at a later hour. Not only would it be useless, but she had
+seen Frank Beckett-Smythe earlier in the day, and he said there was a
+dinner party at the Hall.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he might be able to slip away unnoticed about nine.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h2>A DYING DEPOSITION</h2>
+
+<p>Before Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down to dinner that evening a very
+unpleasant duty had been thrust on him.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent of police drove over from Nottonby to show him the
+county analyst&#8217;s report. Divested of technicalities, this document
+proved that George Pickering&#8217;s dangerous condition arose from blood
+poisoning caused by a stab from a contaminated knife. It was admitted
+that a wound inflicted by a rusty pitchfork might have had equally
+serious results, but the analysis of matter obtained from both
+instruments proved conclusively that the knife alone was impregnated
+with the putrid germs found in the blood corpuscles, which also
+contained an undue proportion of alcohol.</p>
+
+<p>Moreover, Dr. MacGregor&#8217;s statement on the one vital point was
+unanswerable. Pickering was suffering from an incised wound which could
+not have been inflicted by the rounded prongs of a fork. The doctor was
+equally emphatic in his belief that the injured man would succumb
+speedily.</p>
+
+<p>In the face of these documents it was necessary that George Pickering&#8217;s
+depositions should be taken by a magistrate. Most unwillingly, Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe accompanied the superintendent to the &#8220;Black Lion Hotel&#8221;
+for the purpose.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>They entered the sick room about the time that Mrs. Saumarez was
+crossing the green on her way to the Methodist Chapel. A glance at
+Pickering&#8217;s face showed that the doctor had not exaggerated the gravity
+of the affair. He was deathly pale, save for a number of vivid red spots
+on his skin. His eyes shone with fever. Were not his malady identified,
+the unskilled observer might conclude that he was suffering from a
+severe attack of German measles.</p>
+
+<p>Betsy was there, and the prim nurse. The contrast between the two women
+was almost as startling as the change for the worse in Pickering&#8217;s
+appearance. The nurse, strictly professional in deportment, paid heed to
+naught save the rules of treatment. The word &#8220;hospital,&#8221; &#8220;certificate,&#8221;
+&#8220;method,&#8221; shrieked silently from her flowing coif and list slippers,
+from the clinical thermometer on the table, and the temperature chart on
+the mantelpiece.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Betsy was sitting by the bedside, holding her lover&#8217;s hand. She was
+smiling wistfully, striving to chatter in cheerful strain, yet all the
+time she wanted to wail her despair, to petition on her knees that her
+crime might be avenged on herself, not on its victim.</p>
+
+<p>When the magistrate stepped gingerly forward, Pickering turned
+querulously to see who the visitor was, for the nurse had nodded
+permission to enter when the two men looked through the half-open door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s you, squire,&#8221; he said in a low voice. &#8220;I thought it might be
+MacGregor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How are you feeling now, George?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pretty sick. I suppose you&#8217;ve heard the verdict?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;The doctor says you are in a bad state.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Booked, squire, booked! And no return ticket. I don&#8217;t care. I&#8217;ve made
+all arrangements&mdash;that is, I&#8217;ll have a free mind this time
+to-morrow&mdash;and then, well, I&#8217;ll face the music.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He caught sight of the police officer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello, Jonas! You there? Come for my last dying depositions, eh? All
+right. Fire away! Betsy, my lass, leave us for a bit. The nurse can
+stay. The more witnesses the merrier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Betsy arose. There was no fear in her eyes now&mdash;only dumb agony. She
+walked steadily from the room. While Mr. Beckett-Smythe was thanking
+Providence under his breath that a most distressing task was thus being
+made easy for him, they all heard a dreadful sob from the exterior
+landing, followed by a heavy thud. The nurse hurried out. Betsy had
+fainted.</p>
+
+<p>With a painful effort Pickering raised himself on one arm. His forced
+gayety gave place to loud-voiced violence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Confound you all!&#8221; he roared. &#8220;Why come here to frighten the poor
+girl&#8217;s life out of her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He cursed both the magistrate and Superintendent Jonas by name; were he
+able to rise he would break their necks down the stairs. The policeman
+crept out on tip-toe; Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down. Pickering stormed
+away until the nurse returned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Thwaites is better,&#8221; she said. &#8220;She was overcome by the long
+strain, but she is with her sister now, and quite recovered.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Betsy was crying her heart out in Kitty&#8217;s arms: fortunately, the sounds
+of her grief were shut out from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>their ears. Jonas came back and closed
+the door. The doomed man sank to the pillow and growled sullenly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, get on with your business, and be quick over it. I&#8217;ll not have
+Betsy worried again while I have breath left to protest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am, indeed, very sorry to disturb you, George,&#8221; said the magistrate
+quietly. &#8220;It is a thankless office for an old friend. Try and calm
+yourself. I do not ask your forbearance toward myself and Mr. Jonas, but
+there are tremendous issues at stake. For your own sake you must help us
+to face this ordeal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, go ahead, squire. My bark is worse than my bite&mdash;not that I have
+much of either in me now. If I spoke roughly, forgive me. I couldn&#8217;t
+bear to hear yon lass suffering.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thinking it best to avoid further delay, Mr. Beckett-Smythe nodded to
+the police officer, who drew forward a small table, which, with writing
+materials, he placed before the magistrate.</p>
+
+<p>A foolscap sheet bore already some written words. The magistrate bent
+over it, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen, George. I have written here: &#8216;I, George Pickering, being of
+sound mind, but believing myself to be in danger of death, solemnly take
+oath and depose as follows&#8217;: Now, I want you to tell me, in your own
+words, what took place last Monday night. You are going to the awful
+presence of your Creator. You must tell the truth, fully and fearlessly,
+not striving to determine the course of justice by your own judgment,
+but leaving matters wholly in the hands of God. You are conscious of
+what you are doing, fully sensible that you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>will soon be called on to
+meet One who knoweth all things. I hope, I venture to pray, that you
+will give testimony in all sincerity and righteousness.... I am ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering heard this solemn injunction with due gravity. His features
+were composed, his eyes fixed on the distant landscape through the open
+window. No disturbing noise reached him save the lowing of cattle and
+the far-off rattle of a reaping machine, for the police had ordered the
+removal of the shooting gallery and roundabout to the other end of the
+green.</p>
+
+<p>He remained silent so long that the two men glanced at him anxiously,
+but were reassured by the belief that he was only collecting his
+thoughts. Indeed, it was not so. He was striving to bridge that dark
+chasm on whose perilous verge he tottered&mdash;striving to frame an excuse
+that would not be uttered by his mortal lips.</p>
+
+<p>At last he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On Monday night, about five minutes past ten, I met Kitty Thwaites, by
+appointment, at the wicket gate which opens into the garden from the
+bowling green of the &#8216;Black Lion Hotel,&#8217; Elmsdale. We walked down the
+garden together. We were talking and laughing about the antics of a
+groom in this hotel, a fellow named Fred&mdash;I do not know his surname&mdash;who
+was jealous of me because I was in the habit of chaffing Kitty and
+placing my arm around her waist if I encountered her on the stairs. This
+man Fred, I believe, endeavored to pay attentions to Kitty, which she
+always refused to encourage. Kitty and I stopped at the foot of the
+garden beneath a pear tree which stands in the boundary fence of the
+paddock.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I had my arm around her neck, but was only playing the fool, which
+Kitty knew as well as I. There was a bright moon, and, although almost
+invisible ourselves in the shadow of the hedge and tree, we could see
+clearly into both paddock and garden. My back was toward the hotel.
+Suddenly, we heard someone running down the gravel path. I turned and
+saw that it was Betsy Thwaites, Kitty&#8217;s sister, a girl whom I believed
+to be then in a situation at Hereford. I had promised to marry Betsy,
+and was naturally vexed at being caught in an apparently compromising
+attitude with her sister. Betsy had a knife in her hand. I could see it
+glittering in the moonlight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused. He was corpse-like in color. The red spots on his face were
+darker than before by contrast with the wan cheeks. He motioned to the
+nurse, who gave him a glass of barley water. He emptied it at a gulp.
+Catching Mr. Beckett-Smythe&#8217;s mournful glance, he smiled with ghastly
+pleasantry.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It sounds like a coroner&#8217;s inquest, doesn&#8217;t it?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Then, while his eyes roved incessantly from the face of the policeman to
+that of the magistrate, he continued:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I imagined that Betsy meant to do her sister some harm, so sprang
+forward to meet her. Then I saw that she was minded to attack me, for
+she screamed out: &#8216;You have ruined my life. I&#8217;ll take care you do not
+ruin Kitty&#8217;s.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words, of course, were spoken very slowly. They alternated with the
+steady scratching of the pen. Others in the room were pallid now. Even
+the rigid nurse yielded to the excitement of the moment. Her linen
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>bands fluttered and her bosom rose and fell with the restraint she
+imposed on her breathing.</p>
+
+<p>George Pickering suddenly became the most composed person present. His
+hearers were face to face with a tragedy. After all, did he mean to tell
+the truth? Ah, it was well that his affianced wife was weeping in an
+adjoining room, that her soul was not pierced by the calm recital which
+would condemn her to prison, perchance to the scaffold.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Her cry warned me,&#8221; he went on. &#8220;I knew she could not hurt me. I was a
+strong and active man, she a weak, excited woman. She was very near,
+advancing down the path which runs close to the dividing hedge of the
+garden and the stackyard. To draw her away from Kitty, I ran toward this
+hedge and jumped over. It was dark there. I missed my footing and
+stumbled. I felt something run into my left breast. It was the prong of
+a pitchfork.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The pen ceased. A low gasp of relief came from the nurse, for she was a
+woman. The superintendent looked gravely at the floor. But the
+magistrate faltered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;George&mdash;remember&mdash;you are a dying man!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pickering again lifted his body. His face was convulsed with a spasm of
+pain, but the strong voice cried fearlessly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Write what I have said. I&#8217;ll swear it with my last breath. I&#8217;ll tell
+the same story to either God or devil. Write, I say, or shall I finish
+it with my own hand?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They thought that by some superhuman effort he would rise forthwith to
+reach the table. The nurse, the policeman, leaped to restrain him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Beckett-Smythe was greatly agitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I cannot persuade you&mdash;&#8221; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Persuade me to do what? To bolster up a lying charge against the woman
+I am going to marry? By the Lord, do you think I&#8217;m mad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They released him. The set intensity of his face was terrible. It is
+hard to say what awful power could have changed George Pickering&#8217;s
+purpose in that supreme moment. Yet he clenched his hands in the
+bedclothes, as if he would choke some mocking fiend that grinned at him,
+and his voice was hoarse as he murmured:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, man, if you have a heart, end your inquisition, or I&#8217;ll die too
+soon!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again the pen resumed its monotonous scrape. It paused at last. The
+fateful words were on record.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And then what happened?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate&#8217;s question was judicially cold. He held strong
+convictions regarding the deeper mysteries of life; his faculties were
+benumbed by this utter defiance of all that he believed most firmly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I said something, swore very likely, and staggered into the moonlight,
+at the same time tearing the fork from my breast. Betsy saw what I was
+doing, and screamed. I managed to get over the hedge again, and she ran
+away in mortal fright, for I had pulled open my waistcoat, and she could
+see the blood on my shirt. She fell as she ran, and cut herself with the
+knife. By that time Kitty had reached the hotel, screaming wildly that
+Betsy was trying to murder me. That is all. Betsy never touched me. The
+wound I am suffering from was inflicted by myself, accidentally. It was
+not caused by the knife, as is shown by the fact that I am <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>dying of
+blood poisoning, while Betsy&#8217;s cuts are healing and have left her
+unharmed otherwise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His hearers were greatly perturbed, but they knew that further protest
+would be unavailing. And there was an even greater shock in store.</p>
+
+<p>Pickering turned in the bed and poised his pain-racked frame so as to
+reach the manuscript placed before him for signature. With unwavering
+hand he added the words:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So help me God!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he wrote his name.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, sign that, all of you, as witnesses,&#8221; he commanded, and they did
+not gainsay him. It was useless. Why prolong his torture and their own?</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beckett-Smythe handed the sheets of paper to Jonas. He seemed
+inclined to leave the room without another spoken word, but humane
+impulse was stronger than dogma; he held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-by, George,&#8221; he said brokenly. &#8220;&#8216;Judge not,&#8217; it is written. Let my
+farewell be a prayer that you may die peacefully and painlessly, if,
+indeed, God in His mercy does not grant your recovery.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-by, squire. You&#8217;ve got two sons. Find &#8217;em plenty of work; they&#8217;ll
+have less time for mischief. Damn it all, hark to that reaper! It&#8217;ll
+soon be time to rouse the cubs. I&#8217;ll miss the next hunt breakfast, eh?
+Well, good luck to you all! I&#8217;ve had my last gallop. Good-by, Jonas! Do
+you remember the fight we had that morning with the poachers? Look here!
+When you meet Rabbit Jack, tell him to go to Stockwell for a sovereign
+and swim in beer for a week. Nurse, where&#8217;s Betsy? I want her before it
+is dark.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>And in a few minutes Betsy, the forlorn, was bending over him and
+whispering:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll do it for your sake, George! But, oh, it will be hard to face
+everybody with a lie in my mouth. The hand that struck you should
+wither. Indeed, indeed, I shall suffer worse than death. If the Lord
+took pity on me, He would let me be the first to go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stroked her hair gently, and there were tears in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never cry about spilt milk, dearie. At best, or worst, the whole thing
+was an accident. Come, now, no more weeping. Sit down there and write
+what I tell you. I can remember every word, and Kitty and you must just
+fit in your stories to suit mine. Stockwell will defend you. He&#8217;s a
+smart chap, and you need have no fear. Bless your heart, you&#8217;ll be twice
+married before you know where you are!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She obeyed him. With careful accuracy he repeated the deposition. He
+rehearsed the evidence she would give. When the nurse came in, he bade
+her angrily to leave them alone, but recalled her in the next breath. He
+wanted Kitty. She, too, must be coached. At his command she had placed
+the fork where it was found. But she must learn her story with
+parrot-like accuracy. There must be no contradiction in the sisters&#8217;
+evidence.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was eating his supper when Mrs. Bolland, bustling about the
+kitchen, made a discovery.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must be fair wool-gatherin&#8217;,&#8221; she said crossly. &#8220;Here&#8217;s a little pile
+o&#8217; handkerchiefs browt by Dr. MacGregor, an&#8217; I clean forgot all about
+&#8217;em. Martin, it&#8217;s none ower le&auml;t, an&#8217; ye can bide i&#8217; bed i&#8217; t&#8217; mornin&#8217;.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>Just run along te t&#8217; vicarage wi&#8217; these, there&#8217;s a good lad. They&#8217;ll
+mebbe be wantin&#8217; &#8217;em.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hailed the errand not the less joyfully that it led him through the
+fair. But he did not loiter. Perhaps he gazed with longing eyes at its
+vanishing glories, for some of the showmen were packing up in disgust,
+but he reached the vicarage quickly. It lay nearer the farm than The
+Elms, and, like that pretentious mansion, was shrouded from the highroad
+by leafy trees and clusters of laurels.</p>
+
+<p>A broad drive led to the front door. The night was drawing in rapidly,
+and the moon would not rise until eleven o&#8217;clock. In the curving avenue
+it was pitch-dark, but a cheerful light shone from the drawing-room, and
+through an open French window he could see Elsie bending over a book.</p>
+
+<p>She was not deeply interested, judging by the listless manner in which
+she turned the leaves. She was leaning with her elbows on the table,
+resting one knee on a chair, and the attitude revealed a foot and ankle
+quite as gracefully proportioned as Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s elegant limbs, though Elsie
+was more robust.</p>
+
+<p>Hearing the boy&#8217;s firm tread on the graveled approach, she straightened
+herself and ran to the window.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is there?&#8221; she said. Martin stepped into the light.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Miss Herbert. Mother sent me with these.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He held out the parcel of linen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; she asked, extending a hesitating hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is perfectly harmless, if you stroke it gently.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>She could see the mischief dancing in his eyes, and grabbed the package.
+Then she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Our handkerchiefs! It was very kind of Mrs. Bolland&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think Dr. MacGregor had them washed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This puzzled her, but a more personal topic was present in her mind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I saw you a little while ago,&#8221; she said. &#8220;You were engaged, or I would
+have asked you if you were recovering all right. Your hands and arms are
+yet bound up, I see. Do they hurt you much?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Not a bit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He felt absurdly tongue-tied, but bravely continued:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was told to take Miss Saumarez home. That is how you happened to meet
+us together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed,&#8221; she said, drawing back a little. Her tone conveyed that any
+explanation of Miss Saumarez&#8217;s companionship was unnecessary. No other
+attitude could have set Martin&#8217;s wits at work more effectually. He, too,
+retreated a pace.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m very sorry if I disturbed you,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I was going to ring for
+one of the servants.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She tittered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I am glad you didn&#8217;t. They are both out, and auntie would have
+wondered who our late visitor was. She has just gone to bed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But isn&#8217;t your&mdash;isn&#8217;t Mr. Herbert at home?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; he is at the bazaar. He asked me to sit up until one of the maids
+returns.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again she approached the window. One foot rested on the threshold.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been reading &#8216;Rokeby,&#8217;&#8221; ventured Martin.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Do you like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It must be very interesting when you know the place. Just imagine how
+nice it would be if Sir Walter had seen Elmsdale and written about the
+moor, and the river, and the ghylls.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think he would have found a wildcat in Thor ghyll?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope not. It might have spoiled the verse; and Thor ghyll is
+beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll never forget that cat. I can see it yet. How its eyes blazed when
+it sprang at me! Oh, I don&#8217;t know how you dared seize it in your hands.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was outside the window now, standing on a strip of turf that ran
+between house and drive.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t give a second thought to it,&#8221; said Martin in his offhand way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can never thank you enough for saving me,&#8221; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I&#8217;ll tell you what,&#8221; he cried. &#8220;To make quite sure you won&#8217;t
+forget, I&#8217;ll try and persuade mother to have the skin made into a muff
+for you. One of the men is curing it, with spirits of ammonia and
+saltpeter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I may need to have my memory jogged?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;People forget things,&#8221; he said airily. &#8220;Besides, I&#8217;m going away to
+school. When I come back you&#8217;ll be a grown-up young lady.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m nearly as tall as you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed you are not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m much taller than Ang&egrave;le Saumarez, at any rate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no comparison between you in any respect.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>And this young spark three short hours ago, behind the woodpile, had
+gazed into Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s eyes!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you remember&mdash;we were talking about her when that creature flew at
+me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed. It was odd how Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s name kept cropping up. The church
+clock struck nine. They listened to the chimes. Neither spoke until the
+tremulous booming of the bell ceased.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid I must be going,&#8221; said Martin, without budging an inch.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you&mdash;did you&mdash;find any difficulty&mdash;in opening the gate? It is
+rather stiff. And your poor hands must be so sore.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>From excessive politeness, or shyness, Elsie&#8217;s tongue tripped somewhat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was a bit stiff,&#8221; he admitted. &#8220;I had to reach up, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I think I ought to come and open it for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you will be afraid to return alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Afraid! Of what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I really don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he said, &#8220;but I thought girls were always scared
+in the dark.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I am an exception.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She cast a backward glance into the room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The lamp is quite safe. It will not take me a minute.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They walked together down the short avenue. The gate was standing open.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really,&#8221; laughed Martin, &#8220;I had quite forgotten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So boys have weak memories, too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of gates, perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Well, now, I must be off. Good-night, and thank you so much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand. He took it in both of his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do hope Mr. Herbert will ask me to another picnic,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>A boy on a bicycle rode past slowly. Instinctively, they shrank into the
+shadow of a tree.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wasn&#8217;t that Frank Beckett-Smythe?&#8221; whispered Elsie, forgetting to
+withdraw her imprisoned hand, and turning a startled face to Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where can he be going at this time?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin guessed accurately, but sheer chivalry prevented him from saying
+more than:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To the fair, I suppose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At this hour; after nine o&#8217;clock?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;S-s-h. He&#8217;s coming back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She drew closer. There was an air of mystery in this nocturnal bicycle
+ride that induced bewilderment. Martin&#8217;s right hand still inclosed the
+girl&#8217;s. What more natural than that his left arm should go around her
+waist, merely to emphasize the need for caution, concealment, secrecy?
+Most certainly his knowledge of womankind was striding onward in
+seven-leagued boots.</p>
+
+<p>The trot of a horse sounded sharply on the hard road. It was being
+ridden by someone in a hurry. The young scion of the Hall, who appeared
+to be killing time, inclined his machine to the opposite hedge.</p>
+
+<p>But the rider pulled up with the skill of a practiced horseman. Even in
+the dim light the boy and girl recognized one of Mr. Beckett-Smythe&#8217;s
+grooms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that you, Master Frank?&#8221; they heard him say.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Hello, Williams! What&#8217;s up?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s up, indeed! T&#8217; Squire has missed ye. A bonny row there&#8217;ll be. Ye
+mun skip back lively, let me tell ye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, the deuce!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Better lose nae mair time, Master Frank. I&#8217;ll say I found ye yon side
+o&#8217; T&#8217; Elms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What has The Elms got to do with it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man grinned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noo, Master Frank, just mount an&#8217; be off in front. T&#8217; Squire thinks
+ye&#8217;re efther that black-eyed lass o&#8217; Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s. Don&#8217;t try an&#8217;
+humbug him. He telt me te lay my huntin&#8217;-crop across yer shoulders, but
+that&#8217;s none o&#8217; my business. Off ye go!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The heir, sulky and in deep tribulation, obeyed. They heard the horse&#8217;s
+hoofbeats dying away rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>Elsie, an exceedingly nice-mannered girl, was essentially feminine. The
+episode thrilled her, and pleased her, too, in some indefinable way, for
+her companion was holding her tightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just fancy that!&#8221; she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he will only get a hiding.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, surely, he could not expect to meet Ang&egrave;le?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It looks like it. But why should we trouble about it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think it is horrid. But I must be going. Good-night&mdash;Martin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He felt a gentle effort to loosen his clasp.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-night, Elsie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their faces were very close. Assuredly, the boy must have been a trifle
+light-headed that day, for he bent and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>She tore herself from the encircling arm. Her cheeks were burning. At a
+little distance&mdash;a few feet&mdash;she halted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How dare you?&#8221; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>He came to her with hands extended.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgive me, Elsie; I couldn&#8217;t help it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must never, never do such a thing again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had nothing to say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Promise!&#8221; she cried, but her voice was less emphatic than she imagined.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t,&#8221; he said, and caught her arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&mdash;won&#8217;t! How can you say such a thing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I like you. I have known you for years, though we never spoke
+to each other until yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear! This is terrible! You frightened me so! I hope I didn&#8217;t hurt
+your poor arms?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The pain was awful,&#8221; he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>The girl&#8217;s heart was beating so frantically that she could almost hear
+its pulsations. The white bandages on Martin&#8217;s wrists and hands aroused
+a tumult of emotion. The scene in the ghyll flashed before her eyes; she
+saw again the wild struggles of the snarling, tearing, biting animal,
+the boy&#8217;s cool daring and endurance until he crushed the raging thing&#8217;s
+life out of it and flung it away contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>An impulse came to her, and it was not to be repelled. She placed both
+hands on his shoulders and kissed him, quite fearlessly, on the lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I owed you that,&#8221; she said, with a little sob, and then ran
+away in good earnest, never turning her head until she was safe within
+the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, his brain in a whirl and his blood on fire, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>closed the gate for
+himself. When the vicar came, half an hour later, his daughter was busy
+over the same book.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What, Elsie! None of the maids home yet?&#8221; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, father, dear. But Martin Bolland brought these.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, our handkerchiefs. What did he say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing&mdash;of any importance. I understood that Dr. MacGregor caused the
+linen to be washed, but forgot to ask him why.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Practically all, except that his arms and hands are all bound up, so I
+went with him as far as the gate. It is stiff, you know. And&mdash;yes&mdash;he
+has been reading &#8216;Rokeby.&#8217; He likes it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar filled his pipe. He had had a trying day.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin is a fine lad,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I hope John Bolland will see fit to
+educate him. Such a youngster should not be allowed to vegetate in a
+village like this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said Elsie, &#8220;that reminds me. He told me he was going away to
+school.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Capital!&#8221; agreed the vicar. &#8220;Out of evil comes good. It required an
+earthquake to move a man like Bolland!&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE STORM</h2>
+
+<p>On the morrow rain fell. At first the village regarded the break in the
+weather as a thunderstorm, and harvesters looked to an early resumption
+of work. &#8220;A sup o&#8217; wet&#8217;ll do nowt any harm,&#8221; they said. But a steadily
+declining &#8220;glass&#8221; and a continuous downpour that lost nothing in volume
+as the day wore caused increasing headshakes, anxious frowns, revilings
+not a few of the fickle elements.</p>
+
+<p>The moorland becks became raging torrents. The gorged river rose until
+all the low-lying land was flooded, hundreds of pounds&#8217; worth of corn in
+stook swept away, and all standing crops were damaged to an enormous
+extent. Cattle, sheep, poultry, even a horse or two, were caught by the
+rushing waters and drowned. A bridge became blocked by floating debris
+and crumbled before the flood. Three men were standing on the structure,
+idly watching the articles whirling past in the eddies; one, given a
+second&#8217;s firm footing, jumped for dear life and saved himself; the
+bodies of the others were found, many days afterwards, jammed against
+stakes placed in the stream a mile lower down to prevent fish poachers
+from netting an open reach.</p>
+
+<p>This deluge, if indeed aught else were needed, wrecked the Feast. Every
+booth was dismantled, each wagon and caravan packed. The van dwellers
+only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>ceased their labors when all was in readiness for a move to the
+next fair ground; the Elmsdale week, usually a bright spot in their
+migratory calendar, was marked this year with absolute loss. At the
+best, and in few instances, it yielded a bare payment of expenses.</p>
+
+<p>Farmers, of course, toiled early and late to avert further disaster.
+Stock were driven from pastures where danger threatened; cut corn was
+rescued in the hope that the next day&#8217;s sun might dry it; choked ditches
+were raked with long hoes to permit the water to flow off.</p>
+
+<p>At last, when night fell, and the rain diminished to a thin drizzle,
+though the barometer gave no promise of improvement, men gathered in the
+village street and began comparing notes. Everyone had suffered in some
+degree; even the shopkeepers and private residents complained of ruined
+goods, gardens rooted up, houses invaded by the all-pervading floods.</p>
+
+<p>But the farmers endured the greatest damage. Some had lost their
+half-year&#8217;s rent, many would be faced with privation and bankruptcy.
+Thrice fortunate now were the men with capital&mdash;those who could look
+forward with equanimity to another season when the wanton havoc
+inflicted by this wild raging of the waters should be recouped.</p>
+
+<p>John Bolland, protected by an oilskin coat, crossed the road between the
+stockyard and the White House about eight o&#8217;clock.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, Mr. Bollan&#8217;, but this is a sad day&#8217;s wark,&#8221; said a friend who
+encountered him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, it&#8217;s bad, very bad, an&#8217; likely te be worse,&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>replied John, lifting
+his bent head and casting a weather-wise glance over the northerly moor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve lost t&#8217; best part o&#8217; six acres o&#8217; wuts,&#8221; (oats) growled his
+neighbor. &#8220;It&#8217;s hard to know what spite there was in t&#8217; clouds te burst
+i&#8217; that way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Times an&#8217; seasons aren&#8217;t i&#8217; man&#8217;s hands,&#8221; was the quiet answer.
+&#8220;There&#8217;d be ill deed if sunshine an&#8217; storm were settled by voates, like
+a county-council election.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mebbe, and mebbe nut,&#8221; cried the other testily. &#8220;&#8217;Tis easy to leave
+ivvrything te Providence when yer money&#8217;s mostly i&#8217; stock. Mine happens
+te be i&#8217; crops.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; if mine were i&#8217; crops, Mr. Pattison, I sud still thry te desarve
+well o&#8217; Providence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This shrewd thrust evoked no wrath from Pattison, who was not a
+chapel-goer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gosh!&#8221; he laughed, &#8220;some folks are lucky. They pile up riches both i&#8217;
+this wulld an&#8217; t&#8217; wulld te come. Hooivver, we won&#8217;t argy. Hev ye heerd
+t&#8217; news fra&#8217; te t&#8217; &#8216;Black Lion&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aboot poor George Pickerin&#8217;? Noa. I&#8217;ve bin ower thrang i&#8217; t&#8217; cow-byre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s married, an&#8217; med his will. Betsy is Mrs. Pickerin&#8217; noo. But she&#8217;ll
+be a widdy afore t&#8217; mornin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he as bad as all that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sinkin&#8217; fast, they tell me. He kep&#8217; up, like the game &#8217;un he allus was,
+until Mr. Croft left him alone wi&#8217; his wife. Then he fell away te nowt.
+He&#8217;s ravin&#8217;, I hear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Croft! I thowt Stockwell looked efther his affairs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Right enough! But Stockwell&#8217;s ya (one) trustee, Mr. Herbert&#8217;s t&#8217; other.
+So Croft had te act.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m rale sorry for t&#8217; poor chap. He&#8217;s coom tiv a bad end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye&#8217;ll be t&#8217; foreman o&#8217; t&#8217; jury, most like?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noa. I&#8217;ll be spared that job. Martin is a witness, more&#8217;s t&#8217; pity.
+Good-night, Mr. Pattison. It&#8217;ll hu&#8217;t none if y&#8217; are minded te offer up a
+prayer for betther weather.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But the prayers of many just men did not avail to save Elmsdale that
+night. After a brief respite, the storm came on again with gusty
+malevolence. Black despair sat by many a fireside, and in no place was
+its grim visage seen more plainly than in the bedroom where George
+Pickering died.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. MacGregor watched the fitful flickering of the strong man&#8217;s life,
+until, at last, he led the afflicted wife from the room and consigned
+her to the care of her weeping sister and the hardly less sorrowful
+landlady.</p>
+
+<p>At the foot of the stairs were waiting P. C. Benson and the reporter of
+the <i>Messenger</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is all over,&#8221; said the doctor. &#8220;He died at a quarter past ten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The same hour that he was&mdash;wounded,&#8221; commented the reporter. &#8220;What was
+the precise cause of death?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Failure of the heart&#8217;s action. It was a merciful release. Otherwise, he
+might have survived for days and suffered greatly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The policeman adjusted his cape and lowered his chin-strap.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mun start for Nottonby,&#8221; he said. &#8220;T&#8217; inquest&#8217;ll likely be oppenned
+o&#8217; Satherday at two o&#8217;clock, doctor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. By the way, Benson, you can tell Mr. Jonas that the county analyst
+and I are ready with our evidence. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>There is no need for an adjournment,
+unless the police require it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The constable saluted and set off on a lonely tramp through the rain. He
+crossed the footbridge over the beck&mdash;the water was nearly level with
+the stout planks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t seen a wilder night for monny a year,&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;There&#8217;ll
+be a nice how-d&#8217;ye-do if t&#8217; brig is gone afore daylight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He trudged the four miles to Nottonby. Nearing the outskirts of the
+small market town, he was startled by finding the body of a man lying
+face down in the roadway. The pelting gale had extinguished his lamp. He
+managed to turn the prostrate form and raise the man&#8217;s head. Then, after
+several failures, he induced a match to flare for a second. One glance
+sufficed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rabbit Jack!&#8221; he growled. &#8220;And blind as a bat! Get up, ye drunken
+swine. &#8217;Twould be sarvin&#8217; ye right te lave ye i&#8217; the road until ye were
+runned over or caught yer death o&#8217; cold.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>From the manner of P. C. Benson&#8217;s language it may be inferred that his
+actions were not characterized by extreme gentleness. He managed to
+shake the poacher into semi-consciousness. Rabbit Jack, wobbling on his
+feet, lurched against the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello, ole fell&#8217;, coom along wi&#8217; me,&#8221; he mumbled amiably. &#8220;Nivver mind
+t&#8217; brass. I&#8217;ve got plenty. Good soart, George Pickerin&#8217;. Gimme me a
+sov&#8217;, &#8217;e did. Fo-or, &#8217;e&#8217;s a jolly good feller&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A further shaking was disastrous. He collapsed again. The perplexed
+policeman noted a haymew behind a neighboring gate. He dragged the
+nondescript <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>thither by the scruff of his neck and threw him on the lee
+side of the shelter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;ll be sober by mornin&#8217;,&#8221; he thought. &#8220;I hev overmuch thrubble aboot
+te tew mysen wi&#8217; this varmint.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And so ended the first of the dead man&#8217;s bequests.</p>
+
+<p>The gathering of a jury in a country village for an important inquest
+like that occasioned by George Pickering&#8217;s death is a solemn function.
+Care is exercised in empaneling men of repute, and, in the present
+instance, several prominent farmers were debarred from service because
+their children would be called as witnesses.</p>
+
+<p>The inquest was held, by permission, in the National schoolhouse. No
+room in the inn would accommodate a tithe of the people who wished to
+attend. Many journalists put in an appearance, the <i>Messenger</i>
+reporter&#8217;s paragraphs having attracted widespread attention.</p>
+
+<p>It was noteworthy, too, that Superintendent Jonas did not conduct the
+case for the police. He obtained the aid of a solicitor, Mr. Dane, with
+whom the coroner, Dr. Magnus, drove from Nottonby in a closed carriage,
+for the rain had not ceased, save during very brief intervals, since the
+outbreak on Thursday morning.</p>
+
+<p>The jury, having been sworn, elected Mr. Webster, grocer, as their
+foreman, and proceeded to view the body. When they reassembled in the
+schoolroom it was seen that Betsy, now Mrs. Pickering, was seated next
+her sister. With them were two old people whom a few persons present
+recognized as the girls&#8217; parents, and by Betsy&#8217;s side was Mr. Stockwell.
+Among the crowd of witnesses were Martin, Frank and Ernest
+Beckett-Smythe, and Ang&egrave;le.</p>
+
+<p>The mortification, the angry dismay of Mrs. Saumarez <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>when her daughter
+was warned to attend the inquest may well be imagined. The police are no
+respecters of persons, and P. C. Benson, of course, ascertained easily
+the name of the girl concerning whom Martin and young Beckett-Smythe
+fought on the eventful night. She might be an important witness, so her
+mother was told to send her to the court.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez disdained to accompany the girl in person, and Fran&ccedil;oise
+was deputed to act as convoy. The Normandy nurse&#8217;s white linen bands
+offered a quaint contrast to the black robes worn by the other women and
+gave material for a descriptive sentence to every journalist in the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beckett-Smythe, the vicar, Dr. MacGregor, and the county analyst
+occupied chairs beside the Coroner. The latter gentleman described the
+nature of the inquiry with businesslike brevity, committing himself to
+no statements save those that were obvious. When he concluded, Mr. Dane
+rose.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I appear for the police,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I,&#8221; said Mr. Stockwell, &#8220;am here to watch the interests of Mrs.
+Pickering, having received her husband&#8217;s written instructions to that
+effect.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A deep hush fell on the packed assembly. The curious nature of the
+announcement was a surprise in itself. The reporters&#8217; pencils were busy,
+and the Coroner adjusted his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The written instructions of the dead man?&#8221; he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. My friend, my lifelong friend, Mr. George Pickering, was but
+too well aware of the fate that threatened him. I have here a letter,
+written and signed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>by him on Thursday morning. With your permission, I
+will read it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I object,&#8221; cried Mr. Dane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On what grounds?&#8221; asked the Coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Such a letter may have a prejudicial effect on the minds of the jury.
+They are here to determine, with your direction, a verdict to be arrived
+at on certain evidence. This letter cannot be regarded as evidence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not press the point,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I fail to see any harm in showing
+a husband&#8217;s anxiety that his wife should be cleared of absurd
+imputations.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dane reddened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I consider that a highly improper remark,&#8221; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The other only smiled. He had won the first round. The jury knew what
+the letter contained, and he had placed the case for the police in an
+unfavorable light.</p>
+
+<p>The first witness, Pickering&#8217;s farm bailiff, gave formal evidence of
+identity.</p>
+
+<p>Then the Coroner read the dead man&#8217;s deposition, which was attested by
+the local justice of the peace. Dr. Magnus rendered the document
+impressively. Its concluding appeal to the Deity turned all eyes on
+Betsy. She was pale, but composed. Since her husband&#8217;s death she had
+cried but little. Her mute grief rendered her beautiful. Sorrow had
+given dignity to a pretty face. She was so white, so unmoved outwardly,
+that she resembled a clothed statue. Kitty wept quietly all the time,
+but Betsy sat like one in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Catherine Thwaites,&#8221; said the Coroner&#8217;s officer, and Kitty was led by
+Mr. Jones to the witness stand. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>The girl&#8217;s evidence, punctuated by
+sobs, was practically a r&eacute;sum&eacute; of Pickering&#8217;s sworn statement.</p>
+
+<p>From Mr. Dane&#8217;s attitude it was apparent that he regarded this witness
+as untruthful.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; he said, with quiet satire in word and look, &#8220;as Mr.
+Pickering impaled himself on a fork, you did not see your sister plunge
+a knife into his breast?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nor did you run down the garden shrieking: &#8216;Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you&#8217;ve
+killed him.&#8217; You did not cry &#8216;Murder, murder! Come, someone, for God&#8217;s
+sake&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir; I did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This unexpected admission puzzled the solicitor. He darted a sharp side
+glance at Stockwell, but the latter was busy scribbling notes. Every
+pulse in court quickened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you did, eh? But why charge your sister with a crime you did not
+see her commit?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because she had a knife in her hand, and I saw Mr. Pickering stagger
+across the garden and fall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In what direction did he stagger?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Away from the stackyard hedge.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is a serious matter. You are on your oath, and there is such a
+thing as being an accessory after&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Up sprang Stockwell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I protest most strongly against this witness being threatened,&#8221; he
+shouted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think Mr. Dane is entitled to warn the witness against false
+testimony,&#8221; said the Coroner. &#8220;Of course, he knows the grave
+responsibility attached to such insinuations.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Dane waved an emphatic hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I require no threats,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I have evidence in plenty. Do you
+swear that Mr. Pickering did not lurch forward from beneath the pear
+tree at the foot of the garden after being stabbed by your sister, who
+surprised him in your arms, or you in his arms? It is the same thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do,&#8221; was the prompt answer.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer sat down, shrugging his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Any questions to put to the witness, Mr. Stockwell?&#8221; said the Coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir. I regard her evidence as quite clear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you&mdash;er&mdash;does your client Mrs. Pickering wish to give evidence?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My client&mdash;she is not my client of her own volition, but by the
+definite instructions of her dead husband&mdash;will certainly give evidence.
+May I express the hope that my learned friend will not deal with her too
+harshly? She is hardly in a fit state to appear here to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dane smiled cynically, but made no reply. He declined to help his
+adversary&#8217;s adroit maneuvers by fiery opposition, though again had Mr.
+Stockwell succeeded in playing a trump card.</p>
+
+<p>Betsy was duly warned by the Coroner that she might be charged with the
+wilful murder of George Pickering, notwithstanding the sworn deposition
+read in court. She could exercise her own judgment as to whether or not
+she would offer testimony, but anything she said would be taken down in
+writing, and might be used as evidence against her.</p>
+
+<p>She never raised her eyes. Not even those terrible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>words, &#8220;wilful
+murder,&#8221; had power to move her. She stood like an automaton, and seemed
+to await permission to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Mrs. Pickering,&#8221; said Dr. Magnus, &#8220;tell us, in your own words,
+what happened.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She began her story. No one could fail to perceive that she was reciting
+a narrative learnt by heart. She used no words in the vernacular. All
+was good English, coherent, simple, straightforward. On the Monday
+morning, she said, she received a letter at Hereford from Fred Marshall,
+ostler at the &#8220;Black Lion Hotel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you that letter?&#8221; asked the Coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; interposed Mr. Stockwell. &#8220;Here it is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He handed forward a document. A buzz of whispered comment arose. In
+compliance with Dr. Magnus&#8217;s request, Betsy identified it listlessly.
+Then it was read aloud. Apart from mistakes in spelling, it ran as
+follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Dear Miss Thwaites.&mdash;This is to let you know that George Pickering
+is carrying on with your sister Kitty. He has promised to meet her
+here on Monday. He has engaged a bedroom here. You ought to come
+and stop it. I inclose P.O. for one pound toward your fare.&mdash;Yours
+truly, Fred Marshall, groom, &#8216;Black Lion,&#8217; Elmsdale.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>The fact that this meddlesome personage had sent Betsy her railway fare
+became known now for the first time. A hiss writhed through the court.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Silence!&#8221; yelled a police sergeant, glaring around with steely eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There must be no demonstrations of any sort here,&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>said the Coroner
+sternly. &#8220;Well, Mrs. Pickering, you traveled to Elmsdale?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With what purpose in view?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;George had promised to marry me. Kitty knew this quite well. I thought
+that my presence would put an end to any courtship that was going on. It
+was very wrong.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None will dispute that. But I prefer not to question you. Tell us your
+own story.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I traveled all day,&#8221; she recommenced, &#8220;and reached Elmsdale station by
+the last train. I was very tired. At the door of the inn I met Fred
+Marshall. He was waiting, I suppose. He told me George and Kitty were at
+the bottom of the garden.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A quiver ran through the audience, but the police sergeant was watching,
+and they feared expulsion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He said they had been there ten minutes. I ran through the hotel
+kitchen. On a table was lying a long knife near a dish of grouse. I
+picked it up, hardly knowing what I was doing, and went into the garden.
+When I was halfway down Kitty saw me and screamed. George turned round
+and backed away toward the middle hedge. I remember crying
+out&mdash;some&mdash;things&mdash;but I do not&mdash;know&mdash;what I said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She swayed slightly, and everyone thought she was about to faint. But
+she clutched the back of a chair and steadied herself. Mr. Jones offered
+her a glass of water, but she refused it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can go on,&#8221; she said bravely.</p>
+
+<p>And she persevered to the end, substantially repeating her sister&#8217;s
+evidence.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>When Mr. Dane rose to cross-examine, the silence in court was appalling.
+The girl&#8217;s parents were pallid with fear. Kitty sat spellbound. Mr.
+Stockwell pushed his papers away and gazed fixedly at his client.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why did you pick up the knife, Mrs. Pickering?&#8221; was the first question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think&mdash;I am almost sure&mdash;I intended to strike my sister with it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was another bombshell. Mr. Dane moved uneasily on his feet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your sister!&#8221; he repeated in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. She was aware of my circumstances. What right had she to be
+flirting with my promised husband?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hum! You have forgiven her since, no doubt?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I forgave her then, when I regained my senses. She was acting
+thoughtlessly. I believe that George and she went into the garden only
+to spite Fred Marshall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dane shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So, if we accept your statement, Mrs. Pickering, you harmed no one with
+the knife except yourself?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to hesitate a moment, but seemingly made up his mind to leave
+the evidence where it stood.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall not detain you long,&#8221; said Mr. Stockwell when his legal
+opponent desisted from further cross-examination. &#8220;You were married to
+Mr. Pickering on Thursday morning by special license?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He had executed a marriage settlement securing you &pound;400 a year for
+life?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And, after the accident, you remained with him until he died?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;God help me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. That is all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just one moment,&#8221; interposed the Coroner. &#8220;Were you previously
+acquainted with this man, Marshall, the groom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir. I saw him for the first time in my life when he met me at the
+hotel door and asked me if I was Miss Thwaites.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How did he obtain your Hereford address? It appears to be given in full
+on the envelope.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fred Marshall was the next witness. He was sober and exceedingly
+nervous. He had been made aware during the past week that public opinion
+condemned him utterly. His old cronies refused to drink with him. Mrs.
+Atkinson had dismissed him; he was a pariah, an outcast, in the village.</p>
+
+<p>His evidence consisted of a disconnected series of insinuations against
+Kitty&#8217;s character, interlarded with protests that he meant no harm. Mr.
+Stockwell showed him scant mercy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You say you saw Mrs. Pickering, or Betsy Thwaites, as she was at that
+time, seize a knife from the table?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did you think she meant to do with it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What she did do&mdash;stick George Pickerin&#8217;. I heerd her bawlin&#8217; that oot
+both afore an&#8217; efther.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man was desperate. In his own parlance, he might as well be hanged
+for a sheep as a lamb, and he would spare no one.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, indeed! You knew she intended to commit murder?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thowt so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why did you not follow her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was skeered.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What! Afraid of a weak woman?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I didn&#8217;t give a damn if she did stab him! There, ye hev it
+straight!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell turned to Mr. Dane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you are looking for accessories in this trumped-up case, you have
+one ready to hand,&#8221; he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must be careful what you are saying, Marshall,&#8221; observed the
+Coroner severely. &#8220;And moderate your language, too. This court is not a
+stable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He shouldn&#8217;t badger me,&#8221; cried the witness in sullen anger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll treat you with great tenderness,&#8221; said Mr. Stockwell suavely, and
+a general smile relieved the tension.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How did you obtain Miss Thwaites&#8217;s address at Hereford?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come, now. Where are your wits? Will you accuse me of badgering you, if
+I suggest that you stole a letter from Kitty Thwaites&#8217;s pocket?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t steal it. It was in a frock of hers, hangin&#8217; in her bedroom.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are most obliging. And the sovereign you sent her? Did you, by any
+chance, borrow it from Mrs. Atkinson?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Frae Mrs. Atkinson? Whe&auml; said that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, I mean without her knowledge, of course. From Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s till,
+I should have said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The chance shot went home. The miserable groom growled a denial, but no
+one believed him. Quite satisfied that he had destroyed the man&#8217;s
+credibility, Mr. Stockwell sat down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin Court Bolland!&#8221; said the Coroner&#8217;s officer, and a wave of
+renewed interest galvanized the court. Mr. Dane arranged his papers and
+looked around with the air of one who says:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now we shall hear the truth of this business.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin came forward. It chanced that the first pair of eyes he
+encountered were Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s. The girl was gazing at him with a spiteful
+intensity he could not understand. He did not know then of the painful
+expos&eacute; which took place at The Elms when Mrs. Saumarez learnt on the
+preceding day that her daughter was a leading figure among the children
+in the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221; yard on the night of the tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le blamed Martin for having betrayed her to the authorities. She did
+not know how resolutely he had declined to mention her name; he loomed
+large in her mind, to the exclusion of the others.</p>
+
+<p>She regarded him now with a venomous malice all the more bitter because
+of the ultra-friendly relations she had forced on him.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with genuine astonishment. She reminded him of the
+wildcat he choked to death in Thor ghyll. But he had to collect his
+wandering faculties, for the Coroner was speaking.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE UNWRITTEN LAW</h2>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s evidence was concise. He happened to be in the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221;
+yard with other children at a quarter past ten on Monday night. He heard
+a woman&#8217;s scream, followed by a man&#8217;s loud cry of pain, and both sounds
+seemed to come from the extreme end of the garden.</p>
+
+<p>Kitty Thwaites ran toward the hotel shrieking, &#8220;Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you&#8217;ve
+killed him!&#8221; She screamed &#8220;Murder&#8221; and called for someone to come, &#8220;for
+God&#8217;s sake!&#8221; She fell exactly opposite the place where he was standing.
+Then he saw Betsy Thwaites&mdash;he identified her now as Mrs.
+Pickering&mdash;running after her sister and brandishing a knife. She
+appeared to be very excited, and cried out, &#8220;I&#8217;ll swing for him. May the
+Lord deal wi&#8217; him as he dealt wi&#8217; me!&#8221; She called her sister a
+&#8220;strumpet,&#8221; and said it would &#8220;serve her right to stick her with the
+same knife.&#8221; He was quite sure those were the exact words. He was not
+alarmed in any way, only surprised by the sudden uproar, and he saw the
+two women and the knife as plainly as if it were broad daylight.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dane concluded the examination-in-chief, which he punctuated with
+expressive glances at the jury, by touching on a point which he expected
+his acute rival to raise.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;What were you doing in the &#8216;Black Lion&#8217; yard at that hour, Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was having a dispute with Master Frank Beckett-Smythe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What sort of a dispute?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, we were fighting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A grin ran through the court.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is an intelligent boy and older than you. Can you suggest any reason
+why he should have failed to see and hear all that you saw and heard?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin paused. He disliked to pose as a vainglorious pugilist, but there
+was no help for it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I got the better of him,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;One, at least, of his eyes
+were closed, and I had just given him an uppercut on the nose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But his brother was there, too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Master Ernest was looking after him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How about the other children?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They ran away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All of them?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, nearly all. I can only speak for myself, sir. No doubt the others
+will tell you what they saw.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Obviously, Mr. Dane was unprepared for the cool self-possession
+displayed by this farmer&#8217;s son. He nodded acquiescence with Martin&#8217;s
+views and sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell, watching the boy narrowly, had caught the momentary gleam
+of surprise when his look encountered that of the pretty dark-eyed child
+whose fashionable attire distinguished her from the village urchins
+among whom she was sitting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By the way,&#8221; he began, &#8220;why do you call yourself Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That is my name, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you John Bolland&#8217;s son?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then whose son are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know. My father and mother adopted me thirteen years ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer gathered by the expression on the stolid faces of the jury
+that this line of inquiry would be fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was the cause of the fight between you and young Beckett-Smythe?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was the signal for an interruption from the jury. Mr. Webster, the
+foreman, did not wish any slight to be placed on Mrs. Saumarez. The
+upshot might be that he would lose a good customer. The Squire dealt at
+the Stores. Let him protect his own children. But Mrs. Saumarez needed a
+champion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I ask, sir,&#8221; he said to the Coroner, &#8220;what a bit of a row atween
+youngsters hez te do wi&#8217; t&#8217; case?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing that I can see,&#8221; was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It has a highly important bearing,&#8221; put in Mr. Stockwell. &#8220;If my
+information is correct, this witness is the only one whose evidence
+connects Mrs. Pickering even remotely with the injuries received by her
+husband. I assume, of course, that Marshall&#8217;s testimony is not worth a
+straw. I shall endeavor to elicit facts that may tend to prove the boy&#8217;s
+statements unreliable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot interfere with your discretion, Mr. Stockwell,&#8221; was the
+ruling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, answer my question,&#8221; cried the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s brown eyes flashed back indignantly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;We fought because I wished to take a young lady home, and he tried to
+prevent me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A young lady! What young lady?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I refuse to mention her name. You asked why we fought, and I&#8217;ve told
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why this squeamishness, my young squire of dames? Was it not Ang&egrave;le
+Saumarez?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin turned to the Coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Must I reply, sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.... I fail still to see the drift of the cross-examination, Mr.
+Stockwell.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will become apparent quickly. Yes, or no, Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; it was.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was she committed to your care by her mother?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. She came out to see the fair. I promised to look after her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Were you better fitted to protect this child than the two sons of Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;From what evil influences, then, was it necessary to rescue her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s not a fair way to put it. It was too late for her to be out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When did you discover this undeniable fact?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not when you were taking her through the fair in lordly style?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. There was no harm in the shows, and I realized the time only when
+the clock struck ten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Every adult listener nodded approval. The adroit lawyer saw that he was
+merely strengthening the jury&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>good opinion of the boy. He must strike
+hard and unmercifully if he would shake their belief in Martin&#8217;s good
+faith.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There were several other children there&mdash;a boy named Bates, another
+named Beadlam, Mrs. Atkinson&#8217;s three girls, and others?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bates was with me. The others were in the yard.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes; they had left you a few minutes earlier. Now, is it not a fact
+that these children, and you with them, had gone to this hiding-place to
+escape being caught by your seniors?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; it is a lie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that your honest belief? Do you swear it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shirked nothing. Neither did the others. Hundreds of people saw us.
+As for Miss Saumarez, I think she went there for a lark more than
+anything else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A questionable sort of lark. It is amazing to hear of respectable
+children being out at such an hour. Did your parents&mdash;did the parents of
+any of the others realize what was going on?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think not. The whole thing was an accident.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, surely, there must be some adequate explanation of this fight
+between you and Beckett-Smythe. It was no mere scuffle, but a severe
+set-to. He bears even yet the marks of the encounter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Master Frank was supremely uncomfortable when the united gaze of the
+court was thus directed to him. His right eye was discolored, as all
+might see, but his nose was normal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have told you the exact truth. I wished her to go home&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did she wish it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;She meant to tease me, and said she would remain. Frank Beckett-Smythe
+and I agreed to fight, and settle whether she should go or stay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you ask us to believe that not only did you engage in a bout of
+fisticuffs in order to convoy to her home a girl already hours too late
+abroad, but that you alone, of all these children, can give us a correct
+version of occurrences on the other side of the hedge?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t remember asking you that, sir,&#8221; said Martin seriously, and the
+court laughed.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell betrayed a little heat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know well what I mean,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You are a clever boy. Are you not
+depending on your imagination for some of your facts?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I were, sir,&#8221; was the sorrowful answer.</p>
+
+<p>Quite unconsciously, Martin looked at Betsy. Some magnetic influence
+caused her to raise her eyes for the first time, and each gazed into the
+soul of the other.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell covered his retreat by an assumption of indifference.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fortunately, there is a host of witnesses to be heard in regard to
+these particular events,&#8221; he exclaimed, and Martin&#8217;s inquisition ceased.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent whispered something to Mr. Dane, who rose.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A great deal has been made out of this quarrel about a little girl,&#8221; he
+said to the boy. &#8220;Is it not the fact that you have endeavored
+consistently to keep her name out of the affair altogether?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because Mrs. Saumarez is only a visitor here, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>her daughter could
+not know anything of village ways. I was mostly to blame for allowing
+her to be there at all, so I tried to take it onto my shoulders.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was interesting to note how Ang&egrave;le received this statement. Her black
+eyes became tearful. Her hero was rehabilitated. She worshiped him again
+passionately. Someone else had peached. She brushed away the tears and
+darted a quick look at the Squire&#8217;s eldest son.</p>
+
+<p>He was the next witness. He saw George Pickering and Kitty go down the
+garden, the man&#8217;s arm being around Kitty&#8217;s neck. Then he fought with
+Martin. Afterwards he heard some screaming, but could not tell a word
+that was said&mdash;he was too dazed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it not possible the hubbub was too confused that you should gain any
+intelligible idea of it?&#8221; asked Mr. Stockwell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that might be so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are a bigger boy than young Bolland. Surely he could not pummel the
+wits out of you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think he will next time. He caught me a stinger by chance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A roar of laughter greeted this candid confession of future intentions.
+Even Mr. Beckett-Smythe and the vicar joined in.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why did you wish to keep this girl, Ang&egrave;le Saumarez, away from her
+residence?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s a jolly sort of girl, and I think we were all a bit off our
+heads,&#8221; said Frank ruefully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you had some motive, some design. Remember, you fought to retain
+her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I hadn&#8217;t,&#8221; said the boy, glancing at his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>father. His most
+active memory was of a certain painful interview on Wednesday night.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>You</i> were not groggy on your legs,&#8221; was Mr. Stockwell&#8217;s first remark
+to Ernest. &#8220;What did you hear or see beyond the garden hedge?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was a lot of yelling, and two women ran toward the hotel. The
+woman with a knife was threatening to stick it into somebody, but I
+couldn&#8217;t tell who.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. She was running after the other woman. Don&#8217;t you think she might
+have been threatening her only?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It certainly looked like it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t you help us by being more definite?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Frank was asking for a pump. I was thinking of that more than of
+the beastly row in the garden.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was dismissed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The strangers present surveyed the girl with expectant interest. She
+looked a delightfully innocent child. She was attired in the dark dress
+she wore on the Monday evening. Her hat, gloves, and shoes were in
+perfect taste. No personality could be more oddly at variance with a
+village brawl than this delicate, gossamer, fairy-like little mortal.</p>
+
+<p>She gave her evidence without constraint or shyness. Her pretty
+continental accent enhanced the charm of her manners. In no sense
+forward, she won instant approbation, and the general view was that she
+had drifted into an unpleasant predicament by sheer force of
+circumstances. The mere love of fun brought her out to see the fair, and
+her presence in the stackyard was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>accounted for by a girlish delight in
+setting boys at loggerheads.</p>
+
+<p>But she helped the police contention by declaring that she heard Betsy
+say:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll swing for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I remember,&#8221; she said sweetly, &#8220;wondering what she meant. To swing for
+anybody! That is odd.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Might it not have been &#8216;for her&#8217; and not &#8216;for him&#8217;?&#8221; suggested Mr.
+Stockwell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; agreed Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t be sure about that. They talk
+queerly, these people. I am certain about the &#8216;swing&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Really, there never was a more simple little maid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must never again go out at night to such places,&#8221; remarked the
+Coroner paternally.</p>
+
+<p>She cast down her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mamma was very angry,&#8221; she simpered. &#8220;I have been kept at home for days
+and days on account of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at Martin. That explanation was intended for him. As a
+matter of fact, Mr. Beckett-Smythe called at The Elms on Thursday
+morning and told Mrs. Saumarez that her child needed more control. He
+had thrashed Frank soundly the previous evening for riding off to a
+rendezvous fixed with Ang&egrave;le for nine o&#8217;clock. He whispered this
+information to Mr. Herbert, and the vicar&#8217;s eyes opened wide.</p>
+
+<p>The other non-professional witnesses, children and adults, did not
+advance the inquiry materially. Many heard Kitty shrieking that her
+sister had murdered George Pickering, but Kitty herself had admitted
+saying so under a misapprehension.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>P. C. Benson raised an important point. The pitchfork was first
+mentioned about eleven o&#8217;clock, when Mr. Pickering was able to talk
+coherently, after being laid on a bed and drinking some brandy. Neither
+of the two women had spoken of it. And there were footprints that did
+not bear out the movements described in the dead man&#8217;s deposition.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Mr. Pickering&#8217;s first lucid thought referred to this implement?&#8221;
+said Mr. Stockwell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ne&auml;body was holdin&#8217; him, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The policeman imagined the lawyer had said &#8220;loosened.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean that the first account he ever gave of this accident referred to
+the pitchfork, and his subsequent statements were to the same effect.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oah, yes. There&#8217;s no denyin&#8217; that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you found the fork lying exactly where he described its position?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, yes; but he was a desp&#8217;rate lang time i&#8217; studdyin&#8217; t&#8217; matter oot
+afore he&#8217;s speak.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you suggest that someone placed the fork there by his instructions?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noa, sir. Most like he&#8217;d seen it there hissen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why do you refuse to accept his statement that an accident took
+place?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I f&#8217;und his footprints where he ran across t&#8217; garden te t&#8217; spot
+where he was picked up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Footprints! After a month of fine weather!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was soft mold, sir, an&#8217; they were plain enough.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Were not a dozen men running about this garden at twenty minutes past
+ten?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay&mdash;quite that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And you tell us coolly that you could distinguish those of one man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was on&#8217;y one man&#8217;s track i&#8217; that ple&auml;ce, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Benson was not to be flurried. Mr. Jonas and a police sergeant
+corroborated his opinion.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. MacGregor followed. He described Pickering&#8217;s wound, the nature of
+his illness, and the cause of death. The stab itself was not of a fatal
+character. Had it diverged slightly it must have reached the lung. As it
+was, the poison, not the knife, had done the mischief.</p>
+
+<p>The county analyst was scientifically dogmatic. His analyses had been
+conducted with the utmost care. The knife was contaminated, the
+pitchfork was only rusty. The latter was a dangerous implement, but in
+no way responsible for the state of Pickering&#8217;s blood corpuscles.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dane, of course, made the most of these witnesses, but Mr. Stockwell
+wisely forbore from pressing them, and thus hammering the main items
+again into the heads of the jury.</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner glanced at his watch. It was six o&#8217;clock. Neither of the
+solicitors was permitted to address the court, and he made up his mind
+to conclude the inquiry forthwith.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is one matter which might be cleared up,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Where is
+Marshall, the groom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was discovered that the man had left the court half an hour ago. He
+had not returned. P.C. Benson was sent to find him. The two came back in
+five minutes. Their arrival was heralded by loud shouts and laughter
+outside. When they entered the schoolroom Marshall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>presented a
+ludicrous spectacle. He was dripping wet, and not from rain, for his
+clothes were covered with slime and mud.</p>
+
+<p>It transpired that he had gone to a public house for a pint of beer.
+Several men and youths who could not gain admittance to the court took
+advantage of the absence of the police and amused themselves by ducking
+him in a convenient horse pond.</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner, having expressed his official annoyance at the incident,
+asked the shivering man if he followed Betsy into the garden.</p>
+
+<p>No; he saw her go out through the back door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then the threats you heard were uttered while she was in the passage of
+the hotel or in the kitchen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yes; that was so.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is noteworthy,&#8221; said the Coroner, &#8220;that none of the children heard
+this young woman going toward the couple. She must have run swiftly and
+silently down the path, and the witnesses were so absorbed in the fight
+that she passed them unheard and unseen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell frowned. If this gave any indication of the Coroner&#8217;s
+summing-up, it was not favorable to his client.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Magnus showed at once that he meant to cast aside all sentimental
+considerations and adhere solely to the judicial elements. He treated
+George Pickering&#8217;s deposition with all respect, but pointed out that the
+dying man might be actuated by the desire to make atonement to the woman
+he had wronged. The human mind was capable of strange vagaries. A man
+who would slight, or, at any rate, be indifferent, to one of the
+opposite sex, when far removed from personal contact, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>was often swayed
+by latent ties of affection when brought face to face with the woman
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>In a word, the Coroner threw all his weight on the side of the police
+and against Betsy. He regarded Fred Marshall and young Bolland as
+truthful witnesses, though inspired by different motives, and deemed the
+medical evidence conclusive.</p>
+
+<p>Betsy sat sphinx-like through this ordeal. Her unhappy parents, and even
+more unhappy sister, were profoundly distressed, and Stockwell watched
+the jury keenly as each damning point against his client was emphasized.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The law is quite clear in affairs of this kind,&#8221; concluded Dr. Magnus
+gravely. &#8220;Either this unfortunate man was murdered, in which event your
+verdict can only take one form, or he met with an accident. Most
+fortunately, the last word does not rest with this court, or it would be
+impossible to close the inquiry to-day. The deceased himself raised a
+pertinent question: Why did his wife escape blood-poisoning, although he
+became infected? But the solicitors present apparently concur with me
+that this is a matter which must be determined elsewhere&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no,&#8221; broke in Mr. Stockwell. &#8220;I admit nothing of the sort.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner bowed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have the benefit of my opinion, gentlemen,&#8221; he said to the jury.
+&#8220;You must retire now and consider your verdict.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The jury filed out into a classroom, an unusual proceeding, but highly
+expedient in an inquiry of such importance. Tongues were loosened
+instantly, and a hum <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>of talk arose, while the witnesses signed their
+recorded statements. Kitty endeavored to arouse her sister from the
+condition of stupor in which she remained, and the girl&#8217;s mother placed
+an arm around her shoulders. But Betsy paid little heed. Her mind dwelt
+on one object only&mdash;a sheet-covered form, lying cold and inanimate in a
+room of the neighboring hotel.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le sidled toward Martin when a movement in court permitted.
+Fran&ccedil;oise would have restrained her, but the child slid along a bench so
+quickly that the nurse&#8217;s protest came too late.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; she whispered, &#8220;you behaved beautifully. I was so angry with
+you at first. But it was not you. I know now. Evelyn Atkinson told.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish it had never happened,&#8221; said the boy bitterly. He hated the
+notion that his evidence was the strongest link in the chain encircling
+the hapless Betsy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t find it bad, this court. One is all pins and needles at
+first. But the men are nice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not thinking of ourselves,&#8221; he growled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tiens! Of whom, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le, you&#8217;re awfully selfish. What have we to endure, compared with
+poor Mrs. Pickering?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, pouf! That is her affair. Mamma beat me on Thursday. Beat me, look
+you! But I made her stop, oh, so quickly. Miss Walker pretends that
+mamma was ill. I know better, and so do you. I said if she hit me
+again&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He caught her wrist.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shut up!&#8221; he said in a firm whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t. You are hurting me. Why are you so horrid? Do you want me to be
+beaten?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No; but how can you dare threaten your mother?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would dare anything rather than be kept in the house&mdash;away from you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frank Beckett-Smythe, sitting near his father, was wondering dully why
+he had been such a fool as to incur severe penalties for the sake of
+this &#8220;silly kid,&#8221; who was now ogling his rival and whispering coyly in
+that rival&#8217;s ear. Martin was welcome to her, for all he cared. No girl
+was worth the uneasiness of the chair he occupied, for his father&#8217;s
+hunting-crop had fallen with such emphasis that he felt the bruises yet.</p>
+
+<p>The jury returned. They had been absent half an hour. Mr. Webster was
+flustered&mdash;that was perceptible instantly. He, as foreman, had to
+deliver the finding.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you agreed as to your verdict?&#8221; said the Coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We have.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And it is?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not guilty!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you talking about? This is not a criminal court. You are asked
+to determine how George Pickering met his death.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg pardon,&#8221; stammered Mr. Webster. He turned anxiously to his
+colleagues. Some of them prompted him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;that our verdict is &#8216;Accidental death.&#8217; That&#8217;s
+it, sir. &#8216;Accidental death,&#8217; I should hev said. Mr. Pickerin&#8217;s own
+words&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner frowned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is an amazing verdict,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I feel it my bounden duty&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Stockwell, pale but determined, sprang to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do hear me for one moment!&#8221; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner did not answer, so the solicitor took advantage of the tacit
+permission.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I well recognize that the police cannot let the matter rest here,&#8221; he
+pleaded. &#8220;On your warrant they will arrest my client. Such a proceeding
+is unnecessary. In her present state of health it might be fatal. Surely
+it will suffice if you record your dissent and the inquiry is left to
+other authorities. I am sure that you, that Mr. Dane, will forgive the
+informality of my request. It arises solely from motives of humanity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry, Mr. Stockwell, but I must discharge my duty
+conscientiously. The verdict is against the weight of evidence, and the
+ultimate decision rests with me, not with the jury. They have chosen
+deliberately to ignore my directions, and I have no option but to set
+aside their finding. I am compelled to issue a warrant charging your
+client with &#8216;wilful murder.&#8217; Protests only render the task more painful,
+and I may point out that, under any circumstances, the date of arrest
+cannot be long deferred.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A howl of vehement indignation came from the packed court. Nearly
+everyone present sympathized with Betsy. They accepted George
+Pickering&#8217;s dying declaration as final; they regarded the Coroner&#8217;s
+attitude as outrageous.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant the situation was threatening. It looked as though the
+people would wrest the girl from the hands of the police by main force.
+Old Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Thwaites fainted, Kitty screamed dreadful words at the
+Coroner, and the girl&#8217;s father sprawled across the table with his face
+in his hands and crying pitifully.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beckett-Smythe rose, but none would listen. There was a scene of
+tense excitement. Already men were crowding to the center of the room,
+while an irresistible rush from outside drove a policeman headlong from
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert strove to make himself heard, but an overwrought member of
+the jury bellowed:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mak&#8217; him record oor vardict, parson. What right hez he te go age&auml;n t&#8217;
+opinion o&#8217; twelve honest men?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Solicitors and reporters gathered their papers hastily, fearing an
+instant onslaught on the Coroner, and someone chanced to step on
+Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s foot as she clung in fright to Martin. The child squealed
+loudly; her toes had been squeezed under a heavy boot.</p>
+
+<p>Fran&ccedil;oise, whose broad Norman face depicted every sort of bewilderment
+at the tumult which had sprung up for some cause she in no way
+understood, rose at the child&#8217;s cry of anguish, and incontinently flung
+two pressmen out of her path. She reached Ang&egrave;le and faced the crowd
+with splendid courage.</p>
+
+<p>The voluble harangue she poured forth in French, her uncommon costume,
+and fierce gesticulations gained her a hearing which would have been
+denied any other person in the room, save, perhaps, Betsy. And Betsy was
+striving to bring her mother back to consciousness, without, however,
+departing in the least particular from her own attitude of stoic
+despair.</p>
+
+<p>The Coroner availed himself of the momentary lull. Fran&ccedil;oise paused for
+sheer lack of breath, and Dr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>Magnus made his voice heard far out into
+the village street.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why all this excitement?&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;The jury&#8217;s verdict will be
+recorded, but you cannot force me to agree with it. The police need not
+arrest Mrs. Pickering on my warrant at once. I hope they will not do so.
+Surely, as men of sense, you will not endeavor to defy the law? You are
+injuring this poor woman&#8217;s cause by an unseemly turmoil. Make way,
+there, at the door, and allow Mrs. Pickering to escort her mother to the
+hotel. You are frightening women and children by your bluster.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockwell joined the superintendent in appealing to the crowd to
+disperse, and the crisis passed. In a few minutes the members of the
+Thwaites family were safe within the portals of the inn, and the
+schoolroom was empty of all save a few officials and busy reporters.</p>
+
+<p>Fran&ccedil;oise held fast to Ang&egrave;le, but the girl appealed to Martin to
+accompany her a little way. He yielded, though he turned back before
+reaching the vicarage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother and I are coming to tea to-morrow,&#8221; she cried as they parted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;Mind you don&#8217;t vex her again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not I. She will want to hear all about the inquest. It was as good as a
+play. Wasn&#8217;t Fran&ccedil;oise funny? Oh, I do wish you had understood her. She
+called the men &#8216;sacr&eacute;s cochons d&#8217;Anglais!&#8217; It is so naughty in English.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the green, and dotted about the roadway, excited groups discussed the
+lively episode in the schoolroom. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>They were rancorous against the
+Coroner, and not a few boohed as he entered his carriage with Mr. Dane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, they&#8217;d hang t&#8217; poor lass, t&#8217; pair of &#8217;em, if they could,&#8221; shouted a
+buxom woman.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&auml;m on ye!&#8221; screamed another. &#8220;I&#8217;ll lay owt ye won&#8217;t sleep soond i&#8217;
+yer beds te-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But these vaporings broke no bones, and the Coroner drove away, glad
+enough that so far as he was concerned a distasteful experience had
+ended.</p>
+
+<p>The persistent rain soon cleared loiterers from the center of the
+village. John Bolland came to the farm while Martin was eating a belated
+meal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A nice deed there was at t&#8217; inquest, I hear,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know
+what&#8217;s come te Elmsdale. It&#8217;s fair smitten wi&#8217; a moral pestilence. One
+reads o&#8217; sike doin&#8217;s i&#8217; foreign lands, but I nivver thowt te see &#8217;em i&#8217;
+this law-abidin&#8217; counthry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then Martha flared up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whe&auml;&#8217;s i&#8217; t&#8217; fault?&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Can ye ble&auml;m t&#8217; folk for lossin&#8217; their
+tempers when a daft Crowner cooms here an&#8217; puts hissen up age&auml;n t&#8217; jury?
+If he had a bit o&#8217; my tongue, I&#8217;d teng (sting) him!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Elmsdale declared itself unhesitatingly on Betsy&#8217;s side. A dead man&#8217;s
+word carried more weight than all the law in the land.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h2>UNDERCURRENTS</h2>
+
+<p>Undoubtedly the Coroner&#8217;s expedient had prevented a riot in the village.
+The police deferred execution of the warrant, and Mr. Stockwell,
+recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, co-operated with them in
+making arrangements which would serve to allay public excitement.</p>
+
+<p>The dead man was removed unobtrusively to his Nottonby residence on
+Sunday evening. Accompanying the hearse was a closed carriage in which
+rode Mrs. Pickering and Kitty. At the door of Wetherby Lodge, Mr.
+Stockwell met the cort&egrave;ge, and when the coffin was installed in the
+spacious library the solicitor introduced the weeping servants to their
+temporary mistress, since he and Mr. Herbert had decided that she ought
+to reside in the house for a time. Such a fact, when it became known,
+would help to mold public opinion.</p>
+
+<p>An elderly housekeeper was minded to greet Betsy with bitter words. Her
+young master had been dear to her, and she had not scrupled earlier to
+denounce in scathing terms the woman who had encompassed his death.</p>
+
+<p>But the sight of the wan, white face, the sorrow-laden eyes, the
+graceful, shrinking figure of the girl-widow, restrained an imminent
+outburst, and the inevitable reaction carried the housekeeper to the
+other extreme.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;How d&#8217;ye do, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; she said brokenly. &#8220;&#8217;Tis a weary homecomin&#8217; ye&#8217;ve
+had. Mebbe ye&#8217;ll be likin&#8217; a cup o&#8217; tea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Betsy murmured that she had no wants, but Yorkshire regards food as a
+panacea for most evils, and the housekeeper bade one of the maids &#8220;put a
+kettle on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So the ice was broken, and Mr. Stockwell breathed freely again, for he
+had feared difficulty in this quarter.</p>
+
+<p>On Monday Pickering was buried, and the whole countryside attended the
+funeral, which was made impressive by the drumming and marching of the
+dead man&#8217;s company of Territorials. On Tuesday morning a special sitting
+of the county magistrates was held in the local police court. Betsy
+attended with her solicitor, the Coroner&#8217;s warrant was enforced, she was
+charged by the police with the murder of George Pickering, and remanded
+for a week in custody.</p>
+
+<p>The whole affair was carried out so unostentatiously that Betsy was in
+jail before the public knew that she had appeared at the police court.
+In one short week the unhappy dairymaid had experienced sharp
+transitions. She had become a wife, a widow. She was raised from the
+condition of a wage-earner to the status of an independent lady, and
+taken from a mansion to a prison. Bereft of her husband by her own act
+and separated from friends and relatives by the inexorable decree of the
+law, she was faced by the uncertain issue of a trial by an impartial
+judge and a strange jury. Surely, the Furies were exhausting their spite
+on one frail creature.</p>
+
+<p>On Sunday evening Mrs. Saumarez drove in her car through the rain to tea
+at the White House. She was alone. Her manner was more reserved than
+usual, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>though she shook hands with Mrs. Bolland with a quiet
+friendliness that more than atoned for the perceptible change in her
+demeanor. Her wonted air of affable condescension had gone. Her face
+held a new seriousness which the other woman was quick to perceive.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have come to have a little chat with you,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I am going away
+soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer&#8217;s wife thought she understood.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m rale sorry te hear that, yer leddyship.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, I regret the necessity myself. But recent events have opened my
+eyes to the danger of allowing my child to grow up in the untrammeled
+freedom which I have permitted&mdash;encouraged, I may say. It breaks my
+heart to be stern toward her. I must send her to the South, where there
+are good schools, where others will fulfil obligations in which I have
+failed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And, behold! Mrs. Saumarez choked back a sob.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; cried the perturbed Martha, &#8220;there&#8217;s nowt to greet aboot.
+T&#8217; lass is young eneuf yet, an&#8217; she&#8217;s a bonny bairn, bless her heart. We
+all hae te part wi&#8217; &#8217;em. It&#8217;ll trouble me sore when Martin goes away,
+but &#8217;twill be for t&#8217; lad&#8217;s good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You dear woman, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I have.
+Your fine boy would never dream of rending your soul as Ang&egrave;le has rent
+mine to-day&mdash;all because I wished her to read an instructive book
+instead of a French novel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mebbe you were a bit hard wi&#8217; her,&#8221; said the older woman. &#8220;To be sure,
+ye wouldn&#8217;t be suited by this nasty inquest; but is it wise to change
+all at once? Slow an&#8217; sure, ma&#8217;am, is better&#8217;n fast an&#8217; feckless. Where
+is t&#8217; little &#8217;un now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;At home, crying her eyes out because I insisted that she should remain
+there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, I reckon she&#8217;d be wantin&#8217; te see Martin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I may have been too severe with her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not for t&#8217; likes o&#8217; me to advise a leddy like you, but yon bairn
+needs to be treated gently, for all t&#8217; wulld like a bit o&#8217; delicate
+chiney. Noo, when Martin was younger, I&#8217;d gie him a slap ower t&#8217; head,
+an&#8217; he&#8217;d grin t&#8217; minnit me back was turned. Your little gell is
+different.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In my place, would you go back for her now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, ma&#8217;am, I wouldn&#8217;t. That&#8217;d show weak. But I&#8217;d mek up for&#8217;t
+te-morrow. Then she&#8217;ll think all t&#8217; more o&#8217; yer kindness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So the regeneration of Ang&egrave;le commenced. Was it too late? She was only a
+child in years. Surely there was yet time to mold her character in
+better shape. Mrs. Saumarez hoped so. She dried her tears, and, with
+Bolland&#8217;s appearance, the conversation turned on the lamentable weather.
+She was surprised to hear that August was often an unsettled month,
+though this storm was not only belated but almost unprecedented in its
+severity.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert went to Nottonby early next day. He attended the funeral,
+heard the will read at Wetherby Grange in the presence of some
+disappointed cousins of the dead man, visited Betsy to say a few
+consoling words, and drove back to the vicarage through the unceasing
+rain.</p>
+
+<p>Tea awaited him in the drawing-room, but his first glance at Elsie
+alarmed him. Her face was flushed, her eyes red. She was a most
+woebegone little maid.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;My dear child,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;what is the matter?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you&mdash;to forgive me&mdash;first,&#8221; she stammered brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgive you, my darling! Forgive you for what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been&mdash;reading the paper.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He drew her to his knee.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What crime is there in reading the paper, sweet one?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean that horrid inquest, father dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The smiling wonder left his face. Elsie looked up timidly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I ought to have asked your permission,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but you were away,
+and auntie has a headache, and Miss Holland (her governess) has gone on
+her holidays, and I was so curious to know what all the bother was
+about.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet he did not answer. Hitherto his daughter, his one cherished
+possession, had been kept sedulously from knowledge of the external
+world. But she was shooting up, slender and straight, the image of her
+dead mother. Soon she would be a woman, and it was no part of his theory
+of life that a girl should be plunged into the jungle of adult existence
+without a reasonable consciousness of its snares and pitfalls. So ideal
+were the relations of father and daughter that the vicar had deferred
+the day of enlightenment. It had come sooner than he counted on.</p>
+
+<p>Elsie was frightened now. Her tears ceased and the flush left her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you very angry?&#8221; she whispered. He kissed her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No, darling, not angry, but just a little pained. It was an unpleasing
+record for your eyes. There, now. Give me some tea, and we&#8217;ll talk about
+it. You may have formed some mistaken notions. Tell me what you thought
+of it all. In any case, Elsie, why were you crying?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was so sorry for that poor woman. And why did the Coroner believe she
+killed her husband, when Mr. Pickering said she had not touched him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar saw instantly that the girl had missed the more unpleasing
+phases of the tragedy. He smiled again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bring me the paper,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I was present at the inquest. Perhaps
+the story is somewhat garbled.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She obeyed. He cast a critical glance over the leaded columns, for the
+weekly newspaper had given practically a verbatim report of the
+evidence, and there was a vivid description of the scene in the
+schoolroom, with its dramatic close.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is by no means certain, from the evidence tendered, that the Coroner
+is right,&#8221; said Mr. Herbert slowly. &#8220;In these matters, however, the
+police are compelled to sift all statements thoroughly, and the only
+legal way is to frame a charge. Although Mrs. Pickering may be tried for
+murder, it does not follow that she will be convicted.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; questioned Elsie, &#8220;Martin Bolland said he heard her crying out
+that she had killed Mr. Pickering?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may have misunderstood.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just imagine him fighting with Frank, and about Ang&egrave;le Saumarez, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You may take it from me that Martin behaved very well indeed. Ang&egrave;le is
+a little vixen, a badly behaved, spoilt child, I fear. Young
+Beckett-Smythe is a booby who encouraged her wilfulness. Martin thrashed
+him. It would have been far better had Martin not been there at all; but
+if he were my son I should still be proud of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The girl&#8217;s face brightened visibly. There was manifest relief in her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am so glad we&#8217;ve had this talk,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;I&mdash;like Martin, and it
+did seem so odd that he should have been fighting about Ang&egrave;le.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He knew she ought to be at home, and told her so. Frank interfered, and
+got punched for his pains. It served him right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She helped herself to a large slice of tea-cake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know why I was so silly as to cry&mdash;but&mdash;I really did think Mrs.
+Pickering was in awful trouble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar laid the paper aside. His innocent-minded daughter had not
+even given a thought to the vital issues of the affair. He breathed
+freely, and told her of the funeral. Nevertheless, he had failed to
+fathom the cause of those red eyes.</p>
+
+<p>A servant clearing the tea-table bethought her of a note which came for
+Mr. Herbert some two hours earlier. She brought it from the study. It
+was from Mrs. Saumarez, inviting him and Elsie to luncheon next day.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le will be delighted,&#8221; she wrote, &#8220;if Elsie will remain longer than
+usual. It is dull for children to be cooped within doors during this
+miserable weather. I am asking Martin Bolland to join us for tea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert was a kind-hearted man, yet he wished <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>most emphatically
+that Mrs. Saumarez had not proffered this request. To make an excuse for
+his daughter&#8217;s non-attendance would convey a distinct slight which could
+only be interpreted in one way, after the publicity given to Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s
+appearance at the inquest. He shirked the ordeal. Bother Ang&egrave;le!</p>
+
+<p>He glanced covertly at Elsie. All unconscious of the letter&#8217;s contents,
+the girl was looking out ruefully at the leaden sky. There might be no
+more picnics for weeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez has invited us to luncheon,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When?&#8221; she asked unconcernedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To-morrow. She wishes you to spend the afternoon with Ang&egrave;le.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie turned, with quick animation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care to go,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not? You know very little about her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She seems to me&mdash;curious.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I personally don&#8217;t regard her as a desirable companion for you.
+But there is no need to give offense, and it will not hurt you to meet
+her for an hour or so. Your friend Martin is coming, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;that makes a great difference.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her father laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Between you, you will surely manage to keep Ang&egrave;le out of mischief.
+And, now, my pet, what do you say to an hour with La Fontaine, while I
+attend to some correspondence? Where are my pupils?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They went for a long walk. Mr. Gregory said they would not be home
+until dinner-time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, for a wonder, the clouds broke, and an autumn sun strove
+to cheer the scarred and drowned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>earth. Mrs. Saumarez met her guests
+with the unobtrusive charm of a skilled hostess. Ang&egrave;le, demure and
+shrinking, extended her hand to Elsie with a shy civility that was an
+exact copy of Elsie&#8217;s own attitude.</p>
+
+<p>During luncheon she behaved so charmingly and spoke with such sweet
+naturalness when any question was addressed to her that Mr. Herbert
+found himself steadily recasting his unfavorable opinion.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation steered clear of any reference to the inquest. Mrs.
+Saumarez was a widely read and traveled woman, and versed in the art of
+agreeable small talk.</p>
+
+<p>Once, in referring to Ang&egrave;le, she said smilingly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have been somewhat selfish in keeping her with me always. But, now, I
+have decided that she must go to school. I&#8217;ll winter in Brighton, with
+that object in view.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you like that?&#8221; said the vicar to the child.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll not like leaving mamma; but school, yes. I feel I want to learn a
+lot. I suppose Elsie is, oh, so clever?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She peeped at the other girl under her long eyelashes, and made pretense
+of being awe-stricken by such eminent scholastic attainments in one of
+her own age.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Elsie has learnt a good deal from books, but you have seen much more of
+the world. If you work hard, you will soon make up the lost ground.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll try. I have been trying&mdash;all day yesterday! Eh, mamma?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez sighed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I ought to have engaged a governess,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I cannot teach. I have
+no patience.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Herbert did not know that Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s educational efforts of the
+preceding day consisted in a smug decorum that irritated her mother
+exceedingly. This luncheon party had been devised as a relief from
+Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s burlesque. She termed it &#8220;jouer le bon enfant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After the meal they strolled into the garden. The storm had played havoc
+with shrubs and flowers, but the graveled paths were dry, and the lawn
+was firm, if somewhat damp. Mrs. Saumarez had caused a fine swing to be
+erected beneath a spreading oak. It held two cushioned seats, and two
+propelling ropes were attached to a crossbar. It made swinging a luxury,
+not an exercise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By the way,&#8221; cried Mrs. Saumarez to the vicar, &#8220;do you smoke?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He pleaded guilty to a pipe.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you can smoke a cigar. Fran&ccedil;oise packed a box among my
+belongings&mdash;the remnants of some forgotten festivity in the Savoy. Do
+try one. If you like it, may I send you the others?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar discovered that the gift would be costly&mdash;nearly forty Villar
+y Villars, of exquisite flavor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know that you are giving me five pounds?&#8221; he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never learn the price of these things. I am so glad they are good.
+You will enjoy them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It tickles a poor country vicar to hear you talk so easily of Lucullian
+feasts, Mrs. Saumarez. What must the banquet have been, when the cigars
+cost a half-crown each!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I am not hard up. Colonel Saumarez had only his army pay, but my
+estates lie near Hamburg, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>and you know how that port has grown of
+recent years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you never reside there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez inclined a pink-lined parasol so that its reflected tint
+mingled with the rush of color which suffused her face. Had the worthy
+vicar given a moment&#8217;s thought to the matter, he would have known that
+his companion wished she had bitten her tongue before it wagged so
+freely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I prefer English society to German,&#8221; she answered, after a slight
+pause.</p>
+
+<p>Oddly enough, this statement was literally true, but she dared not
+qualify it by the explanation that an autocratic government exacted
+heavy terms for permitting her to draw a large revenue from her Hamburg
+property.</p>
+
+<p>Blissfully unaware of treading on anyone&#8217;s toes, Mr. Herbert pursued the
+theme.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In my spare hours I take an interest in law,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Your marriage
+made you a British subject. Does German law raise no difficulty as to
+alien ownership of land and houses?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My family, the von Edelsteins, have great influence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This time the vicar awoke to the fact that he might be deemed unduly
+inquisitive. He knew better than to apologize, or even change the
+subject abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Land tenure is a complex business in old-established countries,&#8221; he
+went on. &#8220;Take this village, for example. You may have noticed how every
+garth runs up the hillside in a long, narrow strip. Ownership of land
+bordering the moor carries the right of free grazing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>for a certain
+number of sheep, so every freeholder contrives to touch the heather at
+some point.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said Mrs. Saumarez, promptly interested, &#8220;that explains the
+peculiar shape of the Bolland land at the back of the White House. An
+admirable couple, are they not? And so medieval in their notions. I
+attended what they call a &#8216;love feast&#8217; the other evening. John Bolland
+introduced me as &#8216;Sister Saumarez.&#8217; When he became wrapped up in the
+service he reminded me, or, rather, filled my ideal, of a high priest in
+Israel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was Eli Todd there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The preacher? Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is a fine fellow. Given to use a spiritual sledge-hammer, perhaps,
+but the implements of the Lord are many and varied. Far be it from me to
+gainsay the good work done by the dissenting congregations. If there
+were more chapels, there would be more churches in the land, Mrs.
+Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They had strolled away from the girls, and little did the vicar dream
+what deeps they had skirted in their talk.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le led Elsie to the swing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Try this,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It&#8217;s just lovely to feel the air sizzing past
+your ears.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a swing,&#8221; said Elsie, &#8220;but not like this one. It is a single
+rope, with a little crossbar, which I hold in my hands and propel with
+my feet. It is hard work, I assure you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Grand Dieu! So I should think.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; cried Elsie, &#8220;you shouldn&#8217;t say that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Vous me faites rire! You speak French?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;a little.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;How stupid of me not to guess. I can say what I like before Martin
+Bolland. He is a nice boy&mdash;Martin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; agreed Elsie shortly.</p>
+
+<p>She blushed. They were in the swing now, and swooping to and fro in long
+rushes. Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s black eyes were searching Elsie&#8217;s blue ones. She
+tittered unpleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you so red when I speak of Martin?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not red&mdash;that is, I have no reason to be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know him well?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean Martin?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sapristi!&mdash;I beg your pardon&mdash;who else?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I have only met him twice, to speak to. I have known him by sight
+for years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twice? The first time when he killed that thing&mdash;the cat. When was the
+second?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le was tugging her rope with greater energy than might be credited
+to one of her slight frame. The swing was traveling at a great pace. Her
+fierce gaze disquieted Elsie, to whom this inquisition was irksome.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us stop now,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no. Tell me when next you saw Martin. I <i>must</i> know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because he became different in his manner all at once. One day he
+kissed me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you <i>are</i> horrid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I swear it. He kissed me last Wednesday afternoon. I did not see him
+again until Saturday. Then he was cold. He saw you after Wednesday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>By this time Elsie&#8217;s blood was boiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she said, and the blue in her eyes held a hard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>glint. &#8220;He saw me
+on Wednesday night. We happened to be standing at our gate. Frank
+Beckett-Smythe passed on his bicycle. He was chased by a groom&mdash;sent
+home to be horsewhipped&mdash;because he was coming to meet you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;O l&agrave; l&agrave;!&#8221; shrilled Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;That was nine o&#8217;clock. Does papa know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Poor Elsie crimsoned to the nape of her neck. She wanted to cry&mdash;to slap
+this tormentor&#8217;s face. Yet she returned Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s fiery scrutiny with
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she said with real heat. &#8220;I told him Martin came to our house,
+but I said nothing about Frank&mdash;and you. It was too disgraceful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She jerked viciously at her rope to counteract the pull given by Ang&egrave;le.
+The opposing strains snapped the crossbar. Both ropes fell, and with
+them the two pieces of wood. One piece tapped Ang&egrave;le somewhat sharply on
+the shoulder, and she uttered an involuntary cry.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar and Mrs. Saumarez hurried up, but the swing stopped gradually.
+Obviously, neither of the girls was injured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must have been using great force to break that stout bar,&#8221; said Mr.
+Herbert, helping Ang&egrave;le to alight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Elsie and I were pulling against each other. But we had a lovely
+time, didn&#8217;t we, Elsie?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I enjoyed it even more than you,&#8221; retorted Elsie. The elders
+attributed her excited demeanor to the accident.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If the ropes were tied to the crossbeam, they would be safer, and
+almost as effective,&#8221; said the vicar. &#8220;Ah! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>Here comes Martin. Perhaps
+he can put matters right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to swing any more,&#8221; vowed Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Martin will,&#8221; laughed Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;We can swop partners. That will be
+jolly, won&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Blissfully unaware of the thorns awaiting him, the boy advanced. To be
+candid, he was somewhat awkward in manner. He did not know whether to
+shake hands all round or simply doff his cap to the entire company.
+Moreover, he noted Elsie&#8217;s presence with mixed feelings, for Mrs.
+Saumarez&#8217;s note had merely invited him to tea. There was no mention of
+other visitors. He was delighted, yet suspicious. Elsie and Ang&egrave;le were
+flint and steel. There might be sparks.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez rescued him from one horn of the dilemma. She extended a
+hand and asked if Mr. Bolland were not pleased that the rain had ceased.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Martin,&#8221; said the vicar briskly, &#8220;shin up the pole and tie the
+ropes to the center-piece. These strong-armed giantesses have smashed a
+chunk of timber as thick as your wrist. Don&#8217;t allow either of them to
+hit you. They&#8217;ll pulverize you at a stroke.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I fear it was I who broke it,&#8221; admitted Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it is you he must beware of.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar, in the midst of this chaff, gave Martin a &#8220;leg-up&#8221; the pole,
+and repairs were effected.</p>
+
+<p>When the swing was in order he slid to the ground. Mr. Herbert resumed
+the stroll with Mrs. Saumarez. There was an awkward pause before Martin
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You girls get in. I&#8217;ll start you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke collectively, but addressed Elsie. He wondered why her air was
+so distant.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No, thank you,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I&#8217;ve done damage enough already.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; murmured Ang&egrave;le, &#8220;she is furious because I said you kissed
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly
+unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy&#8217;s real
+strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great
+difficulties&mdash;he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material
+of greatness. He felt at once that he must now choose irrevocably
+between the two girls, with a most unpromising chance of ever again
+recovering lost ground with one of them. He did not hesitate an instant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you say that?&#8221; he demanded sternly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ma foi! Isn&#8217;t it true?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The truth may be an insult. You had no right to thrust your schemes
+into Elsie&#8217;s knowledge.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My schemes, you&mdash;you pig. I spit at you. Isn&#8217;t it true?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;unfortunately. I shall regret it always.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le nearly flew at him with her nails. But she contrived to laugh
+airily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh bien, mon cher Martin! There will come another time. I shall
+remember.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There will come no other time. You dared me to it. I was stupid enough
+to forget&mdash;for a moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forget what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That there was a girl in Elmsdale worth fifty of you&mdash;an English girl,
+not a mongrel!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a boyish retort, feeble, unfair, but the most cutting thing he
+could think of. The words were spoken in heat; he would have recalled
+them at once if that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>were possible, but Ang&egrave;le seized the opening with
+glee.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s you!&#8221; she cried, stabbing her rival with a finger. &#8220;Parbleu! I&#8217;m
+a mixture, half English, half German, but really bad French!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t drag me into your interesting conversation,&#8221; said Elsie
+with bitter politeness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry I said that,&#8221; put in the boy. &#8220;I might have had two friends.
+Now I have lost both.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned. His intent was to quit the place forthwith. Elsie caught his
+arm with an alarmed cry.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; she almost screamed, &#8220;look at your left hand. It is covered
+with blood!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Surprised as she, he raised his hand. Blood was streaming down the
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s nothing,&#8221; he said coolly. &#8220;I must have opened a deep cut by
+climbing the swing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quelle horreur!&#8221; exclaimed Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;I hate blood!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m awfully sorry&mdash;&#8221; began Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense! Come at once to the kitchen and have it bound up,&#8221; said
+Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>They hurried off together. Ang&egrave;le did not offer to accompany them.
+Martin glanced at Elsie through the corner of his eye. Her set mouth had
+relaxed somewhat. Anger was yielding to sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was fighting another wildcat, so was sure to get scratched,&#8221; he
+whispered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You needn&#8217;t have kissed it, anyhow,&#8221; she snapped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That, certainly, was a mistake,&#8221; he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply. Once within the house she removed the stained bandage
+without flinching from the ugly sight of half-healed scars, one of which
+was bleeding <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>profusely. Cold water soon stopped the outflow, and one of
+the maids procured some strips of linen, with which Elsie bound the
+wound tightly.</p>
+
+<p>They had a moment to themselves in recrossing the hall. Martin ventured
+to touch the girl&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Elsie,&#8221; he said boldly, &#8220;do you forgive me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Something in his voice told her that mere verbal fencing would be
+useless.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she murmured with a wistful smile. &#8220;I&#8217;ll forgive, but I can&#8217;t
+forget&mdash;for a long time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the lawn they encountered Mrs. Saumarez. Learning from Ang&egrave;le why the
+trio had dispersed so suddenly, she was coming to attend to Martin
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar joined them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really,&#8221; he said, &#8220;some sort of ill luck is attached to that swing
+to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And then Fran&ccedil;oise appeared, to tell them that tea was ready.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What curious French she talks,&#8221; commented the smiling Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; cried Ang&egrave;le tartly. &#8220;Bad French, eh? And I know heaps and heaps
+of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She caught Mr. Herbert&#8217;s eye, and added an excuse:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m going to change all that. People think I&#8217;m naughty when I speak
+like a domestic. And I really don&#8217;t mean anything wrong.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We all use too much slang,&#8221; said the tolerant-minded vicar. &#8220;It is
+sheer indolence. We refuse to bother our brains for the right word.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h2>TWO MOORLAND EPISODES</h2>
+
+<p>Though all hands were needed on the farm in strenuous endeavor to repair
+the storm&#8217;s havoc, Dr. MacGregor forbade Martin to work when he examined
+the reopened cut. Thus, the boy was free to guide Fritz, the chauffeur,
+on the morning the man came to look at Bolland&#8217;s herd.</p>
+
+<p>Fritz Bauer&mdash;that was the name he gave&mdash;had improved his English
+pronunciation marvelously within a fortnight. He no longer confused
+&#8220;d&#8217;s&#8221; and &#8220;t&#8217;s.&#8221; He had conquered the sibilant sound of the &#8220;s.&#8221; He was
+even wrestling with the elusive &#8220;th,&#8221; substituting &#8220;d&#8221; for &#8220;z.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I learnt from a book,&#8221; he explained, when Martin complimented him on
+his mastery of English. &#8220;Dat is goot&mdash;no, good&mdash;but one trains de ear
+only in de country where de people spik&mdash;speak&mdash;de language all de
+time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The sharp-witted boy soon came to the conclusion that his German friend
+was more interested in the money value of the cattle as pedigreed stock
+than in the &#8220;points&#8221;&mdash;such as weight, color, bone, level back, and
+milking qualities&mdash;which commended them to the experienced eye. Bauer
+asked where he could obtain a show catalogue, and jotted down the
+printer&#8217;s address. When they happened on a team of Cleveland bays,
+however, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>Fritz was thoroughly at home, and gratified his hearer by
+displaying a horseman&#8217;s knowledge of a truly superb animal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dey are light, yet strong,&#8221; he said, his eyes roving from high-set
+withers to shapely hocks and clean-cut fetlocks. &#8220;Each could pull a ton
+on a bad road&mdash;yes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin laughed. He was blind to the cynical smile called forth by his
+amusement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A ton? Two tons. Why, one day last winter, when a pair of Belgians
+couldn&#8217;t move a loaded lorry in the deep snow, my father had the man
+take out both of &#8217;em, and Prince walked away with the lot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So?&#8221; cried the German admiringly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you understand horses,&#8221; went on Martin. &#8220;Yet I&#8217;ve read that men who
+drive motors don&#8217;t care for anything else, as a rule.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, dat reminds me,&#8221; said the other. &#8220;It is a fine day. Come wid me in
+de machine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;ll be grand,&#8221; said Martin elatedly. &#8220;Can you take it out?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes. Any time I&mdash;dat is, I&#8217;ll ask Mrs. Saumarez, and she will
+permit&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Quarter of an hour later the chauffeur was explaining, in German, that
+he was going into the country for a long spin, and Mrs. Saumarez was
+listening, not consenting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Going alone?&#8221; she inquired languidly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, madam,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;Martin Bolland will come with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not take Miss Ang&egrave;le?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want the boy to talk,&#8221; he explained.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Saumarez nodded. She treated the matter with indifference. Not so
+Ang&egrave;le, who heard the car purring down the drive, and inquired Fritz&#8217;s
+errand. She was furious when her mother blurted out the news that Martin
+would accompany Bauer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ce cochon d&#8217;Allemand!&#8221; she stormed, her long lashes wet with vexed
+tears. &#8220;He has done that purposely. He knew I wanted to go. But I&#8217;ll get
+even with him! See if I don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le!&#8221; and Mrs. Saumarez reddened with annoyance; &#8220;if ever you say a
+word about such matters to Fritz I&#8217;ll pack you off to school within the
+hour. I mean it, so believe me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le stamped a rebellious foot, but curbed her tongue and vanished.
+She ran all the way to the village and was just in time to see the
+Mercedes bowling smoothly out of sight, with Martin seated beside the
+chauffeur. She was so angry that she stamped again in rage, and Evelyn
+Atkinson came from the inn to inquire the cause. But Ang&egrave;le snubbed her,
+bought some chocolates from Mr. Webster, and never offered the other
+girl a taste.</p>
+
+<p>It happened that Martin, for his part, had suggested a call at the
+vicarage. Fritz vetoed the motion promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Impossible!&#8221; he grinned. &#8220;I had to dodge de odder one, yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evidently Fritz had kept both eyes and ears open.</p>
+
+<p>They headed for the moors. Wise Martin had counseled a slow speed in the
+village to allay Mrs. Bolland&#8217;s dread of a new-fangled device which she
+&#8220;couldn&#8217;t abide&#8221;; but once on the open road the car breasted a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>steep
+hill at a rate which the boy thought neck-breaking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dat is nodding,&#8221; said Fritz nonchalantly. &#8220;Twenty&mdash;twenty-five. Wait
+till we are on de level. Den I show you fifty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Within six minutes Martin flew past Mrs. Summersgill&#8217;s moor-edge farm.
+Never before had he reached that point in less than half an hour. The
+stout party was in the porch, peeling potatoes for the midday meal. She
+lifted her hands in astonishment as her young friend sped by. Martin
+waved a greeting. He could almost hear her say:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That lad o&#8217; Bolland&#8217;s must ha&#8217; gone clean daft. I&#8217;m surprised at Martha
+te let him ride i&#8217; such a conthraption.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the hedgeless road of the undulating moor, even after the ravages of
+the gale, fifty miles an hour was practicable for long stretches. Fritz
+was a skilled driver. He seemed to have a sixth sense which warned him
+of rain-gullies, and slowed up to avoid straining the car. He began
+explaining the mechanism, and halted on the highest point of a far-flung
+tableland to lift the bonnet and show the delighted boy the operations
+of the Otto cycle. In those days the self-starter was unknown, but
+Martin found he could start the heated engine without any difficulty.
+Fritz permitted him to drive slowly, and taught him the use of the
+brakes. Finally, this most agreeable Teuton produced a packet of
+sandwiches. He was in no hurry to return.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dese farms,&#8221; he said, pointing to a low-built house with tiled roof,
+and a cluster of stables and haymows, &#8220;dey do not raise stock, eh? Only
+little sheep?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;They all keep milk-cows, and bring butter to the market, so they often
+have calves and yearlings,&#8221; was the ready answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And horses?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Always a couple, and a nag for counting the sheep.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How many sheep?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never less than a hundred. Some flocks run to three or four hundred.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah. Where are dey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin, proud of his knowledge, indicated the position and approximate
+distance of the hollows, invisible for the most part, in which lay the
+larger holdings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you understand a map?&#8221; inquired Fritz.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I love maps. They tell you everything, when you can read them
+properly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not everyding,&#8221; and the man smiled. &#8220;Some day I want to visit one of
+dose big farms. Can you mark a few?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He spread an Ordnance map&mdash;a clean sheet&mdash;and gave his guide a pencil.
+Soon Martin had dotted the paper with accurate information, such as none
+but one reared in that wild country could have supplied. He was eager to
+prove his familiarity with a map, and followed each bend and twist of
+the prehistoric glacier beds, where the lowland becks had their origin.
+He was not &#8220;showing off&#8221; before a foreigner. He loved this brown moor
+and was only too pleased to have found a sympathetic listener.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The heather is losing its color now,&#8221; he said, pausing for a moment in
+his task. &#8220;You ought to see it early in August, when it is all one mass
+of purple flowers, with here and there a bunch of golden gorse&mdash;&#8216;whin,&#8217;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>we call it. Our moor is almost free from bog-holes, so you can walk or
+ride anywhere with safety. I have often thought what a fine place it
+would be for an army.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wass ist das?&#8221; cried Fritz sharply. He corrected the slip with a laugh.
+&#8220;An army?&#8221; he went on, though his newly acquired accent escaped him.
+&#8220;Vot woot an army pe toing here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, just a camp, you know. We hold maneuvers every year in England.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yez. You coot pud all your leedle army on dis grount. Bud dere iss von
+grade tefecd. Dere iss no water. A vell, in eej farm, yez; bud nod
+enough for a hundret dousand men, und de horses of four divisions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This point of view was novel to the boy. He knit his brows.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hadn&#8217;t thought of that,&#8221; he confessed. &#8220;But, wait a bit. There&#8217;s far
+more water here than you would imagine. Stocks have to be watered, you
+know. Some of the farmers dam the becks. Why, in the Dickenson place
+over there,&#8221; and out went a hand, &#8220;they have quite a large reservoir,
+with trout in it. You&#8217;d never guess it existed, if you weren&#8217;t told.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fritz nodded. He had turned against the breeze to shield a match for a
+cigarette, and his face was hidden.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You surprise me,&#8221; he murmured, speaking slowly and with care again.
+&#8220;And dere are odders, you say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Five that I know of. Mrs. Walker, at the Broad Ings, rears hundreds of
+ducks on her pond.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fritz took the map and pencil.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You show me,&#8221; he chuckled. &#8220;I write an essay on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>Yorkshire moor farms,
+and perhaps earn a new suit of clo&#8217;es, yes? Our Cherman magazines print
+dose tings.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>That same afternoon a party of guns on a Scottish moor had been shooting
+driven grouse flying low and fast over the butts before a strong wind.
+The sportsmen, five in number, were all experts. Around each shelter,
+with its solitary marksman and his attendant loader, lay a deep crescent
+of game, every bird shot cleanly.</p>
+
+<p>The last drive of the day was the most successful. One man, whose
+bronzed skin and military bearing told his profession, handed the empty
+12-bore to the gillie when the line of beaters came over the crest of
+the hill, and betook himself, filling his pipe the while, to a group of
+ponies waiting on the moorland road in the valley beneath.</p>
+
+<p>He joined another, the earliest arrival.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Capital ground, this,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know whose lot is the more
+enviable, Heronsdale&mdash;yours, who have the pains as well as the pleasure
+of ownership, or that of wandering vagabonds like myself whom you make
+your guests.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lord Heronsdale smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may call yourself a wandering vagabond, Grant&mdash;the envy rests with
+me,&#8221; he said. &#8220;It&#8217;s all very well to have large estates, but I feel like
+degenerating into a sort of head gamekeeper and farm bailiff combined.
+Of course, I&#8217;m proud of Cairn-corrie, yet I pine sometimes for the
+excitement of a life that does not travel in grooves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The other shook his head.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t tempt fate,&#8221; he said. &#8220;My life has been spent among the outer
+beasts. It isn&#8217;t worth it. For a few years of a man&#8217;s youth,
+yes&mdash;perhaps. But I am forty, and I live in a club. There, you have my
+career in a nutshell.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is a fine kernel within. By Gad! Grant, why don&#8217;t you pretend I
+meant that pun? I didn&#8217;t, but I&#8217;ll claim it at dinner. Gad, it&#8217;s fine!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant laughed. His mirth had a pleasant, wholesome ring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you bribe me with as good a berth to-morrow,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ll give
+you the chance of throwing it off spontaneously during the first lull in
+the conversation. The best impromptus are always prepared beforehand,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Others came up. The shooters mounted, and the wise ponies picked their
+way with cautious celerity over an uneven track. Colonel Grant again
+found himself riding beside his host.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell you what,&#8221; said Lord Heronsdale suddenly, &#8220;you&#8217;re a bit of an
+enigma, Grant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have often been told that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad, I don&#8217;t doubt it. A chap like you, with five thousand a year, to
+chuck the Guards for the Indian Staff Corps, exchange town for the
+Northwest frontier, go in for potting Afghans instead of running a drag
+to Sandown; and, to crown all, remain a bachelor. I don&#8217;t understand
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yet, ten minutes ago you were growling about the monotony of existence
+at Cairn-corrie and half a dozen other places.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Not even a <i>tu quoque</i> like that explains the mystery.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some day I&#8217;ll tell you all about it. When the time comes I must ask
+Lady Heronsdale to find me a nice wife, with a warranty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad, that&#8217;s the job for Mollie. <i>She&#8217;ll</i> put the future Mrs. Grant
+through her paces. You&#8217;re not flying off to India again, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I heard last week that a post is to be found for me in the
+Intelligence Department.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Capital! You&#8217;ll soon have a K. before the C. B.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Possibly. Some fellows wear themselves to the bone in trying for those
+things. My scheming for years has been to avoid the humdrum of
+cantonment life. And, behold! I am spotted for promotion. I don&#8217;t know
+how the deuce they ever heard of me in Pall Mall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad! Don&#8217;t you read the papers?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear fellow, they were full of you last year. That march through the
+snow, pulling those guns through the pass, the final relief of the
+fort&mdash;Gad, Molly has the cuttings. She&#8217;ll show &#8217;em to you after dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I sincerely hope Lady Heronsdale will do no such thing. Why on earth
+does she keep such screeds?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His lordship dropped his bantering air.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you really imagine, Grant,&#8221; he said seriously, &#8220;that either she or I
+will ever forget what you did for Arthur at Peshawar?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The other man reddened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A mere schoolboy episode,&#8221; he growled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, in a sense. Yet Arthur told me that he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>a revolver in his
+pocket when you met him that night at the mess and persuaded him to
+leave the business in your hands. You saved our boy, Grant. Gad, ask
+Mollie what she thinks!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Has he been steady since?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A rock, my dear chap&mdash;adamant where women are concerned. His mother is
+beginning to worry about him; he wouldn&#8217;t look at Helen Forbes, and
+Madge Bolingbrooke does her skirt-dances in vain. Both deuced nice
+girls, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant had navigated the talk into a safe channel, and kept it
+there. He never spoke of the past.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner a man asked him if he was reading the Elmsdale sensation. He
+had not even heard of it, so the tale of Betsy and George Pickering, of
+Martin Bolland and Ang&egrave;le Saumarez was poured into his ears.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am interested,&#8221; said his neighbor, &#8220;because I knew poor Pickering. He
+hunted regularly with the York and Ainsty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Saumarez!&#8221; murmured Colonel Grant. &#8220;I once met a man of that name. He
+was shot on the Modder River.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This girl may be his daughter. The paper describes her mother as a lady
+of independent means, visiting the moors for her health.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Poor Saumarez! From what I remember of his character, the child must be
+a chip of the same block&mdash;he was an irresponsible daredevil, a terror
+among women. But he died gallantly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s a lot about her in the local paper, which reached me this
+morning. Would you care to see it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Newspapers are so inaccurate. They never know the facts.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet the colonel, not caring to play bridge, asked later for the loan of
+the journal named by his informant, and read therein the story of the
+village tragedy. As fate willed it, the writer was the reporter of the
+<i>Messenger</i>, and his account was replete with local knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Mrs. Saumarez was the widow of Colonel Saumarez, late of the
+Hussars. But&mdash;what was this?</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Martin Court Bolland, a bright-faced boy, of an intelligence far
+greater than one looks for in rustic youth, has himself a somewhat
+romantic history. He is the adopted son of the sturdy yeoman whose
+name he bears. Mr. and Mrs. Bolland were called to London thirteen
+years ago to attend the funeral of the farmer&#8217;s brother. One
+evening while seeing the sights of the great metropolis they found
+themselves in Ludgate Hill. They were passing the end of St.
+Martin&#8217;s Court, when a young woman named Martineau&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>The colonel laid aside his cigar and twisted his body sideways, so that
+the light of the billiard-room lamps should fall clearly on the paper
+yet leave his face in the shade.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;&mdash;a young woman named Martineau threw herself, with a baby in her
+arms, from the fourth story of a house in the court, and was killed
+by the fall. The baby&#8217;s frock was caught by a projecting sign, and
+the child hung perilously in air. John Bolland, whose strong, stern
+face reveals a character difficult to surprise, impossible to
+daunt, jumped forward and caught the tiny mite as it dropped a
+second time. Mrs. Bolland still treasures a letter written by the
+infant&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>unhappy mother, and prizes to the utmost the fine boy
+whom she and her husband adopted from that hour. The old couple are
+childless, though with Martin calling them &#8216;father&#8217; and &#8216;mother,&#8217;
+they would scoff at the statement. This, then, is the well-knit,
+fearless youngster who fought the squire&#8217;s son on that eventful
+night, and whose evidence is of the utmost importance in the police
+theory of crime, as opposed to accident.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant went steadily through the neat sentences on which the
+<i>Messenger</i> correspondent prided himself. He was a man of bronze; he
+showed no more emotion than a statue, though the facts staring from the
+printed page might well have produced external signs of the tempest
+which sprang into instant being in his soul.</p>
+
+<p>He read each line of descriptive matter and report. For the sorrows of
+Betsy, the final daring of George Pickering, he had no eyes. It was the
+boy he sought in the living record: the boy who fought young
+Beckett-Smythe to rescue the thoughtless child&mdash;for so Ang&egrave;le figured in
+the text; the boy who repudiated with scorn the solicitor&#8217;s suggestion
+that he formed part and parcel of the crowd of urchins gathered in the
+hotel yard; the farmer&#8217;s adopted son, who spoke so fearlessly and bore
+himself so well that the newspaper noted his intelligence, his bright
+looks.</p>
+
+<p>At last Colonel Grant laid down the sheet and lighted a fresh cigar. He
+smoked for a few minutes, watching the pool players, and declining an
+invitation to join in the game. He seemed to be planning some line of
+action; soon he went to the library and unrolled a large scale map of
+England. He found Nottonby&mdash;Elmsdale <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>was too small a place to be
+denoted&mdash;and, after consulting a railway timetable, wrote a long
+telegram.</p>
+
+<p>These things accomplished, he seized an opportunity to tell Lord
+Heronsdale that business of the utmost importance would take him away by
+the first train next morning.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, his host was voluble in protestations, so the soldier
+explained matters.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You asked me to-day,&#8221; he said, &#8220;why I turned my back on town thirteen
+years ago. I meant telling you at a more convenient season. Will it
+suffice now to say that a kindred reason tears me away from your moor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad, I hope there is nothing wrong. Can I help?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; by letting me go. You will be here until October. May I return?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear Grant&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So they settled it that way.</p>
+
+<p>About three o&#8217;clock on the second day after the colonel&#8217;s departure from
+Cairn-corrie he and an elderly man of unmistakably legal appearance
+walked from Elmsdale station to the village. The station master,
+forewarned, had procured a dogcart from the &#8220;Black Lion,&#8221; but the
+visitors preferred dispatching their portmanteaux in the vehicle, and
+they followed on foot.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it happened&mdash;as odd things do happen in life&mdash;that the two men met
+a boy walking rapidly from the village, and some trick of expression in
+his face caused the colonel to halt him with a question:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you tell me where the &#8216;Black Lion&#8217; inn is?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. On the left, just beyond the bend in the road.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And the White House Farm?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p><p>The village youth looked at the speaker with interest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On the right, sir; after you cross the green.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The two men stood and stared at Martin, who was dressed in a neat blue
+serge suit, obtained by post from York, the wildcat having ruined its
+predecessor. The older man, who reminded the boy of Mr. Stockwell, owing
+to the searching clearness of his gaze, said not a word; but the tall,
+sparsely-built soldier continued&mdash;for Martin civilly awaited his
+pleasure&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is your name, by any chance, Martin Court Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is, sir,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you&mdash;can you&mdash;that is, if you are not busy, you might show us the
+inn&mdash;and the farm?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman seemed to have a slight difficulty in speaking, and his
+eyes dwelt on Martin with a queer look in them: but the answer came
+instantly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, sir; but I am going to the vicarage to tea, and you cannot
+possibly miss either place. The inn has a signpost by the side of the
+road, and the White House stands by itself on a small bank about a
+hundred and fifty yards farther down the village.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The older gentleman broke in:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That will be our best course, Colonel. We can easily find our
+way&mdash;alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The hint in the words was intended for the ears that understood. Colonel
+Grant nodded, yet was loath to go.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is the vicar a friend of yours?&#8221; he said to Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. I like him very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does a Mrs. Saumarez live here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, yes. She is at the vicarage now, I expect.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed. You might tell her you met a Colonel Grant, who knew her
+husband in South Africa. You will not forget the name, eh&mdash;Grant?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin surveyed the stranger with redoubled attention. A live colonel is
+a rare sight in a secluded village. The man, seizing any pretext to
+prolong the conversation, drew out a pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here is my card,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You need not give it to Mrs. Saumarez. She
+will probably recognize my name.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy glanced at the pasteboard. It read:</p>
+
+<p class="center">Lieut.-Col. Reginald Grant,<br />
+&#8220;Indian Staff Corps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, it chanced that among Martin&#8217;s most valued belongings was a certain
+monthly publication entitled &#8220;Recent British Battles,&#8221; and he had read
+that identical name in the July number. As was his way, he remembered
+exactly the heroic deeds with which a gallant officer was credited, so
+he asked somewhat shyly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you Colonel Grant of Aliwal, sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He pronounced the Indian word wrongly, with a short &#8220;a&#8221; instead of a
+long one, but never did misplaced accent convey sweeter sound to man&#8217;s
+ears. The soldier was positively startled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear boy,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;how can you possibly know me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everyone knows your name, sir. No fear of me forgetting it now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>The honest admiration in those brown eyes was a new form of flattery;
+for the first time in his life Colonel Grant hungered for more.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have astonished me more than I can tell,&#8221; he said. &#8220;What have you
+read of the Aliwal campaign? All right, Dobson. We are in no hurry.&#8221;
+This to his companion, who ventured on a mild remonstrance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a book, sir, which tells you all about Aliwal&#8221;&mdash;this time Martin
+pronounced the word correctly; no wonder the newspaper commented on his
+intelligence&mdash;&#8220;and it has pictures, too. There is a grand picture of
+you, riding through the gate of the fort, sword in hand. Do you mind me
+saying, sir, that I am very pleased to have met you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man averted his eyes. He dared not look at Martin. He made pretense
+to bite the end off a cigar. He was compelled to do something to keep
+his lips from trembling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope we shall meet often again, Martin,&#8221; he said slowly. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell
+you more than the book does, though I have not read it. Run off to your
+friends at the vicarage. Good-by!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hand, which the boy shook diffidently. There was no
+doubt whatever in Martin&#8217;s mind that Colonel Grant was an
+extraordinarily nice gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My God, Dobson!&#8221; cried the soldier, turning again to look after the
+alert figure of the boy; &#8220;I have seen him, spoken to him&mdash;my own son! I
+would know him among a million.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He certainly bears a marked resemblance to your own photograph at the
+same age,&#8221; admitted the cautious solicitor.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And what a fine youngster! By Jove, did you twig the way he caught on
+to the pronunciation of Aliwal? Bless that book! It shall be bound in
+the rarest leather, though I never rode through that gate&mdash;I ran, for
+dear life! I&mdash;I tell you what, Dobson, I&#8217;d sooner do it now than face
+these people, the Bollands, and explain my errand. I suppose they
+worship him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The position differs from my expectations,&#8221; said the solicitor. &#8220;The
+boy does not talk like a farmer&#8217;s son. And he is going to tea at the
+vicarage with a lady of good social position. Can the Bollands be of
+higher grade than we are led to believe?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The newspaper is my only authority. Ah, here is the &#8216;Black Lion.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Atkinson bustled forward to assure the gentlemen that she could
+accommodate them. Colonel Grant was allotted the room in which George
+Pickering died! It was the best in the hotel. He glanced for a moment
+through the window and took in the scene of the tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That must be where the two young imps fought,&#8221; he murmured, with a
+smile, as he looked into the yard. &#8220;Gad! as Heronsdale says, I&#8217;d like to
+have seen the battle. And my boy whipped the other chap, who was bigger
+and older, the paper said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Soon the two men were climbing the slight acclivity on which stood the
+White House. The door stood hospitably open, as was ever the case about
+tea-time in fine weather. In the front kitchen was Martha, alone.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel advanced.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is Mr. Bolland at home?&#8221; he asked, raising his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noa, sir; he isn&#8217;t. But he&#8217;s on&#8217;y i&#8217; t&#8217; cow-byre. If it&#8217;s owt
+important&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>He followed her meaning sufficiently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you oblige me by sending for him? And&mdash;er&mdash;is Mrs. Bolland here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m Mrs. Bolland, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course, I did not know you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He thought he would find a much younger woman. Martha, in the
+close-fitting sunbonnet, with its wide flaps, her sleeves rolled up, and
+her outer skirt pinned behind to keep it clear of the dirt during
+unceasing visits to dairy and hen-roosts, looked even older than she
+was, her real age being fifty-five.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you kindly be seated, gentlemen?&#8221; she said. She was sure they were
+county folk come about the stock. Her husband&#8217;s growing reputation as a
+breeder of prize cattle brought such visitors occasionally. She wondered
+why the taller stranger asked for her, but he said no more, taking a
+chair in silence.</p>
+
+<p>She dispatched a maid to summon the master.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hev ye coom far?&#8221; she asked bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant looked around. His eyes were searching the roomy kitchen
+for tokens of its occupants&#8217; ways.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We traveled from Darlington to Elmsdale,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and walked here
+from the station.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My goodness, ye&#8217;ll be fair famished. Hev summat te eat. There&#8217;s plenty
+o&#8217; tea an&#8217; cakes; an&#8217; if ye&#8217;d fancy some ham an&#8217; eggs&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pray do not trouble, Mrs. Bolland,&#8221; said the colonel when he had
+grasped the full extent of the invitation. &#8220;We wish to have a brief talk
+with you and your husband. Afterwards, if you ask us, we shall be most
+pleased to accept your hospitality.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>He spoke so genially, with such utter absence of affectation, that
+Martha rather liked him. Yet, what could she have to do with the
+business in hand? Anyhow, here came John, crossing the road with heavy
+strides.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer paused just within the threshold. His huge frame filled the
+doorway. He wore spectacles for reading only, and his deep-sunken eyes
+rested steadily, first on Colonel Grant, then on the solicitor. Then
+they went back to the colonel and did not leave him again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good day, gentlemen,&#8221; he said. &#8220;What can I de&auml; for ye?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man who stormed forts on horseback&mdash;in pictures&mdash;quailed at the task
+before him. He nodded to the solicitor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dobson,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you know all the circumstances. Oblige me by stating
+them fully.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The solicitor, who seemed to expect this request, produced a bulky
+packet of papers and photographs. He prefaced his explanation by giving
+his companion&#8217;s name and rank, and introduced himself as a member of the
+firm of Dobson, Son and Smith, Solicitors, of Lincoln&#8217;s Inn Fields.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fifteen years ago,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;Colonel Grant was a subaltern, a
+junior officer, in the Guards, stationed in London. A slight accident
+one day outside a railway station led him to make the acquaintance of a
+young lady. She was hurrying to catch a train, when she was knocked down
+by a frightened horse, and might have been injured seriously were it not
+for Lieutenant Grant&#8217;s prompt assistance. He escorted her to her
+lodgings, and discovered that she was what is known in London as a daily
+governess&mdash;in other words, a poor, well-educated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>woman striving to earn
+a respectable living. The horse had trampled on her foot, and she
+required proper attention and rest; a brief interview with her landlady
+enabled Mr. Grant to make the requisite arrangements, unknown to the
+young lady herself. He called a week later and found that she was quite
+recovered. She was a very beautiful girl, of a lively disposition, only
+twenty years of age, and working hard in her spare time to perfect
+herself as a musician. She had no idea of the social rank of her new
+friend, or perhaps matters might have turned out differently. As it was,
+they met frequently, became engaged, and were married. I have here a
+copy of the marriage certificate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He selected a long, narrow strip of blue paper from the documents he had
+placed before him on the kitchen table. He opened it and offered it to
+Bolland, as though he wished the farmer to examine it. John did not
+move. He was still looking intently at Colonel Grant.</p>
+
+<p>Martha, all a-flutter, with an indefinite anxiety wrinkling the corners
+of her eyes, said quickly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What might t&#8217; young leddy&#8217;s ne&auml;m be, sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Margaret Ingram. She was of a Gloucestershire family, but her parents
+were dead, and she had no near relatives.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martha cried, somewhat tartly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; what hez all this te de&auml; wi&#8217; us, sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let be, wife. Bide i&#8217; patience. T&#8217; gentleman will tell us, ne&auml; doot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John&#8217;s voice was hard, almost dissonant. The solicitor gave him a rapid
+glance. That harsh tone boded ill for the smooth accomplishment of his
+mission. Martha wondered why her husband gazed so fixedly at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>the other
+man who spoke not. But she toyed nervously with her apron and held her
+peace. Mr. Dobson resumed:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The young couple could not start housekeeping openly. Lieutenant Grant
+depended solely on the allowance made to him by his father, whose ideas
+of family pride were so extreme that such a marriage must unquestionably
+have led to a rupture. Moreover, a campaign in northern India was then
+threatening. It broke out exactly a year and two months after the
+marriage. Mr. Grant&#8217;s regiment was ordered to the front, and when he
+sailed from Southampton he left his young wife and an infant, a boy,
+four months old, installed in a comfortable flat in Clarges Street,
+Piccadilly. It is important that the exact position of family affairs at
+this moment should be realized. General Grant, father of the young
+officer, had suffered from an apopletic stroke soon after his son&#8217;s
+marriage, and to acquaint him with it now meant risking his life. Young
+Grant&#8217;s action was known to and approved by several trustworthy friends.
+He and his wife were very happy, and Mrs. Grant was correspondingly
+depressed when the exigencies of the national service took her husband
+away from her. The parting between the young couple was a bitter trial,
+rendered all the more heartrending by reason of the concealment they had
+practiced. However, as matters had been allowed to drift thus far, no
+one will pretend that there was any special need to worry General Grant
+at the moment of his son&#8217;s departure for a campaign. Lieutenant Grant
+hoped to return with a step in rank. Then, whatever the consequences,
+there must be a full explanation. He had not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>a great deal of money, but
+sufficient for his wife&#8217;s needs. He left her two hundred pounds in notes
+and gold, and his bankers were empowered to pay her fifty pounds
+monthly. His own allowance from General Grant was seventy-five pounds a
+month, and it was with great difficulty that he maintained his position
+in such an expensive regiment as the Guards. The campaign eased the
+pressure, or he could not have kept it up for long.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are all these details quite necessary, Dobson?&#8221; said the colonel, for
+the steady glare of the farmer, the growing pallor of poor Martha,
+around whose heart an icy hand was taking sure grip, were exceedingly
+irksome.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are if I am to do you justice,&#8221; replied the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never mind me. Tell them of Margaret&mdash;and the boy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will pass over the verification of my statement,&#8221; went on Mr. Dobson,
+bending over the folded papers. &#8220;Seven months passed. Mrs. Grant
+expected soon to be delivered of another child. She heard regularly from
+her husband. His regiment was in the Khyber Pass, when one evening she
+was robbed of her small store of jewelry and a considerable sum of money
+by a trusted servant. The theft was reported in the papers, and General
+Grant read of his son&#8217;s wife being a resident in Clarges Street. He went
+to the flat next day, saw the poor girl, behaved in a way that can only
+be ascribed to the folly of an old man broken by disease, and cut off
+supplies at once. Within a week Mrs. Grant found herself in poverty, and
+her husband at least a month&#8217;s post distant. She did not lose her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>wits.
+She sold her furniture and raised money enough to support herself and
+her baby boy for some time. Of course, she was very much distressed, as
+General Grant wrote to her, called her an adventuress, and stated that
+he had disinherited his son on her account. This was only partly true.
+He tore up one will, but made no other, and forgot that there was a
+second copy in possession of my firm. Mrs. Grant then did a foolish
+thing. She concealed her troubles from her husband&#8217;s friends, who would
+have helped her. She took cheap lodgings in another part of London, and
+changed her name. This seems to be accounted for by the fact that
+General Grant, in his insane suspicions, set private detectives to watch
+her. Moreover, the bankers wrote her a curt letter which added to her
+miseries. She rented rooms in St. Martin&#8217;s Court, Ludgate Hill, and gave
+her name as Mrs. Martineau.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martha sprang at the solicitor with an eerie screech:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hev ye coom to steal oor bairn, the bonny lad we&#8217;ve reared i&#8217; infancy
+an&#8217; childhood? Leave this house! John&mdash;husband&mdash;will ye let &#8217;em drive me
+mad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John took her in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martha,&#8221; he said, with a break in his voice that shook his hearers and
+stilled his wife&#8217;s cries; &#8220;dinnat mak&#8217; oor burthen harder te bear. A
+man&#8217;s heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Servants, men and women, came running at their mistress&#8217;s scream of
+terror. They stood, abashed, in the kitchen passage. None paid heed to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant rose and approached the trembling woman cowering at her
+husband&#8217;s side. Her old eyes were streaming now; she gazed at him with
+the pitiful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>anguish of a stricken animal. He took her wrinkled hand and
+bent low before her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Madam,&#8221; he said, &#8220;God forbid that my son should lose his mother a
+second time!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He could say no other word. Even in her agony, Martha felt hot tears
+falling on her bare arm, and they were not her own.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but it&#8217;s a sad errand ye&#8217;re on,&#8221; she sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wife, wife!&#8221; cried John huskily, &#8220;if thou faint in the day of adversity
+thy strength is small. Colonel Grant is a true man. It&#8217;s in his fe&auml;ce.
+He we&auml;n&#8217;t rive Martin frae yer arms, an&#8217; no man can tak&#8217; him frae yer
+heart.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant drew himself up. He caught Bolland&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bear with me,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I have suffered much. I lost my wife and two
+children, one unborn. They were torn from me as though by a destroying
+tempest. One is given back, after thirteen long years of mourning. Can
+you not spare me a place in his affections?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, ay,&#8221; growled John. &#8220;We&#8217;re nobbut owd folk at t&#8217; best, an&#8217; t&#8217; lad
+was leavin&#8217; oor roof for school in a little while. We can sattle things
+like sensible people, if on&#8217;y Martha here will gie ower greetin&#8217;. It
+troubles me sair to hear her lamentin&#8217;. We&#8217;ve had no sike deed i&#8217;
+thirty-fower years o&#8217; married life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man was covering his own distress by solicitude in his wife&#8217;s
+behalf. She knew it. She wiped her eyes defiantly with her apron and
+made pretense to smile, though she had received a shock she would
+remember to her dying day. Some outlet was necessary for her surcharged
+feelings. She whisked around on the crowd of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>amazed domestics,
+dairymaids and farmhands, pressing on each other&#8217;s heels in the passage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are ye gapin&#8217; at?&#8221; she cried shrilly. &#8220;Is there nowt te de&auml;? If
+tea&#8217;s overed, git on wi&#8217; yer work, an&#8217; be sharp aboot it, or I&#8217;ll side
+ye quick!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The stampede that followed relieved the situation. The servants faded
+away under her fiery glance. Colonel Grant smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am glad to see,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that you maintain discipline in your
+regiment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re all ears an&#8217; ne&auml; brains,&#8221; she said. &#8220;My, but I&#8217;m that upset I
+hardly ken what I&#8217;m sayin&#8217;. Mebbe ye&#8217;ll finish yer tale, sir. I&#8217;m
+grieved I med sike a dash at ye, but I couldn&#8217;t bide&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, there,&#8221; said John, with his gruff soothing, &#8220;sit ye doon an&#8217;
+listen quietly. I guessed their business t&#8217; first minnit I set eyes on
+t&#8217; colonel. Why, Martha, look at him. He hez Martin&#8217;s eyes and Martin&#8217;s
+mouth. Noo, ye&#8217;d hev dark-brown hair, I reckon, when ye were a lad,
+sir?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For answer, Colonel Grant stooped to the lawyer&#8217;s papers and took from
+them a framed miniature.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is my portrait at the age of twelve,&#8221; he said, placing it before
+them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but that caps owt!&#8221; cried Martha. &#8220;It&#8217;s Martin hissel! Oh, my
+honey, how little did I think what was coomin&#8217; when I set yer shirt an&#8217;
+collar ready, an&#8217; med ye tidy te gan te tea wi&#8217; t&#8217; fine folk at t&#8217;
+vicarage. An&#8217; noo ye&#8217;re a better bred &#8217;un than ony of &#8217;em. The Lord love
+ye! Here ye are, smilin&#8217; at me. They may mak&#8217; ye a colonel or a gin&#8217;ral,
+for owt I care: ye&#8217;ll nivver forgit yer poor old muther, will ye, my
+bairn!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p><p>She kissed the miniature as if it were Martin&#8217;s own presentment. The men
+left her to sob again in silence. Soon she calmed herself sufficiently
+to ask:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why i&#8217; t&#8217; wulld did that poor lass throw herself an&#8217; her little &#8217;un
+inte t&#8217; street?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dobson took up his story once more:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She explained her action in a pathetic letter to her husband. She was
+ill, lonely, and poverty-stricken. She brooded for days on General
+Grant&#8217;s cruel words and still more cruel letter. They led her to believe
+that she was the unwitting cause of her husband&#8217;s ruin. She resolved to
+free him absolutely and at the same time preserve his name from
+notoriety. Therefore she wrote him a full account of her change of name,
+and told him that her children would die with her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was a mad thing te de&auml;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Exactly. The doctor who knew her best told her husband six months later
+that Mrs. Grant was, in his opinion, suffering from an unrecognized
+attack of puerperal fever. It was latent in her system, and developed
+with the trouble so suddenly brought upon her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yon was a wicked owd man&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The general was called to account by a higher power. Mrs. Grant wrote
+him also a statement of her intentions. Next morning he read of her
+death, and a second attack of apoplexy proved fatal. Her letter did not
+reach her husband until after a battle in which he was wounded. He
+cabled to us, and we made every inquiry, but it was remarkable how
+chance baffled our efforts. In the first instance, the policeman whom
+you encountered in Ludgate Hill and who knew you had adopted the child,
+had left the force and emigrated, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>owing to some unfortunate love
+affair. In the second, several newspapers reported the child as dead,
+though the records of the inquest soon corrected that error. Thirdly,
+someone named Bolland died in the hotel where you stayed and was buried
+at Highgate&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My brother,&#8221; put in John.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; we know now. But conceive the barrier thus placed in our path when
+the dates of the two events were compared long afterwards.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer looked puzzled. The solicitor went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, you wonder why there should have been any delay, but the
+Coroner&#8217;s notes were lost in a fire. Nevertheless, we advertised in
+dozens of newspapers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We hardly ever see a paper, sir,&#8221; said Martha.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yet, the wonder is that some of your friends did not see it and tell
+you. Finally, a sharp-witted clerk of ours solved the Highgate Cemetery
+mystery, and the advertisements were repeated. Colonel Grant was back in
+India by that time trying hard to leave his bones there, by all
+accounts, and perhaps we did not spend as much money on this second
+quest as if he were at home to authorize the expenditure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When was that, sir&mdash;t&#8217; second lot o&#8217; advertisements, I mean?&#8221; asked
+John.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite a year after Mrs. Grant&#8217;s death.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bolland stroked his chin thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I remember,&#8221; he said, &#8220;a man at Malton fair sayin&#8217; summat aboot an
+inquiry for me. But yan o&#8217; t&#8217; hands rode twenty miles across counthry te
+tell me that Martin had gotten t&#8217; measles, an&#8217; I kem yam that neet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Naturally, I can give you every proof of my statements,&#8221; said Mr.
+Dobson. &#8220;They are all here&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Mebbe ye&#8217;ll know this writin&#8217;,&#8221; interrupted Martha, laying down the
+miniature for the first time. She unlocked a drawer, took out a small
+tin box, and from its depths produced, among other articles, a crumbling
+sheet of note paper. On it was written:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;My name is not Martineau. I have killed myself and my boy. If he
+dies with his unhappy mother he will never know the miseries of
+this life.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>It was unsigned, undated, a hurried scrawl in faded ink.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Margaret&#8217;s handwriting,&#8221; said Colonel Grant, looking at the pathetic
+message with sorrow-laden eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was found on t&#8217; poor leddy&#8217;s dressin&#8217;-table, fastened wi&#8217; a hatpin.
+An&#8217; these are t&#8217; clothes Martin wore when he fell into John&#8217;s arms. Nay,
+sir,&#8221; she added, as Colonel Grant began examining the little frock, &#8220;she
+took good care, poor thing, that ne&auml;body should find oot whe&auml; she was.
+Ivvery mark hez bin picked off.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin is his feyther&#8217;s son, or I ken nowt aboot stock,&#8221; cried John
+Bolland, making a fine effort to dispel the depression which again
+possessed the little gathering at sight of these mournful mementoes of
+the dead past. &#8220;Coom, gentlemen, sit ye doon an&#8217; hev some tea. Ye&#8217;ll not
+be for takkin&#8217; Martin away by t&#8217; next train. Martha, what&#8217;s t&#8217; matter
+wi&#8217; ye? I&#8217;ve nivver known folk be so lang i&#8217; t&#8217; hoose afore an&#8217; not be
+asked if they had a mooth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye&#8217;re on t&#8217; wrang gait this time, John,&#8221; she retorted. &#8220;I axed &#8217;em
+afore ye kem in. By this time, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>sure-ly, ye&#8217;ll be wantin&#8217; soom ham an&#8217;
+eggs?&#8221; she added to the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By Jove! I believe I could eat some,&#8221; laughed the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>Martha smiled once more. She liked Martin&#8217;s father. Each moment the
+first favorable impression was deepening. She was on the point of
+bustling away to the back kitchen, when they all heard the patter of
+feet, in desperate haste, approaching the front door. Elsie Herbert
+dashed in. She was hatless. Her long brown hair was floating in
+confusion over her shoulders and down her back. She was crying in great
+gulps and gasping for breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Mr. Bolland!&#8221; she wailed. &#8220;Oh, Mrs. Bolland!&mdash;what shall I say?
+Martin is hurt. He fell off the swing. Ang&egrave;le did it! I&#8217;ll kill her!
+I&#8217;ll tear her face with my hands! Oh, come, someone, and help father. He
+is trying to bring back Martin&#8217;s senses. What shall I do?&mdash;it was all on
+my account. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And she sank fainting to the floor.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h2>THE SEVEN FULL YEARS</h2>
+
+<p>But Martin was not dead, nor even seriously injured. At first, the
+affair looked so ugly&mdash;its main features were so incomprehensible&mdash;that
+Mr. Herbert was startled into somewhat panic-stricken action. Here was
+Martin lying unconscious on the ground, with Elsie kneeling by his side,
+passionately beseeching him in one breath to speak to her, and in the
+next accusing Ang&egrave;le Saumarez of murder.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar was not blameworthy, in that he failed to grasp either the
+nature of the accusation or its seeming unreasonableness.</p>
+
+<p>The single rope of the gymnastic swing erected in the garden for Elsie&#8217;s
+benefit had been cut deliberately with a sharp knife a few inches above
+the small bar on which the user&#8217;s weight was supported by both hands. Of
+the cutting there could be no manner of doubt. The jagged edges of the
+few strands left by a devilish ingenuity&mdash;so that the swing must need be
+in violent motion before the rope snapped&mdash;were clearly visible at the
+point of severance. But who had done this thing, and with what deadly
+object in view? And why did Elsie pitch on Ang&egrave;le Saumarez so readily,
+glaring at her with such eyes of vengeance that the vicar was
+constrained to order, with the utmost sternness of which he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>was
+capable, that the torrent of words should cease. Indeed, he dispatched
+her to acquaint the Bollands with tidings of the disaster as a haphazard
+pretext to get her out of the way. Apart from sensing the accident&#8217;s
+inexplicable motive, its history was simple enough.</p>
+
+<p>Before tea was served, Martin and Elsie were using the swing
+alternately, vying with each other in the effort to touch with their
+toes the leaves of a tree nearly twenty feet distant from the vertical
+line of the rope. Ang&egrave;le, of course, took no part in this contest; she
+contented herself with a sarcastic incredulity when Elsie vowed that she
+had accomplished the feat twice already.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, stronger, but less skilled in the trick of the swing than the
+girl, strove hard to excel her. Yet he, too, fell short by a few inches
+time after time. At last, Elsie vowed that when she was rested after tea
+she would prove her words, and threw a pebble at the branch which she
+claimed to have reached a week ago.</p>
+
+<p>Neither Mrs. Saumarez nor the vicar attached any weight to the somewhat
+emphatic argument between the two girls. It was a splendid contest
+between Martin and Elsie. It interested the elders for conflicting
+reasons.</p>
+
+<p>To see the graceful girl propelling herself through the air in a curve
+of nearly forty feet at each pendulum stroke of the swing was a pleasing
+sight to her father, but it caused Mrs. Saumarez to regret again that
+her daughter had not been taught to think more of athletic exercises and
+less of dress.</p>
+
+<p>While the young people were following their seniors to the drawing-room,
+Ang&egrave;le said to Elsie:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I could do that myself with a little practice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You are not tall enough,&#8221; was the uncompromising answer, for Elsie&#8217;s
+temper was ruffled by the simpering unbelief with which the other
+treated her assurances.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not so tall, no; but I can bend back like this, and you cannot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Without a second&#8217;s hesitation Ang&egrave;le twisted her head and shoulders
+around until her chin was in a line with her heels. Then she dropped
+lightly so that her hands rested on the grass of the lawn, straightening
+herself with equal ease. The contortion was performed so quickly that
+neither Mr. Herbert nor Mrs. Saumarez was aware of it. It was a display
+not suited to the conditions of ordinary costume, and it necessarily
+exhibited portions of the attire not usually in evidence.</p>
+
+<p>Martin had eyes only for the girl&#8217;s acrobatic agility, but Elsie
+blushed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t like that,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can stand on my head and walk on my hands,&#8221; cried Ang&egrave;le instantly.
+&#8220;Martin, some day I&#8217;ll show you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Conscious though she was that these things were said to annoy her, Elsie
+remembered that Ang&egrave;le was a guest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How did you learn?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;Were you taught in school?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;School! Me! I have never been to school. Education is the curse of
+children&#8217;s lives. I never leave mamma. One day in Nice I saw a circus
+girl doing tricks of that sort. I practiced in my bedroom.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does your mother wish that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She doesn&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder you haven&#8217;t broken your neck,&#8221; said the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>practical Martin, who
+felt his bones creaking at the mere notion of such twisting.</p>
+
+<p>Ang&egrave;le laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is quite easy, when you are slim and elegant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her vanity amused the boy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You speak as though Elsie were as stiff as a board,&#8221; he said. &#8220;If you
+had watched her carefully, Ang&egrave;le, you would have seen that she is quite
+as supple as you, only in a different way. And she is strong, too. I
+dare say she could swing with one hand and carry you in the other, if
+she had a mind to try.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This ready advocacy of a new-found divinity angered Ang&egrave;le beyond
+measure. Possibly she meant no greater harm than the disconcerting of a
+rival; but she slipped out of the room when Mr. Herbert sent Elsie to
+the library to bring a portfolio of old prints which he wished to show
+Mrs. Saumarez. Although it was never definitely proved against Ang&egrave;le,
+someone tampered with the rope before a move was made to the garden
+after tea. The cause, the effect, were equally clear; the human agent
+remained unknown.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, I&#8217;ll prove my words,&#8221; cried Elsie, darting across the lawn in
+front of the others.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here, it&#8217;s my turn,&#8221; shouted the boy gleefully. &#8220;I&#8217;ll race you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Martin! Martin! I want you!&#8221; shrieked Ang&egrave;le, running after him.</p>
+
+<p>He paid no heed to her cries. Outstripping both girls in the race, he
+sprang at the swing, and was carried almost to the debated limit of the
+tree by the impetus of the rush. When he felt himself stopping he threw
+up his feet in a wild effort to touch the leaves so tantalizingly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>out
+of reach, and in that instant the rope broke.</p>
+
+<p>He turned completely over and fell with a heavy thud on the back of his
+bent head. The screaming of the girls brought the vicar from his prints
+in great alarm, and his agitation increased when he discovered that the
+boy could neither move nor speak.</p>
+
+<p>Elsie was halfway to the White House before Martin regained his breath.
+Once vitality returned, however, he was quickly on his feet again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What happened?&#8221; he asked, craning his head awkwardly. &#8220;I thought
+someone fired a gun!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You frightened us nearly out of our wits,&#8221; cried the vicar. &#8220;And I was
+stupid enough to send Elsie flying to your people. Goodness knows what
+she will have said to them!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Promptly the boy shook himself and tried to break into a run.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must&mdash;follow her,&#8221; he gasped. But not yet was the masterful spirit
+able to control relaxed muscles; he collapsed again.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez cried aloud in a new fear, but the vicar, accustomed to
+the minor accidents of the cricket field and gymnasium, was cooler now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s all right&mdash;only needs a drink of water and a few minutes&#8217; rest,&#8221;
+he explained.</p>
+
+<p>He bade one of the maids go as quickly as possible to the Bollands&#8217; farm
+and say that the mischief to Martin was a mere nothing, and then busied
+himself in more scientific fashion with restoring his patient&#8217;s
+animation.</p>
+
+<p>Unfastening the boy&#8217;s collar and the neckband of his shirt, Mr. Herbert
+satisfied himself that the clavicle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>was uninjured. There was a slight
+abrasion of the scalp, which was sore to the touch. In a minute, or
+less, Martin was again protesting that there was little the matter with
+him. He would not be satisfied until the vicar allowed him to start once
+more for the village, though at a more sedate pace.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Saumarez, in a voice of deep distress, asked Mr. Herbert if
+the rope had really been cut.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You can see yourself that there is no doubt about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But your daughter charged Ang&egrave;le with this&mdash;this crime. My child denies
+it. She has no knife or implement of any sort in her pocket. I assure
+you I have satisfied myself on that point.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The affair is a mystery, Mrs. Saumarez. It must be cleared up. Thank
+God, Martin escaped! He might be lying here dead at this moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure it was not an accident?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What am I to say? Here is a stout hempen cord with nearly all its
+strands severed as if with a razor, and the other torn asunder. And,
+from what I can gather, it was Elsie, and not Martin, for whose benefit
+this diabolical outrage was planned.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vicar spoke warmly, but the significance of the incident was dawning
+slowly on his perplexed mind. Providence alone had ordained that neither
+the boy nor the girl had been gravely, perhaps fatally, injured.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez was haggard. She seemed to have aged in those few minutes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le!&#8221; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>The girl, who was sobbing, came to her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Can it be possible,&#8221; said the distracted mother, &#8220;that you interfered
+with the swing? Why did you leave the drawing-room during tea?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I only went to stroke a cat, mamma. Indeed, I never touched the swing.
+Why should I? And I could not cut it with my fingers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On second thoughts,&#8221; said the vicar coldly, &#8220;I think that the matter
+may be allowed to rest where it is. Of course, one of my servants may be
+the culprit, or a mischievous village youth who had been watching the
+children at play. But the two girls do not seem to get on well together,
+Mrs. Saumarez. I fear they are endowed with widely different
+temperaments.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The hint could not be ignored. The lady smiled bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is well that I should have decided already to leave Elmsdale,&#8221; she
+said. &#8220;It is a charming place, but my visit has not been altogether
+fortunate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert remembered the curious phrase in after years. He understood
+it then. At the moment he was candidly relieved when Mrs. Saumarez and
+Ang&egrave;le took their departure. He jammed on a hat and hastened to the
+White House to learn what sort of sensation Elsie had created.</p>
+
+<p>A week later he made a discovery. He had a curious hobby&mdash;he was his own
+bootmaker, and Elsie&#8217;s, having taught himself to be a craftsman in an
+art which might well claim higher rank than it holds. When next he
+rummaged among his implements for a shoemaker&#8217;s knife it was missing. It
+was found in the garden next spring, jammed to the top of the hilt into
+the soft mold beneath a rhododendron. The tools were kept on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>a bench in
+the conservatory; so Ang&egrave;le might have accomplished her impish desire in
+a few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>On reaching the White House he was mildly surprised at finding Martin
+propped against the knee of a tall, soldierly stranger, who was
+consoling the boy with a reminiscence of a far worse toss at polo, by
+which a hard <i>sola topi</i> was flattened on the iron surface of an Indian
+<i>maidan</i>. Elsie, white, but much interested, was sipping a glass of
+milk.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, Vicar,&#8221; cried Mrs. Bolland, in whose face Mr. Herbert saw signs of
+recent excitement, &#8220;your lass gev us a rare start. She landed here like
+a mad thing, screamed oot that Martin was dead, an&#8217; dropped te t&#8217; flure
+half dead herself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The fault was mine, Mrs. Bolland. There was an accident. At first I
+thought Martin was badly hurt. I am, indeed, very sorry if Elsie alarmed
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His words were meant to reassure the others, but his eyes were fixed on
+the girl&#8217;s pallid face. John Bolland laughed in his dry way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay, Passon, dinnat fret aboot Elsie. She&#8217;s none t&#8217; warse for a sudden
+stop. She was ower-excited. Where&#8217;s yon lass o&#8217; Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gone home with her mother. I hear they are leaving Elmsdale.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A good riddance!&#8221; said John heartily. He turned to Martin. &#8220;Ye&#8217;ll be
+winded again, I reckon?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I left my ash stick i&#8217; t&#8217; low yard. Mebbe you an&#8217; t&#8217; young leddy
+will fetch it. There&#8217;s noa need te hurry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was an oblique instruction to the boy to make <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>himself scarce for
+half an hour. With Elsie as a companion he needed no urging. They set
+off, happy as grigs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Noo, afore ye start te fill t&#8217; vicar wi&#8217; wunnerment,&#8221; cried Martha, &#8220;I
+want te ax t&#8217; colonel a question.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it, Mrs. Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant was smiling at the vicar&#8217;s puzzled air. These good people
+knew naught of formal introductions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How old is t&#8217; lad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was fourteen years old on the sixth of last June.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but that&#8217;s grand.&#8221; She clapped her hands delightedly. &#8220;I guessed
+him tiv a week or two. We reckoned his birthday as a twel&#8217;month afore we
+found him, and that was June the eighteenth. And what&#8217;s his right ne&auml;m?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was christened after me and after his mother&#8217;s family. His name is
+Reginald Ingram Grant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I ask who in the world you are talking about?&#8221; interposed the
+perplexed vicar.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whe&auml;? Why, oor Martin!&#8221; cried Martha. &#8220;He&#8217;s a gentleman born, God bless
+him!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And, what is much more important, Mrs. Bolland, he is a gentleman
+bred,&#8221; said the colonel.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>The scene in the kitchen of the White House had been too dramatic that
+some hint of it should not reach the village that night. Soon all
+Elmsdale knew that the mystery of Martin&#8217;s parentage had been solved,
+and great was the awe of the boy&#8217;s playmates when they heard that his
+father was a &#8220;real live colonel i&#8217; t&#8217; army.&#8221; A garbled version of the
+story came to Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>Beckett-Smythe&#8217;s ears, and he called on Colonel Grant
+at the &#8220;Black Lion&#8221; next day.</p>
+
+<p>He arrived in state, in a new Mercedes car, handled by a chauffeur
+replica of Fritz Bauer. Beckett-Smythe had hardly mastered his surprise
+at the colonel&#8217;s confirmation of that which he had regarded as &#8220;an
+incredible yarn&#8221; when Mrs. Saumarez drove up. She, too, recalling the
+message brought by Martin from her husband&#8217;s comrade-in-arms, came to
+verify the strange tale told by the Misses Walker. Ang&egrave;le accompanied
+her, and the girl&#8217;s eyes shot lightning at Martin, who was on the point
+of guiding his father to the moor when Mr. Beckett-Smythe put in an
+appearance.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer had departed for London by the morning train; the three older
+people and the two youngsters gathered in the room thus set at liberty,
+Mrs. Atkinson having remodeled it into a sitting-room for the colonel&#8217;s
+use.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez hailed the stranger effusively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is delightful to run across anyone who knew my husband,&#8221; she said.
+&#8220;In this remote part of Yorkshire none seems to have ever heard of him.
+Believe me, Colonel Grant, it is positively a relief to meet a man who
+recognizes my name.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She may have intended this for an oblique thrust at Beckett-Smythe,
+relations between the Hall and The Elms having been somewhat strained
+since the inquest. The Squire, a good fellow, who had no inkling of
+Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s latest escapade, hastened to make amends.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You two must want to chat over old times,&#8221; he said breezily. &#8220;Why not
+come and dine with me to-night? I have only one other guest&mdash;an
+Admiralty man. He&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>prowling about the coast trying to select a
+suitable site for a wireless station.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, Mrs. Saumarez would have declined the invitation had Beckett-Smythe
+stopped short at the first sentence. As it was, she accepted instantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do come, Colonel Grant,&#8221; she urged. &#8220;What between the Navy and the
+Intelligence Department it should be an interesting evening.... Oh,
+don&#8217;t look so surprised,&#8221; she went on, with an engaging smile. &#8220;I still
+read the <i>Gazette</i>, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what of the kiddies?&#8221; said Beckett-Smythe. &#8220;They know my boys. Your
+chauffeur can bring them home at nine. By the way, the meal will be
+quite informal&mdash;come as you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you say, Martin?&#8221; said the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be very pleased, sir; but may I&mdash;ask&mdash;my mother first?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boy reddened. His new place in the world was only twenty-four hours
+old, and his ideas were not yet adjusted to an order of things so
+astounding that he thought every minute he would wake up and find he had
+been dreaming.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, certainly,&#8221; and a kindly hand fell on his shoulder. &#8220;I am glad you
+spoke of it. Mrs. Bolland is worthy of all the respect due to the best
+of mothers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go with you, Martin,&#8221; announced Ang&egrave;le suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>Martin hesitated. He was doubtful of the reception Mrs. Bolland might
+give the minx who had nearly caused him to break his neck, and, for his
+own part, he wanted to avoid Ang&egrave;le altogether. She was a disturbing
+influence. He feared her not at all as a spitfire. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>It was when she
+displayed her most engaging qualities that she was really dangerous, and
+he knew from experience that her mood had changed within the past five
+minutes. On alighting from the car she would like to have scratched his
+face. Now he would not be surprised if she elected to walk with him hand
+in hand through the village street.</p>
+
+<p>His father came to the rescue.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us all go and see Mrs. Bolland,&#8221; he said. &#8220;It is only a few yards.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They went out into the roadway. Then Beckett-Smythe was struck by an
+afterthought.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you&#8217;ll excuse me, I&#8217;ll run along to the vicarage and ask Herbert and
+his daughter to join us,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez bit her lip.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I&#8217;ll leave Ang&egrave;le at home,&#8221; she said in a low tone. &#8220;The child
+is delicate. During the past week I have insisted that she goes to bed
+at eight every evening.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant understood why the lady did not want the two girls to
+meet, but it was borne in on him that she herself was determined not to
+miss that impromptu dinner party. In a vague way he wondered what her
+motive could be.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, that&#8217;s a pity,&#8221; he heard Beckett-Smythe say. &#8220;She can be well
+wrapped up, and the weather is mild.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He moved a little ahead of the two. Martin, determined not to be left
+alone with Ang&egrave;le, hastened to greet his friend, Fritz. The two
+chauffeurs were conversing in German. Apparently, they were examining
+the engine of the new car.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Martin,&#8221; murmured Ang&egrave;le, &#8220;don&#8217;t bother about Fritz. He&#8217;ll snap your
+head off. He&#8217;s furious because he lost a map the other day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Martin pressed on. No longer could Ang&egrave;le deceive him&mdash;&#8220;twiddle him
+around her little finger,&#8221; as she would put it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello, Fritz!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;What map did you lose? Not the one I marked
+for you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fritz turned. The new chauffeur closed the bonnet of the engine.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he said, speaking slowly, and looking at Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;It was a small
+road map. You haf not seen it, I dink.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was it made of linen, with a red cover?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yez,&#8221; and the man&#8217;s face became curiously stern.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I saw you studying it one day at The Elms, but you didn&#8217;t have it
+on the moor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fritz&#8217;s scowl changed to an expression of disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haf mislaid it,&#8221; he grunted, and again his glance dwelt on Ang&egrave;le,
+who met his gaze with a bland indifference that seemed to gall him.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant drew near. He had been eyeing the two spick-and-span
+chauffeurs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is your friend, Martin?&#8221; he said. He was interested in everything
+the boy did and in everyone whom he knew.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, this is Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s chauffeur.... Fritz, this is
+Colonel Grant, of the Indian Army.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the two young Germans straightened as though some mechanism
+had stiffened their spines and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>thrown back their heads. The newcomer&#8217;s
+heels clicked and his right hand was raised in a salute. Fritz, better
+schooled than his comrade by longer residence in England, barely
+prevented his heels from clicking, and managed to convert the salute
+into a raising of his cap. There could be no doubt that he was
+flustered, because he said not a word, and the open-air tan of his
+cheeks assumed a deeper tint.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently, Colonel Grant saw nothing of this, or, if he noticed the
+man&#8217;s confusion, attributed it to nervousness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two Mercedes cars in one small village!&#8221; he exclaimed laughingly. &#8220;You
+Germans are certainly conquering England by peaceful penetration.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez elected, after all, not to visit the White House that
+afternoon, so Ang&egrave;le, having said good-by to the colonel and Martin in
+her prettiest manner, was whisked off in the car.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By the way, Martin,&#8221; said his father as the two walked to the farm.
+&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez is German by birth. Have you ever heard anything about
+her family?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin had a good memory.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; he said. &#8220;She is a baroness&mdash;the Baroness Irma von
+Edelstein.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The colonel was surprised at this glib answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who told you?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ang&egrave;le, sir. But Mrs. Saumarez did not wish people to use her title.
+She was vexed with Ang&egrave;le for even mentioning it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez sent her car to bring Colonel Grant and his son to the
+Hall. She was slightly ruffled when <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>Fritz told her that they had gone
+already, Mr. Beckett-Smythe having collected his guests from both the
+inn and the vicarage.</p>
+
+<p>She might have been positively indignant if she had overheard Grant&#8217;s
+comments to the Admiralty official while the two strolled on the lawn
+before dinner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A couple of Prussian officers, if ever I saw the genuine article,&#8221; said
+the colonel. &#8220;Real junkers&mdash;smart-looking fellows, too. Mrs. Saumarez is
+the widow of a British officer&mdash;a fine chap, but poor as a church
+mouse&mdash;and she belongs to a wealthy German family. <i>Verbum sap.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nuff said,&#8221; grinned the sailor. &#8220;But what is one to do? No sooner is
+this outfit erected but it&#8217;ll be added to the display of local picture
+postcards, and the next German bigwig who visits this part of the
+country will be invited to amuse himself by ringing up Bremen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, Mrs. Saumarez was told that night that the Yorkshire coast
+was too highly magnetized to suit a wireless station. The sailor thought
+an inland town like York would provide an ideal site.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see,&#8221; he explained politely, &#8220;when the German High Seas Fleet
+defeats the British Navy it can shell our coast towns all to
+smithereens.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You fighting men invariably talk of war with Germany as an assured
+thing,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Yet I, who know Germany, and have relatives there, am
+convinced that the notion is absurd.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Emperor has been twenty years on the throne and has never drawn
+sword except on parade,&#8221; put in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>vicar. &#8220;There may have been danger
+once or twice in his hot youth, but he has grown to like England, and I
+cannot conceive him plunging a great and thriving country into the
+morass of a doubtful campaign.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ninety-nine per cent of Englishmen like to think that way,&#8221; said the
+Admiralty man. &#8220;In a multitude of counselors there is wisdom, so let&#8217;s
+hope they&#8217;re right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When the young folk got together on the terrace, Frank Beckett-Smythe
+asked Martin why his neck was stiff.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I took a toss off Elsie&#8217;s swing yesterday,&#8221; was the airy answer. Not a
+word did he or Elsie say as to Ang&egrave;le, and the Beckett-Smythes knew
+better than to introduce her name.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Mrs. Saumarez left for the South rather hurriedly. She paid no farewell
+visits. She and Ang&egrave;le traveled in the car; Fran&ccedil;oise followed with the
+baggage. The Misses Walker were consoled for the loss of a valued lodger
+by receiving a less exacting one in the person of Martin&#8217;s father.</p>
+
+<p>The boy himself, when his mental poise was adjusted to the phenomenal
+change in his life, soon grew accustomed to a new environment. Mr.
+Herbert undertook to direct his studies in preparation for a public
+school, and Martha Bolland became reconciled gradually to seeing him
+once or twice daily, instead of all day, for he, too, lived at The Elms.</p>
+
+<p>Officially, as it were, he adopted his new name, but to the small world
+of Elmsdale he would ever be &#8220;Martin.&#8221; Even his father fell into the
+habit.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p><p>The colonel drove him to the adjourned petty sessions at Nottonby when
+Betsy&#8217;s case came on for hearing. Mr. Stockwell abandoned his critical
+attitude and concurred with the police that there was no need to bring
+Ang&egrave;le Saumarez from London to attend the trial. Mrs. Saumarez gave no
+thought to the fact that the girl might be needed to give evidence, but
+the authorities decided that there were witnesses in plenty as to the
+outcry raised in the garden after Pickering was wounded.</p>
+
+<p>It was November before Betsy appeared at the county assizes. When she
+entered the dock, those who knew her were astonished by the improvement
+in her appearance. It was probable that the enforced rest, the regular
+exercise, the judicious diet of the prison had exercised a beneficial
+effect on her health.</p>
+
+<p>Her demeanor was calm as ever, and the able barrister who defended her
+did not scruple to suggest that it would create a better effect with the
+jury if she adopted a less unemotional attitude.</p>
+
+<p>Her reply silenced him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think,&#8221; she said, &#8220;that I will be permitted to atone for my
+wrongdoing by punishment? No. I live because my husband wished me to
+live. I will be called to account, but not by an earthly judge or jury.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was right. The assize judge held the scales of justice impartially
+between the sworn testimony of George Pickering and Betsy&#8217;s witnesses,
+on the one hand, and the evidence of Martin and the groom, backed by the
+scientists, on the other.</p>
+
+<p>The jury gave her the benefit of the doubt and acquitted her, but it was
+noticed by many that his lordship <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>contented himself with ordering her
+discharge from custody. He passed no opinion on the verdict.</p>
+
+<p>So Betsy was installed as mistress of Wetherby Lodge, the trustees
+having decided that she was well fitted to manage the estate.</p>
+
+<p>Tongues wagged in Elmsdale when Mr. Stockwell drove thither one day and
+solemnly handed over to Martin the sword and the double-barreled gun,
+and to John Bolland the pedigree cow bequeathed by George Pickering.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer eyed the animal grimly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis an unfortunate beast,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Mebbe if I hadn&#8217;t sold her te
+poor George he might nivver hae coom te Elmsdale just then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not think that,&#8221; the solicitor assured him. &#8220;Pickering would most
+certainly have visited the fair. I know, as a matter of fact, that he
+wished to purchase one of your brood mares.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ay, ay. She went te Jarmany. Well, if I&#8217;m spared, I&#8217;ll send a good calf
+to Wetherby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer and he shook hands on the compact. Yet Pickering&#8217;s odd
+bequest was destined to work out in a way that would have amazed the
+donor, could he but know it.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was at Winchester&mdash;his father&#8217;s old school&mdash;when he received a
+letter in Bolland&#8217;s laborious handwriting. It read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">My Dear Lad</span>&mdash;Yours to hand, and this leaves your mother and self
+in good health. We were glad to hear that the box arrived all right
+and that your mates think well of Yorkshire cakes. You may learn a
+lot of useful things at school, but you will not often meet with a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>better cook than your mother. She is sore upset just now about a
+mishap we have had on the farm. I turned out nearly all my
+shorthorns to graze on the low pastures. The ground was a bit damp,
+and a strange cow broke in at night to join them. I don&#8217;t rightly
+know what to blame, but next day they showed signs of rinderpest. I
+sent for the vet, and they had to be slaughtered&mdash;all but one
+two-year-old bull, Bainesse Boy IV., and Mr. Pickering&#8217;s cow, which
+were not with them in the meadow. It is a great loss, but I don&#8217;t
+repine, now that you are provided for, and it is not quite like
+starting all over again, as I have my land and my Cleveland bays,
+and I am in no debt. In such matters I turn to the Lord for
+consolation. I have just read this verse to Martha: &#8216;I have been
+young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken,
+nor his seed begging bread.&#8217; If you are minded to look it up, you
+will find it in the Thirty-seventh Psalm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to pretend that the blow has not been a hard one,
+but, God willing, there will be a hamper for you at Christmas, if
+Colonel Grant is too busy to bring you North. Your mother joins in
+much love.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 4em;">&#8220;Your affect.,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-right: 1em;">&#8221;<span class="smcap">John Bolland.</span>&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;P. S.&mdash;Maybe you will not have forgotten that Mrs. Saumarez said
+the land needed draining. She was a clever woman in some ways.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>The boy&#8217;s eyes filled with tears. He understood only too well the
+far-reaching misfortune which had befallen the farmer. The total value
+of the herd was &pound;5,000, and he remembered that experts valued the young
+surviving bull at &pound;300 as a yearling. In all, twenty-three animals had
+been slaughtered by the law&#8217;s decree, and the compensation payable to
+Bolland would not cover a twentieth part of the actual loss.</p>
+
+<p>Martin not only wrote a letter of warm sympathy to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>his adopted parents
+but sent Bolland&#8217;s letter to his father, with an added commentary of his
+own. Colonel Grant obtained short leave and traveled to Elmsdale next
+day. It took some trouble to bring John round to his point of view, but
+the argument that the farm should be restocked in Martin&#8217;s interests
+prevailed, and negotiations were opened with prominent breeders
+elsewhere which resulted in the purchase of a notable bull and eight
+heifers, for which Bolland and the colonel each found half the money.
+The farmer would listen to no other arrangement, though he promised that
+if he experienced any tightness for money he would not hesitate to apply
+for further help.</p>
+
+<p>The need never made itself felt. The first animal to produce successful
+progeny was George Pickering&#8217;s cow! No man in the North Riding was more
+pleased than John that day. Throughout the whole of his life the only
+person who ever brought a charge of unfair dealing against him was
+Pickering. The memory rankled, and its sting was none the less bitter
+because of a secret dread that he had perhaps been guilty of a piece of
+sharp practice. Now his character was cleared.</p>
+
+<p>Pattison, his old crony, asked him, by way of a joke, how much &#8220;he&#8217;d
+tak&#8217; for t&#8217; cauf.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>John blazed into unexpected anger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At what figger de you reckon yer own good ne&auml;m, Mr. Pattison?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t kno&auml; as I&#8217;d care te sell it at onny price, Mr. Bollan&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then ye&#8217;ll think as I do aboot yon cauf. Neyther it nor any other of
+its dam&#8217;s produce will ivver leave my farm if I can help it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h2>OUT OF THE MISTS</h2>
+
+<p>This record of a Yorkshire village&mdash;a true chronicle of life among the
+canny folk who dwell on the &#8220;moor edge&#8221;&mdash;might well be left at the point
+it reached when one of its chief characters saw before him the smooth
+and sunlit road of a notable career.</p>
+
+<p>But history, though romantic, is not writ as romance, and the story of
+Elmsdale is fact, not fiction. After eight years of somnolence the
+village awoke again. It was roused from sleep by the tumult of a world
+at war; mayhap the present generation shall pass away before the hamlet
+relapses into its humdrum ways.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was twenty-two when his father and he journeyed north to attend
+the annual sale of the Elmsdale herd, which was fixed for the two
+opening days of July, 1914. Each year Colonel Grant brought his son to
+the village for six weeks prior to the twelfth of August; this year
+there was a well-founded rumor in the little community that the colonel
+meant to buy The Elms.</p>
+
+<p>The announcement of Bolland&#8217;s sale brought foreign agents from abroad
+and well-known stock-raisers from all parts of the Kingdom. No less than
+forty animals entered the auction ring. One bull, Bainesse Boy IV.,
+realized &pound;800. Bainesse Boy IV. held a species of levee in a special
+stall. He had grown into a wonder. On a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>table, over which Sergeant
+Benson mounted guard, were displayed five championship cups he had
+carried off, while fifteen cards, arranged in horseshoe pattern on the
+wall, each bore the magic words, &#8220;First Prize,&#8221; awarded at Islington,
+Birmingham, the Royal, and wherever else in Britain shorthorns and their
+admirers most do congregate.</p>
+
+<p>The village hummed with life; around the sale ring gathered a multitude
+of men arrayed in Melton cloth and leather leggings, whose general
+appearance betokened the wisdom of Dr. Johnson&#8217;s sarcastic dictum: &#8220;Who
+drives fat oxen should himself be fat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martha and a cohort of maids boiled hams by the dozen and baked cakes in
+fabulous quantities. John graced the occasion by donning a new suit and
+new boots, in which the crooked giant was singularly ill at ease.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Pickering drove over from Nottonby&mdash;Kitty was married two years
+before to a well-to-do farmer at Northallerton&mdash;and someone rallied her
+on &#8220;bein&#8217; ower good-lookin&#8217; te remain a widow all her days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m far too busy at Wetherby to think of adding a husband to my cares,&#8221;
+she said; but those who knew her best could have told that she had
+refused at least two excellent offers of matrimony and meant to remain
+Mrs. Pickering during the rest of her days.</p>
+
+<p>At the close of the second day&#8217;s sale, when the crowd was thinned by the
+departure of a fleet of cars and a local train at five o&#8217;clock, the
+White House was thronged by its habitu&eacute;s, who came to make a meal of the
+&#8220;high tea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>Colonel Grant and John had just concluded an amicable wrangle whereby it
+was decided that they should jointly provide the considerable sum needed
+to acquire The Elms and some adjoining land. The house and grounds were
+to be remodeled and the property would be deeded to Martin forthwith.</p>
+
+<p>The young gentleman himself, as tall as his father now, and wearing
+riding breeches and boots, was standing at the front door, turning
+impatient eyes from a smart cob, held by a groom, to the bend in the
+road where it curved beyond the &#8220;Black Lion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A smartly-dressed young lady passed, and although Martin lifted his hat
+with a ready smile his glance wandered from her along the road again.
+Evelyn Atkinson wondered who it was that thus distracted his attention.</p>
+
+<p>A few yards farther on, Elsie Herbert, mounted on a steady old hunter,
+passed at a sharp trot. Evelyn&#8217;s pretty face frowned slightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If <i>she</i> is home again, of course, he has eyes for nobody else,&#8221; she
+said to herself.</p>
+
+<p>And, indeed, it was true. Elsie had been to Dresden for two years. She
+had returned to Elmsdale the previous day, and a scribbled note told
+Martin to look for her after tea.</p>
+
+<p>The two set off together through the village, bound for the moor. Many a
+critical look followed them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, but they&#8217;re a bonny pair,&#8221; cried Mrs. Summersgill, who became
+stouter each year. &#8220;Martin allus framed to be a fine man, but I nivver
+thowt yon gawky lass o&#8217; t&#8217; vicar&#8217;s &#8217;ud grow into a beauty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This moor air is wonderful. Look at the effect <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>it has on you, Mrs.
+Summersgill,&#8221; said Colonel Grant with a twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, go on wi&#8217; ye, Colonel, pokin&#8217; fun at a poor owd body like me. But I
+de&auml;n&#8217;t ho&#8217;d wi&#8217; skinny &#8217;uns. Martha, what&#8217;s become o&#8217; Mrs. Saumarez an&#8217;
+that flighty gell o&#8217; hers. What did they call her&mdash;Angel? My word!&mdash;a
+nice angel&mdash;not that she wasn&#8217;t as thin as a sperrit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Walker told me, last Christmas twel&#8217;month, they were i&#8217; France,&#8221;
+said Martha.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;France? Ay, maist like; it&#8217;s a God-forsaken place, I&#8217;ll be boun&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nay,&#8221; interposed Bolland, &#8220;that&#8217;s an unchristian description of onny
+counthry, ma&#8217;am. Ye&#8217;ll find t&#8217; Lord ivverywhere i&#8217; t&#8217; wide wulld, if ye
+seek Him. There&#8217;s bin times when He might easy be i&#8217; France, for He
+seemed, iv His wisdom, to be far away frae Elmsdale.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Summersgill snorted contempt for all &#8220;furriners,&#8221; but Martha
+created a diversion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Goodness me!&#8221; she cried, &#8220;yer cup&#8217;s empty. I nivver did see sike a
+woman. Ye talk an&#8217; eat nowt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin, now in his third year at Oxford, was somewhat mystified by the
+change brought about in Elsie by two years of &#8220;languages and music&#8221;
+passed in the most attractive of German cities. Though not flippant, her
+manner nonplussed him. She was distinctly &#8220;smart,&#8221; both in speech and
+style. She treated a young gentleman who had already taken his degree
+and was reading for honors in history with an easy nonchalance that was
+highly disconcerting. The last time they parted they had kissed each
+other, she with tears, and he with a lump <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>in his throat. Now he dared
+no more offer a cousinly, or brotherly, or any other sort of salute in
+which kissing was essential, than if she were a royal princess.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve altered, old girl,&#8221; he said by way of a conversational opening
+when their horses were content to walk, after a sharp canter along a
+moorland track.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should hope so, indeed,&#8221; came the airy retort. &#8220;Surely, you didn&#8217;t
+expect to find the Elmsdale label on me after two years of <i>kultur</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whatever the label, the vintage looks good,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean that as a compliment,&#8221; she laughed. &#8220;And, now that I look at
+you carefully, I see signs of improvement. Of course, the Oxford swank
+is an abomination, but you&#8217;ll lose it in time. Father told me last night
+that you were going in for the law and politics. Is that correct?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin, masterful as ever, was not minded to endure such supercilious
+treatment at Elsie&#8217;s hands. He had looked forward to this meeting with a
+longing that had almost interfered with his work; it was more than
+irritating to find his divinity modeling her behavior on the lines of
+the Girton &#8220;set&#8221; at the University.</p>
+
+<p>They had reached a point of the high moor which overlooked Thor ghyll.
+Martin pulled up his cob and dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s give the nags a breather here,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Shall I help you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, thanks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie was out of the saddle promptly. She rode astride. In a
+well-fitting habit, with divided skirt and patent-leather boots, she
+looked wonderfully alluring, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>but her air of aloofness was carried
+almost to the verge of indifference.</p>
+
+<p>She showed some surprise when Martin took her horse&#8217;s reins and threw
+them over his left arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you going to lecture me?&#8221; she said, arching her eyebrows. &#8220;It would
+be just like a fledgling B. A., who is doubtless a member of the
+Officers&#8217; Training Corps, to tell me that my German riding-master taught
+me to sit too stiffly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He did,&#8221; said Martin, meeting the sarcastic blue eyes without
+flinching. &#8220;But a few days with the York and Ainsty and Lord Middleton&#8217;s
+pack will put that right. You&#8217;ll come a purler at your first stone wall
+if you ride with such long stirrup leathers. However, I want you to jump
+another variety of obstacle to-day. You asked me just now, Elsie, if I
+was going in for the law. Yes. But I&#8217;m going in for you first. You know
+I love you, dear. You know I have been your very humble but loyal knight
+ever since I won your recognition down there in the valley, when I was
+only a farmer&#8217;s son and you were a girl of a higher social order. I have
+never forgotten that you didn&#8217;t seem to heed class distinctions then,
+Elsie, and it hurts now to have you treat me with coldness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie, trying valiantly to appear partly indignant and even more amused
+at this direct attack, failed most lamentably. First she flushed; then
+she paled.</p>
+
+<p>She faced Martin&#8217;s gaze confidently enough at the outset, but her eyes
+dropped and her lips quivered when she heard the words which no woman
+can hear without a thrill. Still, she made a brave attempt to rally her
+forces.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t&mdash;quite mean&mdash;what you say,&#8221; she faltered, which was a
+schoolgirl form of protest for one who had achieved distinction in a
+course of English literature.</p>
+
+<p>Martin took her by the shoulders. The two horses nosed each other. They,
+perforce, were dumb, but their wise eye&#8217;s seemed to exchange the caustic
+comment: &#8220;What fools these mortals be! Why don&#8217;t they hug, and settle
+the business?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must know what you do mean,&#8221; said Martin, almost fiercely. &#8220;I love
+you, Elsie. Will you marry me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her face. The blue eyes were dim with tears, but the adorable
+mouth trembled in a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, dear,&#8221; she murmured. &#8220;But what did you expect? Did you&mdash;think I
+would&mdash;throw my arms around you&mdash;in the village street?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After that Martin had no reason to accuse Elsie of being either stiff or
+cold. When the vicar heard the news that night&mdash;for Martin and the
+colonel dined at the Vicarage&mdash;he stormed into mock dissent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;God bless my soul,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;my little girl has been away two whole
+years, and you come and steal her away from me before she has been home
+twenty-four hours!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he produced a handkerchief and yielded, apparently, to a violent
+attack of hay fever. Yet it was a joyous company which gathered around
+the dinner table, for Elsie herself, casting off the veneer of Dresden,
+drove posthaste to summon the Bollands to the feast.</p>
+
+<p>John was specially deputed by Colonel Grant to make a significant
+announcement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re all main pleased you two hev sattled matters <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>so soon,&#8221; he said,
+peering alternately at Martin&#8217;s attentive face and Elsie&#8217;s blushing one.
+&#8220;Yer father an&#8217; me hev bowt The Elms, an&#8217; a tidy bit o&#8217; land besides, so
+ye&#8217;ll hev a stake i&#8217; t&#8217; county if ivver ye&#8217;re minded te run for
+Parlyment. The Miss Walkers (John pronounced the name &#8220;Wahker&#8221;) are
+goin&#8217; te live in a small hoos i&#8217; Nottonby. They&#8217;ve gotten a fine lot o&#8217;
+Spanish mahogany an&#8217; owd oak which they&#8217;re willin&#8217; te sell by
+vallyation; so the pair of ye can gan there i&#8217; t&#8217; mornin&#8217; an&#8217; pick an&#8217;
+choose what ye want.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie looked at her father, but neither could utter a word. Martha
+Bolland put an arm around the girl&#8217;s neck.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lord luv&#8217; ye, honey!&#8221; she said brokenly, &#8220;it&#8217;ll be just like crossin&#8217;
+the road. May I be spared te see you happy and comfortable in yer new
+home, for you&#8217;ll surely be one of the finest ladies i&#8217; Yorkshire.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No shadow darkened their joy in that cheerful hour. Even next day, when
+a grim specter flitted through Elmsdale, the ominous vision evoked only
+a passing notice. Colonel Grant and the vicar, each an expert in old
+furniture, accompanied the young people to The Elms and examined its
+antique dressers, sideboards, tables, and the rest. Many of the bedroom
+chests were of solid mahogany. The Misses Walker had cleared the drawers
+of the lumber of years, so that the prospective purchasers could note
+the interior finish.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Emmy, not so tactful as her elder sister, brought in a name which
+the others present wished to forget.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Saumarez used this room as a dressing-room,&#8221; she said, &#8220;and while
+turning out rubbish from a set of drawers I came across this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>She displayed a small red-covered folding road-map, such as cyclists and
+motorists use. Martin thought he recognized it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe that is the very map lost by Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s
+chauffeur,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Probably, sir. He made a rare row with Miss Ang&egrave;le about it. I was half
+afraid he meant to shake her. No one knew what had become of it, but
+either Miss Ang&egrave;le or her mother must have hidden it. Why, I can&#8217;t
+guess.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie helped to smooth over an awkward incident. She took the map and
+began to open it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It couldn&#8217;t have been such an important matter,&#8221; she said. Then she
+shook apart the folded sheet, and they all saw that it bore a number of
+entries and signs in faded ink, black and red. The written words were in
+German, and Elsie scanned a few lines hurriedly. She looked puzzled,
+even a trifle perturbed, but recovered her smiling self-possession
+instantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The poor man, being a foreigner, jotted down some notes for his
+guidance,&#8221; she said. &#8220;May I have it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With pleasure, miss,&#8221; said the old lady.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until the party had returned to the vicarage that Elsie
+explained her request. She spread the map on a table, and her smooth
+forehead wrinkled in doubt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is serious,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I have lived in Germany long enough to
+understand that one cannot mix with German girls in the intimacy of
+school and at their homes without knowing that an attack on England is
+simply an obsession of their menfolk, and even of the women. They regard
+it as a certainty in the near <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>future, pretending that if they don&#8217;t
+strike first England will crush them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish to Heaven she would!&#8221; broke in Colonel Grant emphatically. &#8220;In
+existing conditions this country resembles an unarmed policeman waiting
+for a burglar to fire at him out of the darkness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Herbert, man of peace that he was, might have voiced a mild
+disclaimer, had not Elsie stayed him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen, father,&#8221; she said seriously. &#8220;Here is proof positive. That
+chauffeur was a military spy. See what is written across the top of the
+map: &#8216;Gutes Wasser; Futter in F&uuml;lle; &Uuml;berfluss von Vieh, Schafen und
+Pferden. Einzelheiten auf genauen Ortlichkeiten angegeben.&#8217; That means
+&#8216;Good water; abundance of fodder; plenty of cattle, sheep, and horses.
+Details given on exact localities.&#8217; And, just look at the details! Could
+a child fail to interpret their meaning?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Elsie&#8217;s simile was not far-fetched, yet gray-headed statesmen, though
+they may have both known and understood, refused to believe. That little
+road-map, on a scale of one mile to an inch, contained all the
+information needed by the staff of an invading army.</p>
+
+<p>The moor bore the legend:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Platz f&uuml;r Lager, leicht verschanzt; beherrscht Hauptstrassen von
+Whitby und Pickering nach York. Rote Kreise kennzeichnen
+reichlichen Wasservorrat f&uuml;r Kavallerie und Artillerie.&#8221; (Site for
+camp, easily entrenched. Commands main roads from Whitby and
+Pickering to York. Red circles show ample water supply for cavalry
+and artillery.)</p></div>
+
+<p>Every road bore its classification for the use of troops, showing the
+width, quality of surface, and gradients. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>Each bridge was described as
+&#8220;stone&#8221; or &#8220;iron.&#8221; Even cross-country trails were indicated when
+fordable streams rendered such passage not too difficult.</p>
+
+<p>The little group gazed spellbound at the extraordinarily accurate
+synopsis of the facilities offered by the placid country of Yorkshire
+for the devilish purposes of war. Martin, in particular, devoured the
+entries relating to the moor. On Metcalf&#8217;s farm he saw: &#8220;Six hundred
+sheep here,&#8221; and at the Broad Ings, &#8220;Four hundred sheep, three horses,
+four cows.&#8221; Well he knew who had given the spy those facts. His glowing
+eyes wandered to the village. A long entry distinguished the White
+House, and though he knew a good deal of German he was beaten by the
+opening technical word.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is that, Elsie?&#8221; he said, and even his father wondered at the hot
+anger in his utterance.</p>
+
+<p>The girl read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Stammbaum Vieh hier; drei Stiere, achtzehn K&uuml;he und F&auml;rsen, nicht zum
+Schlachten, sehr wertvoll. Neben bei sechs Stuten, besten Types zur
+Zucht.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Then she translated:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;Pedigree cattle here; three bulls, eighteen cows and heifers, not to be
+slaughtered; very valuable. Also six brood mares of best type for stud.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;The infernal scoundrel!&#8221; blazed out Martin. &#8220;So the Bolland stock must
+be taken to the Fatherland, and not eaten or drafted into service! And
+to think that I gave him nearly all that information!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You, Martin?&#8221; cried Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. He pumped me dry. I even showed him the site of every pond on the
+moor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t blame the man,&#8221; put in Colonel Grant. &#8220;I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>knew him as a Prussian
+officer at the first glance. But he was simply doing his duty. Blame our
+criminal carelessness. We cannot stop foreigners from prowling about the
+country, but we can and should make it impossible for any enemy to
+utilize such data as are contained in this map.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, consider,&#8221; put in the perturbed vicar. &#8220;This evil work was done
+eight years ago, and what has all the talk of German preparation come
+to? Isn&#8217;t it the bombast of militarism gone mad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It comes to this,&#8221; said the colonel. &#8220;We are just eight years nearer
+war. I am convinced that the break must occur before 1916&mdash;and for two
+reasons: Germany&#8217;s financial state is dangerous, and in 1916 Russia will
+have completed on her western frontier certain strategic lines which
+will expedite mobilization. Germany won&#8217;t wait till her prospective foes
+are ready. France knows it. That is why she has adopted the three years&#8217;
+service scheme.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why won&#8217;t you let me join the army, dad?&#8221; demanded Martin bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Grant spread his hands with the weary gesture of a man who would
+willingly shirk a vital decision.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In peace the army is a poor career,&#8221; he said. &#8220;The law and politics
+offer you a wider field. But not you only&mdash;every young man in the
+country should be trained to arms. As matters stand, we have neither the
+men nor the rifles. Our artillery, excellent of its type, is about
+sufficient for an army corps, and we have a fortnight&#8217;s supply of
+ammunition. I am not an alarmist. We have enough regiments to repel a
+raid, supposing the enemy&#8217;s transports dodged the fleet; but Heaven help
+us if we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>dream of sending an expeditionary force to France or Egypt, or
+any single one of a score of vulnerable points outside the British
+Isles!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Beckett-Smythe retained one of those German chauffeurs in his service
+for a whole year,&#8221; said the vicar, on whom a new light had dawned with
+the discovery of the telltale map.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are there many of the brood in the district now?&#8221; inquired the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I fancy not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no need, they have done their work,&#8221; said Elsie. &#8220;Last winter
+I met a young officer in Dresden, and he told me he had taken a walking
+tour through this part of Yorkshire during the summer. He knew Elmsdale
+quite well. He remembered the vicarage, The Elms, and the White House.
+Yet he said he was here only a day!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fritz Bauer&#8217;s maps are the best of guides,&#8221; commented Colonel Grant
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>The vicar was literally awe-stricken. He stooped over the map.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is this sort of thing going on all over the country?&#8221; he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;More or less. Naturally, the east coast has been the chief hunting
+ground, as that must provide the terrain of any attack. Of course, so
+long as the political sky remains fairly clear, as it is at this moment,
+there is always a chance that humanity will escape Armageddon for
+another generation. The world is growing more rational and its interests
+are becoming ever more identical. Even the Junkers are feeling the
+pressure of public opinion, and the great masses of the people demand
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>peace. That is why I want Martin to learn the power of voice and pen
+rather than of the sword. I have been a soldier all my life, and I hate
+war!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man who had so often faced death in his country&#8217;s cause spoke with
+real feeling. He longed to make war impossible by making victory
+impossible for an aggressor. He claimed no rights for Britain that he
+would deny Germany or any other country in the comity of nations.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he took the map off the table and folded it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll send this curio to Whitehall,&#8221; he said with a smile. &#8220;It will form
+part of a queer collection. Now, let&#8217;s talk of something else....
+Martin, after the valuer has inspected that furniture, you might see to
+it that the whole lot is stored in the east bedrooms. The architect will
+not disturb that part of the house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, when can we look at the plans?&#8221; chimed in Elsie.</p>
+
+<p>These four people, who in their way fairly represented the forty
+millions of Great Britain, discussed the spy&#8217;s map in the drawing-room
+of Elmsdale vicarage on July 6th, 1914. On the sixth of August, exactly
+one month later, two German army corps, with full artillery and
+commissariat trains, were loaded into transports and brought to the
+mouth of the Elbe. They hoped to avoid the British fleet, and their
+objective was the Yorkshire coast between Whitby and Filey. Once ashore,
+they meant entrenching a camp on the Elmsdale moor. Obviously, they did
+not dream of conquering England by one daring foray. Their purpose was
+to keep the small army of Britain fully occupied until France was
+humbled to the dust. They would lose the whole hundred thousand men. But
+what of that? German soldiers are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>regarded as cannon fodder by their
+rulers, and the price in human lives would not be too costly if it
+retained British troops at home.</p>
+
+<p>It was an audacious scheme, and audacity is the first principle of
+successful war. Its very spine and marrow was the knowledge of the North
+and East Ridings gained in time of peace by the officers who would lead
+the invading host. That it failed was due to England&#8217;s sailors, the men
+who broke Napoleon, and were destined, by God&#8217;s good grace, to break the
+robber empire of Germany.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h2>THE RIGOR OF THE GAME</h2>
+
+<p>Elmsdale at war is very like Elmsdale in peace. At least, that was
+Martin&#8217;s first impression when he and General Grant motored to the
+village from York on a day in September, 1915. Father and son had passed
+unscathed through the hellfire of Loos, General Grant in command of a
+brigade, and Martin a captain in a Kitchener battalion. They were in
+England on leave now, the middle-aged general for five days, and the
+youthful captain for ten, and the purpose of this joint home-coming was
+Martin&#8217;s marriage.</p>
+
+<p>When it became evident that the world struggle would last years rather
+than months, General Grant and the vicar put their heads together,
+metaphorically speaking, since the connecting link was the field
+post-office, and arranged a war wedding. Why should the young people
+wait? they argued. Every consideration pointed the other way. With
+Martin wedded to Elsie, legal formalities as to Bolland&#8217;s and the
+general&#8217;s estate could be completed, and if Heaven blessed the union
+with children the continuity of two old families would be assured.</p>
+
+<p>So, to Martin&#8217;s intense surprise, he was called to the telephone one
+Saturday morning in the trenches and told that he had better hand over
+his company to the senior subaltern as speedily as might be, since his
+ten days&#8217; leave began on the Monday, such being the amiable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>device by
+which commanding officers permit juniors to reach Blighty before an
+all-too-brief respite from the business of killing Germans begins
+officially.</p>
+
+<p>He met his father at Boulogne, and there learnt that which he had only
+suspected hitherto: he and Elsie were booked for an immediate honeymoon
+on a Scottish moor&mdash;at Cairn-corrie, to be exact. By chance the two
+travelers ran into Frank Beckett-Smythe, a gunner lieutenant in London,
+and he undertook to rush north that night to act as &#8220;best man.&#8221; Father
+and son caught a train early on Sunday and hired a car at York, Elmsdale
+having no railway facilities on the day of rest.</p>
+
+<p>They arrived in time to attend the evening service at the parish church,
+to which, <i>mirabile dictu</i>, John and Martha Bolland accompanied them.
+The war has broken down many barriers, but few things have crumbled to
+ruin more speedily than the walls of prejudice and sectarian futilities
+which separated the many phases of religious thought in Britain.</p>
+
+<p>The church, with its small graveyard, stood in the center of the
+village, and the Grants had to wring scores of friendly hands before
+they and the others walked to the vicarage for supper. Martin and Elsie
+contrived to extricate themselves from the crowd slightly in advance of
+the older people. They felt absurdly shy. They were wandering in
+dreamland.</p>
+
+<p>Early next morning Martin strolled into the village. He wanted to stir
+the sluggish current of enlistment, for England was then making a final
+effort to maintain her army on a voluntary basis. Elmsdale was so
+unchanged outwardly that he marveled. He hardly realized that it could
+not well be otherwise. He had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>seen so many French hamlets torn by war
+that the snug content of this sheltered nook in rural Yorkshire was
+almost uncanny by contrast. The very familiarity of the scene formed its
+strangest element. Its sights, its sounds, its homely voices, were novel
+to the senses of one whose normal surroundings were the abominations of
+war. Here were trim houses and well-filled stockyards, smiling orchards
+and cattle grazing in green pastures. Everywhere was peace. He was the
+only man in uniform, until Sergeant Benson appeared in the doorway of a
+cottage and saluted. The village had its own liveries&mdash;the corduroys of
+the carpenter, redolent of oil and turpentine, the tied-up trouser legs
+of the laborer, the blacksmith&#8217;s leather apron, ragged and burnt, a true
+Vulcan&#8217;s robe, the shoemaker&#8217;s, shiny with the stropping of knives and
+seamed with cobbler&#8217;s wax. The panoply of Mars looked singularly out of
+place in this Sleepy Hollow.</p>
+
+<p>But, by degrees, he began to miss things. There were no young men in the
+fields. All the horses had gone, save the yearlings and those too old
+for the hard work of artillery and transport. He questioned Benson and
+found that little Elmsdale had not escaped the levy laid on the rest of
+Europe. Jim Bates was in the Yorkshire Regiment. Tommy Beadlam&#8217;s white
+head was resting forever in a destroyed trench at Ypres. Tom Chandler
+had fallen at Gallipoli. Evelyn Atkinson was a nurse, and her two
+sisters were &#8220;in munitions&#8221; at Leeds. Yes, there were some shirkers, but
+not many. For the most part, they were hidden in the moorland farms. &#8220;T&#8217;
+captain&#8221; would remember Georgie Jackson? Well, he was one of the
+stand-backs&mdash;wouldn&#8217;t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>go till he was fetched. The village girls made
+his life a misery, so he &#8220;hired&#8221; at the Broad Ings, miles away in the
+depths of the moor. One night about a month ago one of those &#8220;d&mdash;d
+Zeppelines&#8221; dropped a bomb on the heather, which caught fire. A second,
+following a murder trail to Newcastle, saw the resultant blaze and
+dropped twelve bombs. A third, believing that real damage was being
+done, flung out its whole cargo of twenty-nine bombs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So, now, sir,&#8221; grinned Benson, &#8220;there&#8217;s a fine lot o&#8217; pot-holes i&#8217; t&#8217;
+moor. Georgie was badly scairt. He saw the three Zepps, an&#8217; t&#8217; bombs
+fell all over t&#8217; farm. Next mornin&#8217; he f&#8217;und three sheep banged te bits.
+An&#8217; what d&#8217;ye think? He went straight te Whitby an&#8217; &#8217;listed. He hez a
+bunch o&#8217; singed wool in his pocket, an&#8217; sweers he&#8217;ll mak&#8217; some Jarman
+eat it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Martin only recruited a wife that day, and evidently secured a
+sensible one, for Elsie, taking thought, on hearing certain vivid
+descriptions of trench life on the Sunday evening, vetoed the wedding
+trip to Scotland, and persuaded her husband to &#8220;go the limit&#8221; in London,
+where plenty of society and a round of theaters acted as a wholesome
+tonic after the monotony of high-explosive existence in a dugout.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>In February, 1917, Martin was &#8220;in billets&#8221; at Armenti&egrave;res. He had been
+promoted to the staff, and had fairly earned this coveted recognition by
+a series of daring excursions into &#8220;No Man&#8217;s Land&#8221; every night for a
+week, which enabled him to plan an attack on the German lines at
+Chapelle d&#8217;Armenti&egrave;res. Never thinking of any personal gain, he drew up
+a memorandum, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>which he submitted to his colonel. The latter sent the
+document to Divisional Headquarters; the scheme was approved. Fritz was
+pushed forcibly half a mile nearer Lille, and &#8220;Captain Reginald Ingram
+Grant&#8221; was informed, in the dry language of the <i>Gazette</i>, that in
+future he would wear a red band around his field service cap and little
+red tabs on the shoulders of his tunic.</p>
+
+<p>That was a great day for him, but his elation was as nothing compared
+with the joy of Elmsdale when the <i>Messenger</i> reprinted the
+announcement. Elsie, of course, imagined that her husband was now
+comparatively safe for the rest of the war, and he has never undeceived
+her. As a matter of fact, his first real &#8220;job&#8221; was to carry out a fresh
+series of observations at a point south of Armenti&egrave;res along the road to
+Arras. This might involve another six days of lurking in dugouts at the
+front and six nights of crawling through and under German barbed wire.</p>
+
+<p>His companion was a sapper sergeant named Mason. They suspected that the
+German position was heavily mined in anticipation of an attack at that
+very point, and it was part of their business at the outset to ascertain
+whether or not this was the case.</p>
+
+<p>The enemy&#8217;s lines were about one hundred and fifty yards away, and all
+observers agree that the chief difficulty experienced in the pitch-black
+darkness of a cloudy, moonless night is to estimate the distance
+covered. Crawling over shell-torn ground, slow work at the best, is
+rendered slower by the frequent waits necessary while rockets flare
+overhead and Verrey lights describe brilliant parabolas in unexpected
+directions. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>Martin, up to every trick and dodge of the &#8220;listening
+post,&#8221; surveyed the field of operations through a periscope, and noticed
+that one of the ditches which mark boundaries in northern France ran
+almost in a straight line from the British trenches to the German, and
+had at one time been reinforced by posts and rails. The fence was
+destroyed, but many of the posts remained, some intact, others mere
+jagged stumps. He estimated that the nineteenth was not more than a
+couple of yards from the enemy&#8217;s wire, and knew of old that it was in
+just such an irregular hollow he might expect to find a weak place in
+the entanglement.</p>
+
+<p>Mason agreed with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We can save a lot of time by following that trail, sir,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;There&#8217;s only one drawback&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That Fritz may have hit on the same scheme,&#8221; laughed Martin. &#8220;Possible;
+but we must chance it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mason and he were old associates. They had perfected a code of signals,
+by touch, that enabled them to work in absolute silence. Thus, a slight
+hold meant &#8220;Halt&#8221;; a slight push, &#8220;Advance&#8221;; a slight pull, &#8220;Retire.&#8221;
+Each carried a trench knife and a revolver, the latter for use as a last
+resource only. They were not going out for fighting but for observation.
+If enemy patrols were encountered, they must be avoided. Germans are not
+phlegmatic, but, on the contrary, highly nervous. Continuous raids by
+British bombing parties had put sentries &#8220;on the jump,&#8221; and the least
+noise which was not explained by a whispered password attracted a heavy
+spray of machine-gun fire. Especially was this the case during the hour
+before dawn. By hurrying out immediately after darkness set in, the two
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>counted on nearing the German front-line trench at a time when reliefs
+were being posted and fatigue parties were plodding to the &#8220;dump&#8221; for
+the next day&#8217;s rations.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What time will you be back?&#8221; inquired the subaltern in charge of the
+platoon holding that part of the British trench. It was his duty to warn
+sentries to be on the lookout for the return of scouting parties.</p>
+
+<p>Martin glanced at the luminous watch on his wrist. It was then seven
+o&#8217;clock, and the night promised to be dark and quiet. The evening
+&#8220;strafe&#8221; had just ended, and the German guns would reopen fire on the
+trenches about five in the morning. During the intervening hours the
+artillery would indulge in groups of long shots, hoping to catch the
+commissariat or a regiment marching on the <i>pav&eacute;</i> in column of fours.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About twelve,&#8221; said Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, so long, sir! I&#8217;ll have some coffee ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So long!&#8221; And Martin led the way up a trench ladder.</p>
+
+<p>No man wishes another &#8220;Good luck!&#8221; in these enterprises. By a curious
+inversion of meaning, &#8220;Good luck!&#8221; implies a ninety per cent chance of
+getting killed!</p>
+
+<p>The two advanced rapidly for the first hundred yards. Then they
+separated, each crawling out into the open for about twenty yards to
+right and left. Snuggling into a convenient shell hole, they would
+listen intently, with an ear to the ground, their object being to detect
+the rhythmic beat of a pick, if a mining party was busy. Each remained
+exactly ten minutes. Then they met and compared notes, always by signal.
+If necessary, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>they would visit a suspected locality together and
+endeavor to locate the line of the tunnel.</p>
+
+<p>It was essential that the British side of &#8220;No Man&#8217;s Land&#8221; should not be
+too quiet. Every few minutes a rocket or a Verrey light would soar over
+that torn Golgotha. But there was method in the seeming madness. The
+first and second glare would illuminate an area well removed from
+Martin&#8217;s territory. The third might be right over him or Mason, but they
+were then so well hidden that the sharpest eye could not discern their
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>By nine o&#8217;clock they had covered more than a hundred yards of the
+enemy&#8217;s front, skirting his trip-wire throughout the whole distance.
+They had heard no fewer than six mining parties. Each had advanced some
+thirty yards. In effect, if the German trench was to be taken at all,
+the attack must be made next day, and the artillery preparation should
+commence at dawn. Instead of returning to the subaltern&#8217;s dugout at
+midnight, Martin wanted to reach the telephone not later than ten, and
+hurry back to headquarters. The staff would have another sleepless
+night, but a British battalion would not be blown up while its
+successive &#8220;waves&#8221; were crossing &#8220;No Man&#8217;s Land.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mason and he crept like lizards to the sunk fence. All they needed now
+was a close scrutiny of the German parapet in that section. It was a
+likely site for a machine-gun emplacement and, in that case, would
+receive special attention from a battery of 4.7&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>They reached the ditch shortly before a rocket was due overhead. Making
+assurance doubly sure, they flattened against the outer slope of a shell
+hole, took off <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>their caps, and each sought a tuft of grass through
+which to peer.</p>
+
+<p>Simultaneously, by two short taps, both conveyed a warning. They had
+heard a slight rustling directly in front. A Verrey light, and not a
+rocket, flamed through the darkness. Its brilliancy was intense. But the
+Verrey light has a peculiar property: far more effective than the rocket
+when it reveals troops in motion, it is rendered practically useless if
+men remain still. Working parties and scouts counteract its vivid beams
+by absolute rigidity. The uplifted pick or hammer, the advanced foot,
+the raised arm, must be kept in statuesque repose, and the reward is
+complete safety. A rocket, on the other hand, though not half so deadly
+in exposing an attack, demands that every man within its periphery shall
+endeavor forthwith to blend with the earth, or he will surely be seen
+and shot at.</p>
+
+<p>The two Britons, looking through stalks of withered herbage, found
+themselves gazing into the eyes of a couple of Germans crouching on the
+level barely six feet away. It seemed literally impossible that the
+enemy observers should not see them. But strange things happen in war.
+The Germans were scanning all the visible ground; the Englishmen
+happened to be on the alert for a recognized danger in that identical
+spot. So the one party, watching space, saw nothing; the other, prepared
+for a specific discovery, made it. What was more, when the light failed,
+the Germans were assured of comparative safety, while their opponents
+had measured the extent of an instant peril and got ready to face it.</p>
+
+<p>They knew, too, that the Germans must be killed or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>captured. One was a
+major, the other a noncommissioned officer, and men of such rank were
+seldom deputed by the enemy to roam at large through the strip of
+debated land which British endeavor, drawn by its sporting
+uncertainties, had rendered most unhealthy for human &#8220;game&#8221; of the Hun
+species.</p>
+
+<p>A dark night in that part of French Flanders becomes palpably black
+during a few seconds after a flare. The Englishmen squatted back on
+their heels. Neither drew his revolver, but each right hand clutched a
+trench knife, a peculiarly murderous-looking implement with an oval
+handle, and shaped like a corkscrew, except that the screw is replaced
+by a short, flat, dagger-pointed blade. No signal was needed. Each knew
+exactly what to do. The accident of position allotted the major to
+Martin.</p>
+
+<p>The Germans came on stealthily. They had noted the shell-hole, and sat
+on its crumbling edge, meaning to slide down and creep out on the other
+side. Martin&#8217;s left hand gripped a stout boot by the ankle. In the fifth
+of a second he had a heavy body twisted violently and flung face down in
+the loose earth at the bottom of the hole. A knee was planted in the
+small of the prisoner&#8217;s back, the point of the knife was under his right
+ear, and Martin was saying, in quite understandable German:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you move or speak, I&#8217;ll cut your throat!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words have a brutal sound, but it does not pay to be squeamish on
+such occasions, and the German language adapts itself naturally to
+phrases of the kind.</p>
+
+<p>Sergeant Mason had to solve his own problem by a different method. The
+quarry chanced to be leaning <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>forward at the moment a vicious tug
+accelerated his progress. As a result, he fell on top of the hunter, and
+there was nothing for it but the knife. A ghastly squeal was barely
+stifled by the Englishman&#8217;s hand over the victim&#8217;s mouth. At thirty
+yards, or thereabouts, and coming from a deep hole, the noise might have
+been a grunt. Nevertheless, it reached the German trench.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wer da?&#8221; hissed a voice, and Martin heard the click of a machine-gun as
+it swung on its tripod.</p>
+
+<p>He did not fear the gun, which only meant a period of waiting while its
+bullets cracked overhead. What he did dread was a search party, as
+German majors are valuable birds, and must be safeguarded. The situation
+called for the desperate measure he took. The point of the knife entered
+his captive&#8217;s neck, and he whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell your men they must keep quiet, or you die now!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He allowed the almost choking man to raise his head. The German knew
+that his life was forfeit if he did not obey the order. A certain
+gurgling, ever growing weaker, showed that his companion would soon be a
+corpse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shut up, sheep&#8217;s head!&#8221; he growled.</p>
+
+<p>It sufficed. That is the way German majors talk to their inferiors.</p>
+
+<p>The engineer sergeant wriggled nearer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Couldn&#8217;t help it, sir,&#8221; he breathed. &#8220;I had to give him one!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go through him for papers and bring me his belt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Within a minute the officer&#8217;s hands were fastened behind his back. Then
+he was permitted to rise and, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>after being duly warned, told to
+accompany Mason. Martin followed, and the three began the return
+journey. A German rocket bothered them once, but the German was quick as
+they to fall flat. Evidently he was not minded to offer a target for
+marksmen on either side.</p>
+
+<p>Soon Mason was sent forward to warn the sentries. Quarter of an hour
+after the episode in the shell hole Martin, having come from the
+telephone, was examining his prisoner by the light of an electric torch
+in a dugout.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is your name?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Freiherr Georg von Struben, major of artillery,&#8221; was the somewhat
+grandiloquent answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you speak English?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nod mooch.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Some long dormant chord of memory vibrated in Martin&#8217;s brain. He held
+the torch closer. Von Struben was a tall, well-built Prussian. He
+smiled, meaning probably to make the best of a bad business. His face
+was soiled with clay and perspiration. A streak of blood had run from a
+slight cut over an eyebrow. But the white scar of an old saber wound,
+the outcome of a duelling bout in some university <i>burschenschaft</i>,
+creased down its center when he smiled. Then Martin knew.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fritz Bauer!&#8221; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The German started, though he recovered his self-control promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You haf nod unterstant,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I dell you my nem&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s all right, Fritz,&#8221; laughed Martin. &#8220;You spoke good English when
+you were in Elmsdale. You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>could fool me then into giving you valuable
+information for your precious scheme of invading England. Now it&#8217;s my
+turn! Have you forgotten Martin Bolland?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Blank incredulity yielded to evident fear in the other man&#8217;s eyes. With
+obvious effort, he stiffened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was acting under orders, Captain Bolland,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not Bolland, but Grant,&#8221; laughed Martin. &#8220;I, too, have changed my name,
+but for a more honorable reason.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words seemed to irritate von Struben.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did noding dishonorable,&#8221; he protested. &#8220;I was dere by command. If it
+wasn&#8217;t for your d&mdash;d fleet, I would have lodged once more in de Elms
+eighdeen monds ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; said Martin. &#8220;We found your map, the map which Ang&egrave;le stole
+because you wouldn&#8217;t take her in the car the day we went on the moor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In all likelihood the prisoner&#8217;s nerves were on edge. He had gone
+through a good deal since being hauled into the shell hole, and was by
+no means prepared for this display of intimate knowledge of his past
+career by the youthful looking Briton who had manhandled him so
+effectually. Be that as it may, he was so disconcerted by the mere
+allusion to Ang&egrave;le that a fantastic notion gripped Martin. He pursued it
+at once.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We English are not quite such idiots as you like to imagine us, major,&#8221;
+he went on, and so ready was his speech that the pause was hardly
+perceptible. &#8220;Mrs. Saumarez&mdash;or, describing her by her other name, the
+Baroness von Edelstein&mdash;was a far more dangerous person than you. It
+took time to run her to earth&mdash;you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>know what that means? when a fox is
+chased to a burrow by hounds&mdash;but our Intelligence Department sized her
+up correctly at last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now this was nothing more than the wildest guessing, a product of many a
+long talk with Elsie, the vicar, and General Grant during the early days
+of the war. But von Struben was manifestly so ill at ease that he had to
+cover his discomfiture under a frown.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not seen de lady for ten years,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>This disclaimer was needless. He had been wiser to have cursed Ang&egrave;le
+for purloining his map.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps not. She avoided Berlin. But you have heard of her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again was the former spy guilty of stupidity. He set his lips like a
+steel trap. Doubtful what to say, he said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Martin nodded to Sergeant Mason.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just go through the major&#8217;s pockets,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You know what we want.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mason&#8217;s knowledge was precise. He left the prisoner his money, watch,
+pipe, and handkerchief. The remainder of his belongings were made up
+into a bundle. Highly valuable treasure-trove was contained therein, the
+major having in his possession a detailed list of all arms in the
+Fifty-seventh Brandenburg Division and a sketch of the trench system
+which it occupied. A glance showed Martin that the Fifty-seventh
+Division lay directly in front.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the subaltern whose dugout he was using and who had
+witnessed the foregoing scene in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you send a corporal&#8217;s guard to D.H.Q. in charge of the prisoner?&#8221;
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Certainly,&#8221; said the other. &#8220;By the way, come outside and have a
+cigarette.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Cigarettes are not lighted in front-line communication trenches after
+nightfall&mdash;not by officers, at any rate&mdash;nor do second lieutenants
+address staff captains so flippantly. Martin read something more into
+the invitation than appeared on the surface. He was right.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About this Mrs. Saumarez you spoke of just now,&#8221; said the subaltern
+when they were beyond the closed door of the dugout. &#8220;Is she the widow
+of one of our fellows, a Hussar colonel?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know she is living in Paris?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I heard some few years since that she was residing there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s there now. She runs a sort of hostel for youngsters on short
+leave. She&#8217;s supposed to charge a small fee, but doesn&#8217;t. And there&#8217;s
+drinks galore for all comers. She&#8217;s extraordinarily popular, of course,
+but I&mdash;er&mdash;well, one hates saying it. Still, you made me sit up and take
+notice when you mentioned the Intelligence Department. Mrs. Saumarez has
+a wonderful acquaintance with the British front. She tells you
+things&mdash;don&#8217;t you know&mdash;and one is led on to talk&mdash;sort of reciprocity,
+eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin drew a deep breath. He almost dreaded putting the inevitable
+question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is her daughter with her&mdash;a girl of twenty-one, named Ang&egrave;le?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Never heard Mrs. Saumarez so much as mention her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks. We&#8217;ve done a good night&#8217;s work, I fancy. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>And&mdash;this for
+yourself only&mdash;there may be a scrap to-morrow afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fine! I want to stretch my legs. Been in this bally hole nine days.
+Well, here&#8217;s your corporal. Good-night, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-night!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Martin trudged through the mud with Sergeant Mason behind von
+Struben and the escort.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h2>NEARING THE END</h2>
+
+<p>Sixty hours elapsed before Martin was able to unwrap the puttees from
+off his stiff legs and cut the laces of boots so caked with mud that he
+was too weary to untie them. In that time, as the official report put
+it, &#8220;enemy trenches extending from Rue du Bois to Houplines, over a
+front of nearly three miles, were occupied to an average depth of one
+thousand yards, and our troops are now consolidating the new territory.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A bald announcement, indeed! Martin was one of the few who knew what it
+really meant. He had helped to organize the victory; he could sum up its
+costs. But this record is not a history of the war, nor even of one
+young soldier&#8217;s share in it. Martin himself has developed a literary
+style noteworthy for its simple directness. Some day, if he survives, he
+may tell his own story.</p>
+
+<p>When the last of twelve hundred prisoners had been mustered in the
+Grande Place of Armenti&egrave;res, when the attacking battalions had been
+relieved and the reserve artillery was shelling Fritz&#8217;s hastily formed
+gun positions, when the last ambulance wagon of the &#8220;special&#8221; division
+had sped over the <i>pav&eacute;</i> to the base hospital at Bailleul, Martin
+thought he was free to go to bed.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, he was not. Utterly spent, he had thrown himself on
+a cot and had slept the sleep of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>complete exhaustion for half an hour,
+when a brigade major discovered that &#8220;Captain Grant&#8221; was at liberty, and
+detailed him for an immediate inquiry. The facts were set forth on Army
+Form 122: &#8220;On the night of the 10th inst. a barrel of rum, delivered at
+Brigade Dump No. 35, was stolen or mislaid. It was last seen in trench
+77. For investigation and report to D.A.Q.M.G. 50th Div.&#8221; That
+barrel of rum will never be seen again, though it was destined to roll
+through reams of variously numbered army forms during many a week.</p>
+
+<p>But it did not disturb Martin&#8217;s slumbers. A brigadier general happened
+to hear his name given to an orderly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who&#8217;s that?&#8221; he inquired sharply. &#8220;Grant, did you say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; answered the brigade major.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be such a Heaven-condemned idiot!&#8221; said the general, or, rather,
+he used words to that effect. &#8220;Grant was all through that push. Find
+some other fellow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brigade majors are necessarily inhuman. It is nothing to them what a man
+may have done&mdash;they think only of the next job. They are steeled alike
+to pity and reproach. This one was no exception among the tribe. He
+merely thumbed a list and said to the orderly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give that chit to Mr. Fortescue.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So a subaltern began the chase. He smelt the rum through a whole company
+of Gordons, but the barrel lies hid a fathom deep in the mud of
+Flanders.</p>
+
+<p>That same afternoon Martin woke up, refreshed in mind and body. He
+secured a hot bath, &#8220;dolled up&#8221; in clean clothes, and strolled out to
+buy some socks from &#8220;Madame,&#8221; the famous Frenchwoman who has kept her
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>shop open in Armenti&egrave;res throughout three years of shell fire.</p>
+
+<p>A Yorkshire battalion was &#8220;standing at ease&#8221; in the street while their
+officers and color sergeants engaged in a wrangle about billets. The
+regiment had taken part in the &#8220;push&#8221; and bore the outward and visible
+signs of that inward grace which had carried them beyond the third line
+German trench. A lance corporal was playing &#8220;Tipperary&#8221; on a
+mouth-organ.</p>
+
+<p>Someone shouted: &#8220;Give us &#8216;Home Fires,&#8217; Jim&#8221;&mdash;and &#8220;Jim&#8221; ran a
+preliminary flourish before Martin recognized the musician.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, if it isn&#8217;t Jim Bates!&#8221; he cried, advancing with outstretched
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>The lance corporal drew himself up and saluted. His brown skin reddened
+as he shook hands, for it is not every day that a staff captain greets
+one of the rank and file in such democratic fashion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m main glad te see you, sir,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I read of your promotion in
+t&#8217; <i>Messenger</i>, an&#8217; we boys of t&#8217; owd spot were real pleased. We were,
+an&#8217; all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re keeping fit, I see,&#8221; and Martin&#8217;s eye fell to a <i>pickelhaube</i>
+tied to the sling of Bates&#8217;s rifle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pretty well, sir,&#8221; grinned Bates. &#8220;I nearly had a relapse yesterday
+when that mine went up. Did ye hear of it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you mean the one they touched off at L&#8217;Epinette Farm, I saw it,&#8221;
+said Martin. &#8220;I was at the crossroads at the moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, fancy that, sir! I couldn&#8217;t ha&#8217; bin twenty yards from you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Queer things happen in war. Do you remember <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s German
+chauffeur, a man named Fritz Bauer?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite well, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We caught him in &#8216;No Man&#8217;s Land&#8217; three nights ago. He is a major now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jim was so astonished that his mouth opened, just as it would have done
+ten years earlier.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By gum!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;That takes it! An&#8217; it&#8217;s hardly a month since I saw
+Miss Ang&egrave;le in Amiens.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s pulse quickened. The mouth-organ in Bates&#8217;s hand brought him
+back at a bound to the night when he had forbidden Jim to play for
+Ang&egrave;le&#8217;s dancing. And with that memory came another thought. Mrs.
+Saumarez in Paris&mdash;her daughter in Amiens&mdash;why this devotion to such
+nerve centers of the war?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure?&#8221; he said. &#8220;You would hardly recognize her. She is ten
+years older&mdash;a woman, not a child.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bates laughed. He dropped his voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was always a bit owd-fashioned, sir. I&#8217;m not mistakken. It kem
+about this way. It was her, right enough. Our colonel&#8217;s shover fell
+sick, so I took on the car for a week. One day I was waitin&#8217; outside the
+Hotel dew Nord at Amiens when a French Red Cross auto drove up, an&#8217; out
+stepped Miss Ang&egrave;le. I twigged her at once. I&#8217;d know them eyes of hers
+anywheres. She hopped into the hotel, walkin&#8217; like a ballet-dancer.
+Hooiver, I goes up to her shover an&#8217; sez: &#8216;Pardonnay moy, but ain&#8217;t that
+Mees Ang&egrave;le Saumarez?&#8217; He talked a lot&mdash;these Frenchies always do&mdash;but I
+med out he didn&#8217;t understand. So I parlay-vooed some more, and soon I
+got the hang of things. She&#8217;s married now, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>an&#8217; I have her new name an&#8217;
+address in my kit-bag. But I remember &#8217;em, all right. I can&#8217;t pronounce
+&#8217;em, but I can spell &#8217;em.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Lance Corporal Bates spelled: &#8220;La Comtesse Barth&eacute;lemi de Saint-Ivoy,
+2 bis, Impasse Fautet, Rue Blanche, Paris.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It looks funny,&#8221; went on Jim anxiously, &#8220;but it&#8217;s just as her shover
+wrote it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin affected to treat this information lightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m exceedingly glad I came across you,&#8221; he said. &#8220;How would you like
+to be a sergeant, Jim?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bates grinned widely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a lot more work, but it does mean better grub, sir,&#8221; he confided.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well. Don&#8217;t mention it to anyone, and I&#8217;ll see what can be done.
+It shouldn&#8217;t be difficult, since you&#8217;ve earned the first stripe
+already.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin found his brigadier at the mess. A few minutes&#8217; conversation with
+the great man led him to a greater in the person of the divisional
+general. Yet a few more minutes of earnest talk, and he was in a car,
+bound for General Grant&#8217;s headquarters, which he reached late that
+night. It was long after midnight when the two retired, and the son&#8217;s
+face was almost as worn and care-lined as the father&#8217;s ere the
+discussion ended.</p>
+
+<p>Few problems have been so baffling and none more dangerous to the Allied
+armies in France than the German spy system. It was so perfect before
+the war, every possible combination of circumstances had been foreseen
+and provided against so fully, that the most thorough hunting out and
+ruthless punishment of enemy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>agents has failed to crush the
+organization. The snake has been scotched, but not killed. Its venom is
+still potent. Every officer on the staff and many senior regimental
+officers have been astounded time and again by the completeness and
+up-to-date nature of the information possessed by the Germans. Surprise
+attacks planned with the utmost secrecy have found enemy trenches held
+by packed reserves and swarming with additional machine-guns. Newly
+established ammunition d&eacute;p&ocirc;ts, carefully screened, have been bombed next
+day by aeroplanes and subjected to high-angle fire. Troop movements by
+rail over long distances have become known, and their effect discounted.
+Flanders, in particular, is a plague-spot of espionage which has cost
+Britain an untold sacrifice of life and an almost immeasurable waste of
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>Small wonder, then, that Martin&#8217;s forehead should be seamed with
+foreboding. If his suspicions, which his father shared, were justified,
+the French Intelligence Department would quickly determine the truth,
+and no power on earth could save Ang&egrave;le and her mother from a firing
+party. France knows her peril and stamps it out unflinchingly. Of late,
+too, the British authorities adopt the same rigorous measures. The spy,
+man or woman, is shown no mercy.</p>
+
+<p>And now the whirligig of events had placed in Martin&#8217;s hands the
+question of life or death for Mrs. Saumarez and Ang&egrave;le. It was a
+loathsome burden. He rebelled against it. During the long run to Paris
+his very soul writhed at the thought that fate was making him their
+executioner. He tried to steel his resolution by dwelling on the
+mischief they might have caused by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>thinking rather of the gallant
+comrades laid forever in the soil of France because of their murderous
+duplicity than of the woman who was once his friend, of the girl whose
+kisses had once thrilled him to the core. Worst of all, both General
+Grant and he himself felt some measure of responsibility for their
+failure to institute a searching inquiry as to Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s
+whereabouts when war broke out.</p>
+
+<p>But he was distraught and miserable. He had a notion&mdash;a well-founded
+one, as it transpired&mdash;that an approving general had recommended him for
+the Military Cross; but from all appearance he might have expected a
+letter from the War Office announcing his dismissal from the service.</p>
+
+<p>At last, after a struggle which left him so broken that at a cordon near
+Paris he was detained several minutes while a <i>sous-officier</i> who did
+not like his looks communicated with a superior potentate, he made up
+his mind. Whate&#8217;er befell, he would give Ang&egrave;le and her mother one
+chance. If they decided to take it, well and good. If not, they must
+face the cold-eyed inquisition of the Quai d&#8217;Orsay.</p>
+
+<p>Luckily, as matters turned out, he elected to call on Mrs. Saumarez
+first. For one thing, her house in the Rue Henri was not far from a
+hotel on the Champs Elys&eacute;es where he was known to the management; for
+another, he wished to run no risk of being outwitted by Ang&egrave;le. If she
+and her mother were guilty of the ineffable infamy of betraying both the
+country of their nationality and that which sheltered them they must be
+trapped so effectually as to leave no room for doubt.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p><p>He was also fortunate in the fact that his soldier chauffeur, when given
+the choice, decided to wait and drive him to the Rue Henri. The man was
+candid as to his own plans for the evening.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When I put the car up I&#8217;ll have a hot bath and go to bed, sir,&#8221; he
+said. &#8220;I&#8217;ve not had five hours&#8217; sleep straight on end during the past
+three weeks, an&#8217; I know wot&#8217;ll happen if I start hittin&#8217; it up around
+these bullyvards. Me for the feathers at nine o&#8217;clock! So, if you don&#8217;t
+mind, sir&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin knew what the man meant. He wanted to be kept busy. One hour of
+enforced liberty implied the risk of meeting some hilarious comrades.
+Even in Paris, strict as the police regulations may be, Britons from the
+front are able to sit up late, and the parties are seldom &#8220;dry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So officer and man removed some of the marks of a long journey, ate a
+good meal, and about eight o&#8217;clock arrived at Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s house.
+Life might be convivial enough inside, but the place looked deserted,
+almost forbidding, externally.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Martin hesitated before pressing an electric bell and consulted
+a notebook to verify the street and number given him by the subaltern on
+the night von Struben was captured. But he had not erred. His memory
+never failed. There could be no doubt but that his special gift in this
+direction had been responsible for a rapid promotion, since military
+training, on the mental side, depends largely on a letter-perfect
+accuracy of recollection.</p>
+
+<p>When he rang, however, the door opened at once. A bareheaded man in
+civilian attire, but looking most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>unlike a domestic, held aside a pair
+of heavy curtains which shut out the least ray of light from the hall.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Entrez, monsieur</i>,&#8221; he said in reply to Martin, after a sharp glance
+at the car and its driver.</p>
+
+<p>Martin heard a latch click behind him. He passed on, to find himself
+before a sergeant of police seated at a table. Three policemen stood
+near.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your name and rank, monsieur?&#8221; said this official.</p>
+
+<p>Martin, though surprised, almost startled, by these preliminaries,
+answered promptly. The sergeant nodded to one of his aides.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take this gentleman upstairs,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there any mistake?&#8221; inquired Martin. &#8220;I have come here to visit Mrs.
+Saumarez.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No mistake,&#8221; said the sergeant. &#8220;Follow that man, monsieur.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Assured now that some dramatic and wholly unexpected development had
+taken place, Martin tried to gather his wits as he mounted to the first
+floor. There, in a shuttered drawing-room, he confronted a
+shrewd-looking man in mufti, to whom his guide handed a written slip
+sent by the sergeant. Evidently, this was an official of some
+importance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shall I speak English, Captain Grant?&#8221; he said, thrusting aside a pile
+of documents and clearing a space on the table at which he was busy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Martin, smiling, &#8220;I imagine that your English is better
+than my French.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sat on a chair indicated by the Frenchman. He put no questions. He
+guessed he was in the presence of a tragedy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Is Mrs. Saumarez a friend of yours?&#8221; began the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, in a sense.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you seen her recently?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not for ten years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Obviously, this answer was disconcerting. It was evident, too, that
+Martin&#8217;s name was not on a typed list which the other man had scanned
+with a quick eye. Martin determined to clear up an involved situation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I take it that you are connected with the police department?&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;Well, I have come from the British front at Armenti&egrave;res to inquire into
+the uses to which this house has been put. A number of British officers
+have been entertained here. Our people want to know why.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He left it at that for the time being, but the Frenchman&#8217;s manner became
+perceptibly more friendly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I examine your papers?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Martin handed over the bundle of &#8220;permis de voyage,&#8221; which everyone
+without exception must possess in order to move about the roads of
+western France in wartime.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said the official, his air changing now to one of marked relief,
+&#8220;this helps matters greatly. My name is Duchesne, Captain Grant&mdash;Gustave
+Duchesne. I belong to the Bureau de l&#8217;Int&eacute;rieur. So you people also have
+had your suspicions? There can be no doubt about it&mdash;the Baroness von
+Edelstein was a spy of the worst kind. The mischief that woman did was
+incalculable. Of course, it was hopeless to look for any real preventive
+work in England before the war; but we were caught napping here. You
+see, the widow of a British <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>officer, a lady who had the best of
+credentials, and whose means were ample, hardly came under review. She
+kept open house, and had lived in Paris so long that her German origin
+was completely forgotten. In fact, the merest accident brought about her
+downfall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>One of the policemen came in with a written memorandum, which M.
+Duchesne read.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your chauffeur does not give information willingly,&#8221; smiled the latter.
+&#8220;The sergeant had to threaten him with arrest before he would describe
+your journey to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was clear that the authorities were taking nothing for granted where
+Mrs. Saumarez and her visitors were concerned. Martin felt that he had
+stumbled to the lip of an abyss. At any rate, events were out of his
+hands now, and for that dispensation he was profoundly thankful.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I ought to tell you what I know of Mrs. Saumarez,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I
+don&#8217;t wish to do the unfortunate woman an injustice, and my facts are so
+nebulous&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One moment, Captain Grant,&#8221; interposed the Frenchman. &#8220;You may feel
+less constraint if you hear that the Baroness died this morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good Heavens!&#8221; was Martin&#8217;s involuntary cry. &#8220;Was she executed?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said the other. &#8220;She forestalled justice by a couple of hours. The
+cause of death was heart failure. She was&mdash;intemperate. Her daughter was
+with her at the end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Madame Barth&eacute;lemi de Saint-Ivoy!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know her, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I met her in a Yorkshire village at the same time as her mother. The
+other day, by chance, I ascertained her name and address from one of our
+village lads who recognized her in Amiens about a month ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you were about to say&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin had to put forth a physical effort to regain self-control. He
+plunged at once into the story of those early years. There was little to
+tell with regard to Mrs. Saumarez and Ang&egrave;le. &#8220;Fritz Bauer&#8221; was the
+chief personage, and he was now well on his way to a prison camp in
+England.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Duchesne was amused by the map episode in its latest phase.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you were so blind that you took no action?&#8221; he commented dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. We saw, but were invincibly confident. My father sent the map to
+the Intelligence Department, with which he was connected until 1912,
+when he was given a command in the North. He and I believe now that
+someone in Whitehall overlooked the connection between Mrs. Saumarez and
+an admitted spy. She had left England, and there was so much to do when
+war broke out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! If only those people in London had written us!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is the affair really so bad?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bad! This wretched creature showed an ingenuity that was devilish. She
+deceived her own daughter. That is perfectly clear. The girl married a
+French officer after the Battle of the Marne, and, as we have every
+reason to believe, thought she had persuaded her mother to break off
+relations with her German friends. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>We know now that the baroness, left
+to her own devices, adopted a method of conveying information to the
+Boches which almost defied detection. Owing to her knowledge of the
+British army she was able to chat with your men on a plane of intimacy
+which no ordinary woman could command. She found out where certain
+brigades were stationed and what regiments composed them. She heard to
+what extent battalions were decimated. She knew what types of guns were
+in use and what improvements were coming along in caliber and range. She
+was told when men were suddenly recalled from leave, and where they were
+going. Need I say what deductions the German Staff could make from such
+facts?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But how on earth could she convey the information in time to be of
+value?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite easily. There is one weak spot on our frontier&mdash;south of the
+German line. She wrote to an agent in Pontarlier, and this man
+transmitted her notes across the Swiss frontier. The rest was simple.
+She was caught by fate, not by us. Years ago she employed a woman from
+Tinchebrai as a nurse&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fran&ccedil;oise!&#8221; broke in Martin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Exactly&mdash;Fran&ccedil;oise Dupont. Well, Madame Dupont died in 1913. But she
+had spoken of her former mistress to a nephew, and this man, a cripple,
+is now a Paris postman. He is a sharp-witted peasant, and, as he grew in
+experience, was promoted gradually to more important districts. Just a
+week ago he took on this very street, and when he saw the name recalled
+her aunt&#8217;s statements about Mrs. Saumarez. He informed the S&ucirc;ret&eacute; at
+once. Even then she gave us some trouble. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>Her letters were printed, not
+written, and she could post them in out-of-the-way places. However, we
+trapped her within forty-eight hours. Have you a battery of four 9.2&#8217;s
+hidden in a wood three hundred meters north-west of Pont Ballot?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin was so flabbergasted that he stammered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&mdash;is the sort of thing&mdash;we don&#8217;t discuss&mdash;anywhere,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Naturally. It happens to be also the sort of thing which Mrs. Saumarez
+drew out of some too-talkative lieutenant of artillery. Luckily, the
+fact has not crossed the border. We have the lady&#8217;s notepaper and her
+secret signs, so are taking the liberty to supply the Boches with
+intelligence more useful to us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you haven&#8217;t grabbed the Pontarlier man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not yet. We give him ten days. He has six left. When his time is up,
+the Germans will have discovered that the wire has been tapped.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin forced the next question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What of Madame de Saint-Ivoy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Her case is under consideration. She is working for the Croix Rouge.
+That is why she was in Amiens. Her husband has been recalled from
+Verdun. He, by the way, is devoted to her, and she professes to hate all
+Germans. Thus far her record is clean.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin was glad to get out into the night air, though he had a strange
+notion that the quietude of the darkened Paris streets was unreal&mdash;that
+the only reality lay yonder where the shells crashed and men burrowed
+like moles in the earth. His chauffeur saluted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Glad to see you, sir,&#8221; said the man. &#8220;Those blighters wanted to run me
+in.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No. It&#8217;s all right. The police are doing good work. Take me to the
+hotel. I&#8217;ll follow your example and go to bed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martin&#8217;s voice was weary. He was grateful to Providence that he had been
+spared the ordeal which faced him when he entered the city. But the
+strain was heavier than he counted on, and he craved rest, even from
+tumultuous memories. Before retiring, however, he wrote to
+Elsie&mdash;guardedly, of course&mdash;but in sufficient detail that she should
+understand.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, making an early start, he guided the car up the Rue
+Blanche, as the north road could be reached by a slight detour. He saw
+the Impasse Fautet, and glanced at the drawn blinds of Num&eacute;ro 2 bis. In
+one of those rooms, he supposed, Ang&egrave;le was lying. He had resolved not
+to seek her out. When the war was over, and he and his wife visited
+Paris, they could inquire for her. Was she wholly innocent? He hoped so.
+Somehow, he could not picture her as a spy. She was a disturbing
+influence, but her nature was not mean. At any rate, her mother&#8217;s death
+would scare her effectually.</p>
+
+<p>It was a fine morning, clear, and not too cold. His spirits rose as the
+car sped along a good road, after the suburban traffic was left behind.
+The day&#8217;s news was cheering. Verdun was safe, the Armenti&egrave;res &#8220;push&#8221; was
+an admitted gain, and the United States had reached the breaking point
+with Germany. Thank God, all would yet be well, and humanity would
+arise, blood-stained but triumphant, from the rack of torment on which
+it had been stretched by Teuton oppression!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hit her up!&#8221; he said when the car had passed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>through Crueil, and the
+next cordon was twenty miles ahead. The chauffeur stepped on the gas,
+and the pleasant panorama of France flew by like a land glimpsed in
+dreams.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Every day in far-off Elmsdale Elsie would walk to the White House, or
+John and Martha would visit the vicarage. If there was no letter, some
+crumb of comfort could be drawn from its absence. Each morning, in both
+households, the first haunted glance was at the casualty lists in the
+newspapers. But none ever spoke of that, and Elsie knew what she never
+told the old couple&mdash;that the thing really to be dreaded was a long
+white envelope from the War Office, with &#8220;O.H.M.S.&#8221; stamped across it,
+for the relatives of fallen officers are warned before the last sad item
+is printed.</p>
+
+<p>Elsie lived at the vicarage. The Elms was too roomy for herself and her
+baby boy, another Martin Bolland&mdash;such were the names given him at the
+christening font. So it came to pass that she and the vicar, accompanied
+by a nurse wheeling a perambulator, came to the White House with
+Martin&#8217;s letter. And, heinous as were Mrs. Saumarez&#8217;s faults,
+unforgivable though her crime, they grieved for her, since her memory in
+the village had been, for the most part, one of a gracious and dignified
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>Martha wiped her spectacles after reading the letter. The word &#8220;hotel&#8221;
+had a comforting sound.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It must ha&#8217; bin nice for t&#8217; lad te find hisself in a decent bed for a
+night,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>Then Elsie&#8217;s eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I only wish I had known he was there,&#8221; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, honey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because, God help me, on one night, at least, I could have fallen
+asleep with the consciousness that he was safe!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She averted her face, and her slight, graceful body shook with an
+uncontrollable emotion. The vicar was so taken aback by this
+unlooked-for distress on Elsie&#8217;s part that his lips quivered and he
+dared not speak. But John Bolland&#8217;s huge hand rested lightly on the
+young wife&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dinnat fret, lass,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I feel it i&#8217; me bones that Martin will
+come back te us. England needs such men, the whole wulld needs &#8217;em, an&#8217;
+the Lord, in His goodness, will see to it that they&#8217;re spared.
+Sometimes, when things are blackest, I liken mesen unto Job; for Job
+was a farmer an&#8217; bred stock, an&#8217; he was afflicted more than most. An&#8217;
+then I remember that the Lord blessed the latter end of Job, who died
+old and full of days; yet I shall die a broken man if Martin is taken. O
+Lord, my God, in Thee do I put my trust!&#8221;</p>
+
+<h3>THE END</h3>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber&#8217;s Note:</span></h3>
+
+<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters&#8217; errors; otherwise,
+every effort has been made to remain true to the author&#8217;s words and
+intent.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Revellers
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: February 24, 2011 [EBook #35393]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVELLERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE
+ REVELLERS
+
+ BY
+ LOUIS TRACY
+
+ AUTHOR OF
+ "THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,"
+ "THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER,"
+ ETC., ETC.
+
+ NEW YORK
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+
+
+
+ Copyright, 1917, by
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+ All rights reserved
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+ _By_ LOUIS TRACY
+
+
+ THE WINGS OF THE MORNING
+ THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS
+ THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE
+ A SON OF THE IMMORTALS
+ CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
+ THE MESSAGE
+ THE STOWAWAY
+ THE PILLAR OF LIGHT
+ THE SILENT BARRIER
+ THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL
+ ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT
+ THE TERMS OF SURRENDER
+ FLOWER OF THE GORSE
+ THE RED YEAR
+ THE GREAT MOGUL
+ MIRABEL'S ISLAND
+ THE DAY OF WRATH
+ HIS UNKNOWN WIFE
+ THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER
+ THE REVELLERS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ CHAPTER                                          PAGE
+
+     I. QUESTIONINGS                                1
+    II. STRANGERS, INDEED                          13
+   III. THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF                      27
+    IV. THE FEAST                                  40
+     V. "IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS"         55
+    VI. WHEREIN THE RED BLOOD FLOWS                71
+   VII. GEORGE PICKERING PLAYS THE MAN             88
+  VIII. SHOWING HOW MARTIN'S HORIZON
+         WIDENS                                   100
+    IX. THE WILDCAT                               115
+     X. DEEPENING SHADOWS                         128
+    XI. FOR ONE, THE NIGHT; FOR ANOTHER,
+         THE DAWN                                 140
+   XII. A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT                       153
+  XIII. A DYING DEPOSITION                        172
+   XIV. THE STORM                                 190
+    XV. THE UNWRITTEN LAW                         206
+   XVI. UNDERCURRENTS                             225
+  XVII. TWO MOORLAND EPISODES                     243
+ XVIII. THE SEVEN FULL YEARS                      272
+   XIX. OUT OF THE MISTS                          292
+    XX. THE RIGOR OF THE GAME                     307
+   XXI. NEARING THE END                           323
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+QUESTIONINGS
+
+
+"And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate,
+and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son
+Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"
+
+The voice of the reader was strident, his utterance uneven, his diction
+illiterate. Yet he concluded the 18th chapter of the second Book of
+Samuel with an unctuous force born of long familiarity with the text.
+His laborious drone revealed no consciousness of the humanism of the
+Jewish King. To suggest that the Bible contained a mine of literature,
+a series of stories of surpassing interest, portraying as truthfully
+the lives of the men and women of to-day as of the nomad race which a
+personal God led through the wilderness, would have provoked from this
+man's mouth a sluggish flood of protest. The slow-moving lips, set
+tight after each syllabic struggle, the shaggy eyebrows overhanging
+horn-rimmed spectacles, the beetling forehead and bull-like head sunk
+between massive shoulders, the very clutch of the big hands on the Bible
+held stiffly at a distance, bespoke a triumphant dogmatism that found as
+little actuality in the heartbroken cry of David as in a description of
+a seven-branched candlestick.
+
+The boy who listened wondered why people should "think such a lot
+about" high priests and kings who died so long ago. David was
+interesting enough as a youth. The slaying of Goliath, the charming of
+Saul with sweet music on a harp, appealed to the vivid, if unformed,
+imagination of fourteen. But the temptation of the man, the splendid
+efforts of the monarch to rule a peevish people--these were lost on him.
+Worse, they wearied him, because, as it happened, he had a reasoning
+brain.
+
+He refused to credit all that he heard. It was hard to believe that any
+man's hair could catch in an oak so that he should be lifted up between
+heaven and earth, merely because he rode beneath the tree on the back of
+a mule. This sounded like the language of exaggeration, and sturdy
+little Martin Court Bolland hated exaggeration.
+
+Again, he took the winged words literally, and the ease with which
+David saw, heard, spoke to the Lord was disturbing. Such things were
+manifestly impossible if David resembled other men, and that there were
+similarities between the ruler of Israel and certain male inhabitants of
+Elmsdale was suggested by numberless episodes of the very human history
+writ in the Book of Kings.
+
+"The Lord" was a terrific personality to Martin--a personality seated
+on thunder-cloud, of which the upper rim of gold and silver, shining
+gloriously against a cerulean sky, was Heaven, and the sullen blackness
+beneath, from which thunder bellowed and lightning flashed, was Hell.
+How could a mere man, one who pursued women like a too susceptible
+plowman, one who "smote" his fellows, and "kissed" them, and ate with
+them, hold instant communion with the tremendous Unseen, the ruler of
+sun and storm, the mover of worlds?
+
+"David inquired of the Lord"; "David said to the Lord"; "The Lord
+answered unto David"--these phrases tortured a busy intelligence, and
+caused the big brown eyes to flash restlessly toward the distant hills,
+while quick ears and retentive brain paid close heed to the text.
+
+For it was the word, not the spirit, that John Bolland insisted on. The
+boy knew too well the penalty of forgetfulness. During half an hour,
+from five o'clock each day, he was led drearily through the Sacred Book;
+if he failed to answer correctly the five minutes' questioning which
+followed, the lesson was repeated, verse for verse, again, and yet
+again, as a punishment.
+
+At half-past four o'clock the high tea of a north-country farmhouse was
+served. Then the huge Bible was produced solemnly, and no stress of
+circumstances, no temporary call of other business, was permitted to
+interfere with this daily task. At times, Bolland would be absent at
+fairs or detained in some distant portion of the farm. But Martin's
+"portion of the Scriptures" would be marked for careful reading, and
+severe corporal chastisement corrected any negligence. Such was the old
+farmer's mania in this regard that his portly, kind-hearted wife became
+as strict as John himself in supervising the boy's lesson, merely
+because she dreaded the scene that would follow the slightest lapse.
+
+So Martin could answer glibly that Ahimaaz was the son of Zadok and
+that Joab plunged three darts into Absalom's heart while the scapegrace
+dangled from the oak. Of the love that David bore his son, of the
+statecraft that impelled a servant of Israel to slay the disturber of
+the national peace, there was never a hint. Bolland's stark Gospel was
+harshly definite. There was no channel in his gnarled soul for the
+turbulent life-stream flowing through the ancient text.
+
+The cold-blooded murder of Absalom, it is true, induced in the boy's
+mind a certain degree of belief in the narrative, a belief somewhat
+strained by the manner of Absalom's capture. Through his brain danced a
+_tableau vivant_ of the scene in the wood. He saw the gayly caparisoned
+mule gallop madly away, leaving its rider struggling with desperate arms
+to free his hair from the rough grasp of the oak.
+
+Then, through the trees came a startled man-at-arms, who ran back and
+brought one other, a stately warrior in accouterments that shone like
+silver. A squabble arose between them as to the exact nature of the
+King's order concerning this same Absalom, but it was speedily
+determined by the leader, Joab, snatching three arrows from the
+soldier's quiver and plunging them viciously, one after the other, into
+the breast of the man hanging between the heaven and the earth.
+
+Martin wondered if Absalom spoke to Joab. Did he cry for mercy? Did
+his eyes glare awfully at his relentless foe? Did he squeal pitiful
+gibberish like Tom Chandler did when he chopped off his fingers in the
+hay-cutter? How beastly it must be to be suspended by your own hair, and
+see a man come forward with three barbed darts which he sticks into your
+palpitating bosom, probably cursing you the while!
+
+And then appeared from the depths of the wood ten young men, who behaved
+like cowardly savages, for they hacked the poor corpse with sword and
+spear, and made mock of a gallant if erring soldier who would have slain
+them all if he met them on equal terms.
+
+This was the picture that flitted before the boy's eyes, and for one
+instant his tongue forgot its habitual restraint.
+
+"Father," he said, "why didn't David ask God to save his son, if he
+wished him to live?"
+
+"Nay, lad, I doan't knoae. You mun listen te what's written i' t'
+Book--no more an' no less. I doan't ho'd wi' their commentaries an'
+explanations, an' what oor passon calls anilitical disquisitions. Tak'
+t' Word as it stands. That's all 'at any man wants."
+
+Now, be it observed that the boy used good English, whereas the man
+spoke in the broad dialect of the dales. Moreover, Bolland, an
+out-and-out Dissenter, was clannish enough to speak of "our" parson,
+meaning thereby the vicar of the parish, a gentleman whom he held at
+arm's length in politics and religion.
+
+The latter discrepancy was a mere village colloquialism; the other--the
+marked difference between father and son--was startling, not alone by
+reason of their varying speech, but by the queer contrast they offered
+in manners and appearance.
+
+Bolland was a typical yeoman of the moor edge, a tall, strong man,
+twisted and bent like the oak which betrayed Absalom, slow in his
+movements, heavy of foot, and clothed in brown corduroy which resembled
+curiously the weatherbeaten bark of a tree. There was a rugged dignity
+in his bearded face, and the huge spectacles he had now pushed high up
+on his forehead lent a semblance of greater age than he could lay claim
+to. Yet was he a lineal descendant of Gurth, the swineherd, Gurth,
+uncouth and unidealized.
+
+The boy, a sturdy, country-built youngster in figure and attire, had a
+face of much promise. His brow was lofty and open, his mouth firm and
+well formed, his eyes fearless, if a trifle dreamy at times. His hands,
+too, were not those of a farmer's son. Strong they were and scarred with
+much use, but the fingers tapered elegantly, and the thumbs were long
+and straight.
+
+Certainly, the heavy-browed farmer, with his drooping nether lip and
+clumsy spatulate digits, had not bequeathed these bucolic attributes to
+his son. As they sat there, in the cheerful kitchen where the sunbeams
+fell on sanded floor and danced on the burnished contents of a full
+"dresser," they presented a dissimilarity that was an outrage on
+heredity.
+
+Usually, the reading ended, Martin effaced himself by way of the back
+door. Thence, through a garden orchard that skirted the farmyard, he
+would run across a meadow, jump two hedges into the lane which led back
+to the village street, and so reach the green where the children played
+after school hours.
+
+He was forced early to practice a degree of dissimulation. Though he
+hated a lie, he at least acted a reverent appreciation of the chapter
+just perused. His boyish impulses lay with the cricketers, the
+minnow-catchers, the players of prisoner's base, the joyous patrons of
+well-worn "pitch" and gurgling brook. But he knew that the slightest
+indication of grudging this daily half-hour would mean the confiscation
+of the free romp until supper-time at half-past eight. So he paid heed
+to the lesson, and won high praise from his preceptor in the
+oft-expressed opinion:
+
+"Martin will make a rare man i' time."
+
+To-day he did not hurry away as usual. For one reason, he was going
+with a gamekeeper to see some ferreting at six o'clock, and there was
+plenty of time; for another, it thrilled him to find that there were
+episodes in the Bible quite as exciting as any in the pages of "The
+Scalp-Hunters," a forbidden work now hidden with others in the store
+of dried bracken at the back of the cow-byre.
+
+So he said rather carelessly: "I wonder if he kicked?"
+
+"You wunner if wheae kicked?" came the slow response.
+
+"Absalom, when Joab stabbed him. The other day, when the pigs were
+killed, they all kicked like mad."
+
+Bolland laid down the Bible and glanced at Martin with a puzzled air. He
+was not annoyed or even surprised at the unlooked-for deduction. It had
+simply never occurred to him that one might read the Bible and construct
+actualities from the plain-spoken text.
+
+"Hoo div' I knoae?" he said calmly; "it says nowt about it i' t'
+chapter."
+
+Then Martin awoke with a start. He saw how nearly he had betrayed
+himself a second time, how ready were the lips to utter ungoverned
+thoughts.
+
+He flushed slightly.
+
+"Is that all for to-day, father?" he said.
+
+Before Bolland could answer, there came a knock at the door.
+
+"See wheae that is," said the farmer, readjusting his spectacles.
+
+A big, hearty-looking young man entered. He wore clothes of a sporting
+cut and carried a hunting-crop, with the long lash gathered in his
+fingers.
+
+"Oah, it's you, is it, Mr. Pickerin'?" said Bolland, and Martin's quick
+ears caught a note of restraint, almost of hostility, in the question.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bolland, an' how are ye?" was the more friendly greeting. "I
+just dropped in to have a settlement about that beast."
+
+"A sattlement! What soart o' sattlement?"
+
+The visitor sat down, uninvited, and produced some papers from his
+pocket.
+
+"Well, Mr. Bolland," he said quietly, "it's not more'n four months since
+I gave you sixty pounds for a thoroughbred shorthorn, supposed to be in
+calf to Bainesse Boy the Third."
+
+"Right enough, Mr. Pickerin'. You've gotten t' certificates and t'
+receipt for t' stud fee."
+
+Martin detected the latent animosity in both voices. The reiterated use
+of the prefix "Mr." was an exaggerated politeness that boded a dispute.
+
+"Receipts, certificates!" cried Pickering testily. "What good are they
+to me? She cannot carry a calf. For all the use I can make of her, I
+might as well have thrown the money in the fire."
+
+"Eh, but she's a well-bred 'un," said Bolland, with sapient head-shake.
+
+"She might be a first-prize winner at the Royal by her shape and
+markings; but, as matters stand, she'll bring only fifteen pounds from a
+butcher. I stand to lose forty-five pounds by the bargain."
+
+"You canna fly i' t' feaece o' Providence, Mr. Pickerin'."
+
+"Providence has little to do with it, I fancy. I can sell her to
+somebody else, if I like to work a swindle with her. I had my doubts at
+the time that she was too cheap."
+
+John Bolland rose. His red face was dusky with anger, and it sent a pang
+through Martin's heart to see something of fear there, too.
+
+"Noo, what are ye drivin' at?" he growled, speaking with ominous
+calmness.
+
+"You know well enough," came the straight answer. "The poor thing has
+something wrong with her, and she will never hold a calf. Look here,
+Bolland, meet me fairly in the matter. Either give me back twenty
+pounds, and we'll cry 'quits,' or sell me another next spring at the
+same price, and I'll take my luck."
+
+Perhaps this _via media_ might have been adopted had it presented itself
+earlier. But the word "swindle" stuck in the farmer's throat, and he
+sank back into his chair.
+
+"Nay, nay," he said. "A bargain's a bargain. You've gotten t'
+papers----"
+
+It was the buyer's turn to rise.
+
+"To the devil with you and your papers!" he shouted. "Do you think I
+came here without making sure of my facts? Twice has this cow been in
+calf in your byre, and each time she missed. You knew her failing, and
+sold her under false pretenses. Of course, I cannot prove it, or I would
+have the law of you; but I did think you would act squarely."
+
+For some reason the elder Bolland was in a towering rage. Martin had
+never before seen him so angry, and the boy was perplexed by the
+knowledge that what Pickering said was quite true.
+
+"I'll not be sworn at nor threatened wi' t' law in my own house,"
+bellowed the farmer. "Get out! Look tiv' your own business an' leave me
+te follow mine."
+
+Pickering, too, was in a mighty temper. He took a half stride forward
+and shook out the thong of the whip.
+
+"You psalm-singing humbug!" he thundered. "If you were a younger
+man----"
+
+Martin jumped between them; his right hand clenched a heavy kitchen
+poker.
+
+Pickering half turned to the door with a bitter laugh.
+
+"All right, my young cub!" he shouted. "I'm not such a fool, thank
+goodness, as to make bad worse. It's lucky for you, boy, that you are
+not of the same kidney as that old ranter there. Catch me ever having
+more to do with any of his breed."
+
+"An' what affair is it of yours, Mr. Pickerin', who the boy belongs to?
+If all tales be true, _you_ can't afford to throw stones at other
+folks's glass houses!"
+
+Mrs. Bolland, stout, hooded, aproned, and fiery red in face, had come
+from the dairy, and now took a hand in the argument.
+
+Pickering, annoyed at the unlooked-for presence of a woman, said
+sternly:
+
+"Talk to your husband, not to me, ma'am. He wronged me by getting three
+times the value for a useless beast, and if you can convince him that he
+took an unfair advantage, I'm willing, even now----"
+
+But Mrs. Bolland had caught the flicker of amazement in Martin's eye and
+was not to be mollified.
+
+"Who are you, I'd like to know?" she shrilled, "coomin' te one's house
+an' scandalizin' us? A nice thing, to be sure, for a man like you to
+call John Bolland a wrongdoer. The cow won't calve, won't she? 'Tis a
+dispensation on you, George Pickerin'. You're payin' for yer own
+misdeeds. There's plenty i' Elmsdale wheae ken your char-ak-ter, let me
+tell you that. What's become o' Betsy Thwaites?"
+
+But Pickering had resigned the contest. He was striding toward the
+"Black Lion," where a dogcart awaited him, and he laughed to himself as
+the flood of vituperation swelled from the door of the farm.
+
+"Gad!" he muttered, "how these women must cackle in the market! One old
+cow is hardly worth so much fuss!"
+
+Still smiling at the storm he had raised, he gathered the reins, gave
+Fred, the ostler, a sixpence, and would have driven off had he not seen
+a pretty serving-maid gazing out through an upper window. Her face
+looked familiar.
+
+"Hello!" he cried. "You and I know each other, don't we?"
+
+"No, we doan't; an' we're not likely to," was the pert reply.
+
+"Eh, my! What have I done now?"
+
+"Nowt to me, but my sister is Betsy Thwaites."
+
+"The deuce she is! Betsy isn't half as nice-looking as you."
+
+"More shame on you that says it."
+
+"But, my dear girl, one should tell the truth and shame the devil."
+
+"Just listen to him!" Yet the window was raised a little higher, and
+the girl leaned out, for Pickering was a handsome man, with a tremendous
+reputation for gallantry of a somewhat pronounced type.
+
+Fred, the stable help, struck the cob smartly with his open hand.
+Pickering swore, and bade him leave the mare alone and be off.
+
+"I was sorry for Betsy," he said, when the prancing pony was quieted,
+"but she and I agreed to differ. I got her a place at Hereford, and hope
+she'll be married soon."
+
+"You'll get me no place at Hereford, Mr. Pickerin'"--this with a
+coquettish toss of the head.
+
+"Of course not. When is the feast here?"
+
+"Next Monday it starts."
+
+"Very well. Good-by. I'll see you on Monday."
+
+He blew her a kiss, and she laughed. As the smart turnout rattled
+through the village she looked after him.
+
+"Betsy always did say he was such a man," she murmured. "I'll smack his
+feaece, though, if he comes near me a-Monday."
+
+And Fred, leaning sulkily over the yard gate, spat viciously on
+Pickering's sixpence.
+
+"Coomin' here for t' feaest, is he?" he growled. "Happen he'd better bide
+i' Nottonby."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+STRANGERS, INDEED
+
+
+Pickering left ruffled breasts behind him. The big farm in the center of
+the village was known as the White House, and had been owned by a
+Bolland since there were Bollands in the county. It was perched on a
+bank that rose steeply some twenty feet or more from the main road.
+Cartways of stiff gradient led down to the thoroughfare on either hand.
+A strong retaining wall, crowned with gooseberry bushes, marked the
+confines of the garden, which adjoined a row of cottages tenanted by
+laborers. Then came the White House itself, thatched, cleanly,
+comfortable-looking; beyond it, all fronting on the road, were stables
+and outbuildings.
+
+Behind lay the remainder of the kitchen garden and an orchard, backed by
+a strip of meadowland that climbed rapidly toward the free moor with its
+whins and heather--a far-flung range of mountain given over to grouse
+and hardy sheep, and cleft by tiny ravines of exceeding beauty.
+
+Across the village street stood some modern iron-roofed buildings, where
+Bolland kept his prize stock, and here was situated the real approach to
+the couple of hundred acres of rich arable land which he farmed. The
+house and rear pastures were his own; he rented the rest. Of late years
+he had ceased to grow grain, save for the limited purposes of his
+stock, and had gone in more and more for pedigree cattle.
+
+Pickering's words had hurt him sorely, since they held an element of
+truth. The actual facts were these: One of his best cows had injured
+herself by jumping a fence, and a calf was born prematurely. Oddly
+enough, a similar accident had occurred the following year. On the third
+occasion, when the animal was mated with Bainesse Boy III, Bolland
+thought it best not to tempt fortune again, but sold her for something
+less than the enhanced value which the circumstances warranted. From a
+similar dam and the same sire he bred a yearling bull which realized
+L250, or nearly the rent of his holding, so Pickering had really
+overstated his case, making no allowance for the lottery of
+stock-raising.
+
+The third calf might have been normal and of great value. It was not.
+Bolland suspected the probable outcome and had acted accordingly. It was
+the charge of premeditated unfairness that rankled and caused him such
+heart-burning.
+
+When Mrs. Bolland, turkey-red in face, and with eyes still glinting
+fire, came in and slammed the door, she told Martin, angrily, to be off,
+and not stand there with his ears cocked like a terrier's.
+
+The boy went out. He did not follow his accustomed track. He hesitated
+whether or not to go rabbiting. Although far too young to attach serious
+import to the innuendoes he had heard, he could not help wondering what
+Pickering meant by that ironical congratulation on the subject of his
+paternity.
+
+His mother, too, had not repelled the charge directly, but had gone out
+of her way to heap counter-abuse on the vilifier. It was odd, to say
+the least of it, and he found himself wishing heartily that either the
+unfortunate cow had not been sold or that his father had met Mr.
+Pickering's protests more reasonably.
+
+A whistle came from the lane that led up to the moor. Perched on a gate
+was a white-headed urchin.
+
+"Aren't ye coomin' te t' green?" was his cry, seeing that Martin heard
+him.
+
+"Not this evening, thanks."
+
+"Oah, coom on. They're playin' tig, an' none of 'em can ketch Jim
+Bates."
+
+That settled it. Jim Bates's pride must be lowered, and ferrets were
+forgotten.
+
+But Jim Bates had his revenge. If he could not run as fast as Martin, he
+made an excellent pawn in the hands of fortune. Had the boy gone to the
+rabbit warren, he would not have seen the village again until after
+eight o'clock, and, possibly, the current of his life might have entered
+a different runnel. In the event, however, he was sauntering up the
+village street, when he encountered a lady and a little girl,
+accompanied by a woman whose dress reminded him of nuns seen in
+pictures. The three were complete strangers, and although Martin was
+unusually well-mannered for one reared in a remote Yorkshire hamlet, he
+could not help staring at them fixedly.
+
+The Normandy nurse alone was enough to draw the eyes of the whole
+village, and Martin knew well it was owing to mere chance that a crowd
+of children was not following her already.
+
+The lady was tall and of stately carriage. She was dressed quietly, but
+in excellent taste. Her very full face looked remarkably pink, and her
+large blue eyes stared out of puffy sockets. Beyond these unfavorable
+details, she was a handsome woman, and the boy thought vaguely that she
+must have motored over from the castle midway between Elmsdale and the
+nearest market town of Nottonby.
+
+Yet it was on the child that his wondering gaze dwelt longest. She
+looked about ten years old. Her elfin face was enshrined in jet-black
+hair, and two big bright eyes glanced inquiringly at him from the depths
+of a wide-brimmed, flowered-covered hat. A broad blue sash girdled her
+white linen dress; the starched skirts stood out like the frills of a
+ballet dancer.
+
+Her shapely legs were bare from above the knees, and her tiny feet were
+encased in sandals. At Trouville she would be pronounced "sweet" by
+enthusiastic admirers of French fashion, but in a north-country village
+she was absurdly out of place. Nevertheless, being a remarkably
+self-possessed little maiden, she returned with interest Martin's covert
+scrutiny.
+
+He would have passed on, but the lady lifted a pair of mounted
+eyeglasses and spoke to him.
+
+"Boy," she said in a flute-like voice, "can you tell me which is the
+White House?"
+
+Martin's cap flew off.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," he said, pointing. "That is it. I live there."
+
+"Oh, indeed. And what is your name?"
+
+"Martin Court Bolland, ma'am."
+
+"What an odd name. Why were you christened Martin Court?"
+
+"I really don't know, ma'am. I didn't bother about it at the time, and
+since then have never troubled to inquire."
+
+Now, to be candid, Martin did not throw off this retort spontaneously.
+It was a little effusion built up through the years, the product of
+frequent necessity to answer the question. But the lady took it as a
+coruscation of rustic wit, and laughed. She turned to the nurse:
+
+"Il m'a rendu la monnaie de ma piece, Francoise."
+
+"J'en suis bien sur, madame, mais qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?" said the
+nurse.
+
+The other translated rapidly, and the nurse grinned.
+
+"Ah, il est naif, le petit," she commented. "Et tres gentil."
+
+"Oh, maman," chimed in the child, "je serais heureuse si vous vouliez me
+permettre de jouer avec ce joli garcon."
+
+"Attendez, ma belle. Pas si vite.... Now, Martin Court, take me to your
+mother."
+
+Not knowing exactly what to do with his cap, the boy had kept it in his
+hand. The foregoing conversation was, of course, so much Greek in his
+ears. He realized that they were talking about him, and was fully alive
+to the girl's demure admiration. The English words came with the more
+surprise, seeing that they followed so quickly on some remark in an
+unknown tongue.
+
+He led the way at once, hoping that his mother had regained her normal
+condition of busy cheerfulness.
+
+Silence reigned in the front kitchen when he pressed the latch. The room
+was empty, but the clank of pattens in the yard revealed that the
+farmer's thrifty wife was sparing her skirts from the dirt while she
+crossed to the pig tub with a pailful of garbage.
+
+"Will you take a seat, ma'am?" said Martin politely. "I'll tell mother
+you are here."
+
+With a slight awkwardness he pulled three oaken chairs from the serried
+rank they occupied along the wall beneath the high-silled windows.
+Feeling all eyes fixed on him quizzically, he blushed.
+
+"Ah, v'la le p'tit. Il rougit!" laughed the nurse.
+
+"Don't tease him, nurse!" cried the child in English. "He is a nice boy.
+I like him."
+
+Clearly this was for Martin's benefit. Already the young lady was a
+coquette.
+
+Mrs. Bolland, hearing there were "ladies" to visit her, entered with
+trepidation. She expected to meet the vicar's aunt and one of that
+lady's friends. In a moment of weakness she had consented to take charge
+of the refreshment stall at a forthcoming bazaar in aid of certain
+church funds. But Bolland was told that the incumbent was adopting
+ritualistic practices, so he sternly forbade his better half to render
+any assistance whatsoever. The Established Church was bad enough; it was
+a positive scandal to introduce into the service aught that savored of
+Rome.
+
+Poor Mrs. Bolland therefore racked her brain for a reasonable excuse as
+she crossed the yard, and it is not to be wondered at if she was struck
+almost dumb with surprise at sight of the strangers.
+
+"Are you Mrs. Bolland?" asked the lady, without rising, and surveying
+her through the eyeglasses with head tilted back.
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Ah. Exactly. I--er--am staying at The Elms for some few weeks, and the
+people there recommended you as supplying excellent dairy produce. I
+am--er--exceedingly particular about butter and milk, as my little girl
+is so delicate. Have you any objection to allowing me to inspect your
+dairy? I may add that I will pay you well for all that I order."
+
+The lady's accent, no less than the even flow of her words, joined to
+unpreparedness for such fashionable visitors, temporarily bereft Mrs.
+Bolland of a quick, if limited, understanding.
+
+"Did ye say ye wanted soom bootermilk?" she cried vacantly.
+
+"No, mother," interrupted Martin anxiously. For the first time in his
+life he was aware of a hot and uncomfortable feeling that his mother was
+manifestly inferior to certain other people in the world. "The lady
+wishes to see the dairy."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"She wants to buy things from you, and--er--I suppose she would like to
+see what sort of place we keep them in."
+
+No manner of explanation could have restored Mrs. Bolland's normal
+senses so speedily as the slightest hint that uncleanliness could harbor
+its microbes in her house.
+
+"My goodness, ma'am," she cried, "wheae's bin tellin' you that my pleaece
+hez owt wrong wi't?"
+
+Now it was the stranger's turn to appeal to Martin, and the boy showed
+his mettle by telling his mother, in exact detail, the request made by
+the lady and her reference to the fragile-looking child.
+
+Mrs. Bolland's wrath subsided, and her lips widened in a smile.
+
+"Oah, if that's all," she said, "coom on, ma'am, an' welcome. Ye canna
+be too careful about sike things, an' yer little lass do look pukey, te
+be sure."
+
+The lady, gathering her skirts for the perilous passage of the yard,
+followed the farmer's wife.
+
+Martin and the girl sat and stared at each other. She it was who began
+the conversation.
+
+"Have you lived here long?" she said.
+
+"All my life," he answered. Pretty and well-dressed as she was, he had
+no dread of her. He regarded girls as spiteful creatures who scratched
+one another like cats when angry and shrieked hysterically when they
+played.
+
+"That's not very long," she cried.
+
+"No; but it's longer than you've lived anywhere else."
+
+"Me! I have lived everywhere--in London, Berlin, Paris, Nice,
+Montreux--O, je ne sais--I beg your pardon. Perhaps you don't speak
+French?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Would you like to learn?"
+
+"Yes, very much."
+
+"I'll teach you. It will be such fun. I know all sorts of naughty words.
+I learnt them in Monte Carlo, where I could hear the servants chattering
+when I was put to bed. Watch me wake up nurse. Francoise, mon chou! Cre
+nom d'un pipe, mais que vous etes triste aujourd'hui!"
+
+The _bonne_ started. She shook the child angrily.
+
+"You wicked girl!" she cried in French. "If madame heard you, she would
+blame me."
+
+The imp cuddled her bare knees in a paroxysm of glee.
+
+"You see," she shrilled. "I told you so."
+
+"Was all that swearing?" demanded Martin gravely.
+
+"Some of it."
+
+"Then you shouldn't do it. If I were your brother, I'd hammer you."
+
+"Oh, would you, indeed! I'd like to see any boy lay a finger on me. I'd
+tear his hair out by the roots."
+
+Naturally, the talk languished for a while, until Martin thought he had
+perhaps been rude in speaking so brusquely.
+
+"I'm sorry if I offended you," he said.
+
+The saucy, wide-open eyes sparkled.
+
+"I forgive you," she said. "How old are you?"
+
+"Fourteen. And you?"
+
+"Twelve."
+
+He was surprised. "I thought you were younger," he said.
+
+"So does everybody. You see, I'm tiny, and mamma dresses me in this baby
+way. I don't mind. I know your name. You haven't asked me mine."
+
+"Tell me," he said with a smile.
+
+"Angele. Angele Saumarez."
+
+"I'll never be able to say that," he protested.
+
+"Oh, yes, you will. It's quite easy. It sounds Frenchy, but I am
+English, except in my ways, mother says. Now try. Say 'An'----"
+
+"Ang----"
+
+"Not so much through your nose. This way--'An-gele.'"
+
+The next effort was better, but tuition halted abruptly when Martin
+discovered that Angele's mother, instead of being "Mrs. Saumarez," was
+"the Baroness Irma von Edelstein."
+
+"Oh, crikey!" he blurted out. "How can that be?"
+
+Angele laughed at his blank astonishment.
+
+"Mamma is a German baroness," she explained. "My papa was a colonel in
+the British army, but mamma did not lose her courtesy title when she
+married. Of course, she is Mrs. Saumarez, too."
+
+These subtleties of Burke and the Almanach de Gotha went over Martin's
+head.
+
+"It sounds a bit like an entry in a stock catalogue," he said.
+
+Angele, in turn, was befogged, but saw instantly that the village youth
+was not sufficiently reverent to the claims of rank.
+
+"You can never be a gentleman unless you learn these things," she
+announced airily.
+
+"You don't say," retorted Martin with a smile. He was really far more
+intelligent than this pert monitress, and had detected a curious
+expression on the stolid face of Francoise when the Baroness von
+Edelstein's name cropped up in a talk which she could not understand.
+The truth was that the canny Norman woman, though willing enough to take
+a German mistress's gold, thoroughly disliked the lady's nationality.
+Martin could only guess vaguely at something of the sort, but the mere
+guess sufficed.
+
+Angele, however, wanted no more bickering just then. She was about to
+resume the lesson when the Baroness and Mrs. Bolland re-entered the
+house. Evidently the inspection of the dairy had been satisfactory, and
+the lady had signified her approval in words that pleased the older
+woman greatly.
+
+The visitor was delighted, too, with the old-world appearance of the
+kitchen, the heavy rafters with their load of hams and sides of bacon,
+the oaken furniture, the spotless white of the well-scrubbed ash-topped
+table, the solemn grandfather's clock, and the rough stone floor, over
+which soft red sandstone had been rubbed when wet.
+
+By this time the tact of the woman of society had accommodated her words
+and utterance to the limited comprehension of her hearer, and she
+displayed such genuine interest in the farm and its belongings that Mrs.
+Bolland gave her a hearty invitation to come next morning, when the
+light would be stronger. Then "John" would let her see his prize stock
+and the extensive buildings on "t' other side o' t' road.... T' kye (the
+cows) were fastened up for t' neet" by this time.
+
+The baroness was puzzled, but managed to catch the speaker's drift.
+
+"I do not rise very early," she said. "I breakfast about eleven"--she
+could not imagine what a sensation this statement caused in a house
+where breakfast was served never later than seven o'clock--"and it takes
+me an hour to dress; but I can call about twelve, if that will suit."
+
+"Ay, do, ma'am," was the cheery agreement. "You'll be able te see t'
+farmhands havin' their dinner. It's a fair treat te watch them men an'
+lads puttin' away a beefsteak pie."
+
+"And this is your little boy?" said the other, evidently inclined for
+gossip.
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"He is a splendid little fellow. What a nice name you gave him--Martin
+Court Bolland--so unusual. How came you to select his Christian names?"
+
+The question caused the farmer's wife a good deal of unnoticed
+embarrassment. The baroness was looking idly at an old colored print of
+York Castle, and the boy himself was far too taken up with Angele to
+listen to the chat of his elders.
+
+Mrs. Bolland laughed confusedly.
+
+"Martin," she said. "Tak t' young leddy an' t' nurse as far as t' brig,
+an' show 'em t' mill."
+
+The baroness was surprised at this order, but an explanation was soon
+forthcoming. In her labored speech and broad dialect, the farmer's wife
+revealed a startling romance. Thirteen years ago her husband's brother
+died suddenly while attending a show at Islington, and the funeral took
+John and herself to London. They found the place so vast and noisy that
+it overwhelmed them; but in the evening, after the ceremony at Abney
+Park, they strolled out from their hotel near King's Cross Station to
+see the sights.
+
+Not knowing whither they were drifting, they found themselves, an hour
+later, gazing at St. Paul's Cathedral from the foot of Ludgate Hill.
+They were walking toward the stately edifice, when a terrible thing
+happened.
+
+A young woman fell, or threw herself, from a fourth-floor window onto
+the pavement of St. Martin's Court. In her arms was an infant, a boy
+twelve months old. Providence saved him from the instant death met by
+his mother. A projecting signboard caught his clothing, tore him from
+the encircling arms, and held him a precarious second until the rent
+frock gave way.
+
+But John Bolland's sharp eyes had noted the child's momentary escape. He
+sprang forward and caught the tiny body as it dropped. At that hour,
+nearly nine o'clock, the court was deserted, and Ludgate Hill had lost
+much of its daily crowd. Of course, a number of passers-by gathered; and
+a policeman took the names and address of the farmer and his wife, they
+being the only actual witnesses of the tragedy.
+
+But what was to be done with the baby? Mrs. Bolland volunteered to take
+care of it for the night, and the policeman was glad enough to leave it
+with her when he ascertained that no one in the house from which the
+woman fell knew anything about her save that she was a "Mrs. Martineau,"
+and rented a furnished room beneath the attic.
+
+The inquest detained the Bollands another day in town. Police inquiries
+showed that the unfortunate young woman had committed suicide. A letter,
+stuck to a dressing-table with a hatpin, stated her intention, and that
+her name was not Martineau. Would the lady like to see the letter?
+
+"Oh, dear, no!" said the baroness hastily. "Your story is awfully
+interesting, but I could not bear to read the poor creature's words."
+
+Well, the rest was obvious. Mrs. Bolland was childless after twenty
+years of married life. She begged for the bairn, and her husband allowed
+her to adopt it. They gave the boy their own name, but christened him
+after the scene of his mother's death and his own miraculous escape. And
+there he was now, coming up the village street, leading Angele
+confidently by the hand--a fine, intelligent lad, and wholly different
+from every other boy in the village.
+
+Not even the squire's sons equaled him in any respect, and the teacher
+of the village school gave him special lessons. Perhaps the lady had
+noticed the way he spoke. The teacher was proud of Martin's abilities,
+and he tried to please her by not using the Yorkshire dialect.
+
+"Ah, I see," said the baroness quietly. "His history is quite romantic.
+But what will he become when he grows up--a farmer, like his adopted
+father?"
+
+"John thinks te mak' him a minister," said Mrs. Bolland with genial
+pride.
+
+"A minister! Do you mean a preacher, a Nonconformist person?"
+
+"Why, yes, ma'am. John wouldn't hear of his bein' a parson."
+
+"Grand Dieu! Quelle betise! I beg your pardon. Of course, you will do
+what is best for him.... Well, ma belle, have you enjoyed your little
+walk?"
+
+"Oh, so much, mamma. The miller has such lovely pigs, so fat, so tight
+that you can't pinch them. And there's a beautiful dog, with four puppy
+dogs. I'm so glad we came here. J'en suis bien aise."
+
+"She's a queer little girl," said Mrs. Bolland, as Martin and she
+watched the party walking back to The Elms. "I couldn't tell half what
+she said."
+
+"No, mother," he replied. "She goes off into French without thinking,
+and her mother's a German baroness, who married an English officer. The
+nurse doesn't speak any English. I wish I knew French and German.
+French, at any rate."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF
+
+
+Preparations for the forthcoming "Feast" were varied by gossip
+concerning "the baroness," her daughter, and the Normandy _bonne_.
+Elmsdale had never before set eyes on any human beings quite so foreign
+to its environment. At first, the canny Yorkshire folk were much
+intrigued by the lady's title. A princess or a duchess they had read of;
+a marchioness and a countess they had seen, because the county of broad
+acres finds room for a great many noble houses; and baronets' wives,
+each a "Lady" by perspective right, were so plentiful as to arouse no
+special comment.
+
+But a "baroness" was rather un-English, while Elmsdale frankly refused
+to pronounce her name other than "Eedelsteen." The village was ready to
+allude to her as "her ladyship," but was still doubtful whether or not
+to grant her the prefix "Lady," when the question was settled in a
+wholly unexpected way by the announcement that the baroness preferred to
+be addressed as "Mrs. Saumarez." In fact, she was rather annoyed that
+Angele should have flaunted the title at all.
+
+"I am English by marriage, and proud of my husband's name," she
+explained. "He was a gallant officer, who fell in the Boer War, and I
+have long since left the use of my German rank for purely official
+occasions. It is no secret, of course, but Angele should not have
+mentioned it."
+
+Elmsdale liked this democratic utterance. It made these blunt Yorkshire
+folk far readier to address her as "your ladyship" than would have been
+the case otherwise, and, truth to tell, she never chided them for any
+lapse of the sort, though, in accordance with her wish, she became
+generally known as Mrs. Saumarez.
+
+She rented a suite at The Elms, a once pretentious country mansion owned
+by a family named Walker. The males had died, the revenues had dwindled,
+and two elderly maiden ladies, after taking counsel with the vicar, had
+advertised their house in a society newspaper.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez said she was an invalid. She required rest and good air.
+Francoise, since Angele had outgrown the attentions of a nurse, was
+employed mainly as her mistress's confidential servant. Francoise either
+could not or would not speak English; Mrs. Saumarez gave excellent
+references and no information as to her past, while Angele's volatile
+reminiscences of continental society had no meaning for Elmsdale.
+
+But it was abundantly clear that Mrs. Saumarez was rich. She swept aside
+the arrangements made by the Misses Walker for her comfort, chose her
+own set of apartments, ordered things wholly her own way, and paid
+double the terms originally demanded.
+
+The day following her visit to the White House she descended on the
+chief grocer, whose shop was an emporium of many articles outside his
+trade, but mostly of a cheap order.
+
+"Mr. Webster," she said in her grand manner, "few of the goods you stock
+will meet my requirements. I prefer to deal with local tradesmen, but
+they must meet my wants. Now, if you are prepared to cater for me, you
+will not only save me the trouble of ordering supplies from London, but
+make some extra profit. You have proper agents, no doubt, so you must
+obtain everything of the best quality. You understand. I shall never
+grumble at the prices; but the least inferiority will lead me to
+withdraw my custom."
+
+It was a sore point with Mr. Webster that "the squire" dealt with the
+Stores. He promised implicit obedience, and wrote such instructions to
+Leeds, his supply town, that the wholesale house there wondered who had
+come to live at Elmsdale.
+
+The proprietress of the "Black Lion," hearing the golden tales that
+circulated through the village, dressed in her best one afternoon and
+called at The Elms in the hope of obtaining patronage for wines, bottled
+beer, and mineral waters. Mrs. Saumarez was resting. The elder Miss
+Walker conveyed Mrs. Atkinson's name and business. Some conversation
+took place between Mrs. Saumarez and Francoise, with the result that
+Mrs. Atkinson was instructed to supply Schweppe's soda water, but "no
+intoxicants."
+
+So Mrs. Saumarez was a teetotaller. The secretary of the local branch of
+the Good Templars donned a faded black coat and a rusty tall hat and
+sent in a subscription list. It came out with a guinea. The vicar was at
+The Elms next day. Mrs. Saumarez received him graciously and gave him a
+five-pound note toward the funds of the bazaar which would be opened
+next week. Most decidedly the lady was an acquisition. When Miss Martha
+Walker was enjoined by her sister, Miss Emmy, to find out how long Mrs.
+Saumarez intended to remain at Elmsdale--on the plausible pretext that
+the terms would be lowered for a monthly tenancy--she was given a curt
+reply.
+
+"I am a creature of moods. I may be here a day, a year. At present the
+place suits me. And Angele is brimming over with health. But it is fatal
+if I am told I must remain a precise period anywhere. That is why I
+never go to Carlsbad."
+
+Miss Martha did not understand the reference to Carlsbad; but the nature
+of the reply stopped effectually all further curiosity as to Mrs.
+Saumarez's plans. It also insured unflagging service.
+
+Hardly a day passed that the newcomer did not call at the White House.
+She astounded John Bolland by the accuracy of her knowledge concerning
+stock, and annoyed him, too, by remarking that some of his land required
+draining.
+
+"Your lower pastures are too rank," she said. "So long as there is a
+succession of fine seasons it does not matter, but a wet spring and
+summer will trouble you. You will have fifty acres of water-sodden
+meadows, and nothing breeds disease more quickly."
+
+"None o' my cattle hev had a day's illness, short o' bein' a trifle
+overfed wi' oil cake," he said testily.
+
+"Quite so. You told me that in former years you raised wheat and oats
+there. I'm talking about grass."
+
+Martin and Angele became close friends. The only children of the girl's
+social rank in the neighborhood were the vicar's daughter, Elsie
+Herbert, and the squire's two sons, Frank and Ernest Beckett-Smythe. Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe was a widower. He lived at the Hall, three-quarters of a
+mile away, and had not as yet met Mrs. Saumarez. Angele would have
+nothing to do with Elsie.
+
+"I don't like her," she confided to Martin. "She doesn't care for boys,
+and I adore them. She's trop reglee for me."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"Well, she holds her nose--so."
+
+Angele tilted her head and cast down her eyes.
+
+"Of course, I don't know her, but she seems to be a nice girl," said
+Martin.
+
+"Why do you say, 'Of course, I don't know her'? She lives here, doesn't
+she?"
+
+"Yes, but my father is a farmer. She has a governess, and goes to tea at
+the Hall. I've met her driving from the Castle. She's above me, you
+see."
+
+Angele laughed maliciously.
+
+"O la la! c'est pour rire! I'm sorry. She is--what do you say--a little
+snob."
+
+"No, no," protested Martin. "I think she would be very nice, if I knew
+her. You'll like her fine when you play with her."
+
+"Me! Play with her, so prim, so pious. I prefer Jim Bates. He winked at
+me yesterday."
+
+"Did he? Next time I see him I'll make it hard for him to wink."
+
+Angele clapped her hands and pirouetted.
+
+"What," she cried, "you will fight him, and for me! What joy! It's just
+like a story book. You must kick him, so, and he will fall down, and I
+will kiss you."
+
+"I will not kick him," said the indignant Martin. "Boys don't kick in
+England. And I don't want to be kissed."
+
+"Don't boys kiss in England?"
+
+"Well ... anyhow, I don't."
+
+"Then we are not sweethearts. I shan't kiss you, and you must just leave
+Jim Bates alone."
+
+Martin was humiliated. He remained silent and angry during the next
+minute. By a quick turn in the conversation Angele had placed him in a
+position of rivalry with another boy, one with whom she had not
+exchanged a word.
+
+"Look here," he said, after taking thought, "if I kiss your cheek, may I
+lick Jim Bates?"
+
+This magnanimous offer was received with derision.
+
+"I forbid you to do either. If you do, I'll tell your father."
+
+The child had discovered already the fear with which Martin regarded the
+stern, uncompromising Methodist yeoman--a fear, almost a resentment, due
+to Bolland's injudicious attempts to guide a mere boy into the path of
+serious and precise religion. Never had Martin found the daily reading
+of Scripture such a burden as during the past few days. The preparations
+for the feast, the cricket-playing, running and jumping of the boys
+practicing for prizes--these disturbing influences interfered sadly with
+the record of David's declining years.
+
+Even now, with Angele's sarcastic laughter ringing in his ears, he was
+compelled to leave her and hurry to the front kitchen, where the farmer
+was waiting with the Bible opened. At the back door he paused and looked
+at her. She blew him a kiss.
+
+"Good boy!" she cried. "Mind you learn your lesson."
+
+"And mind you keep away from those cowsheds. Your nurse ought to have
+been here. It's tea time."
+
+"I don't want any tea. I'm going to smell the milk. I love the smell of
+a farmyard. Don't you? But, there! You have never smelt anything else.
+Every place has its own smell. Paris smells like smoky wood. London
+smells of beer. Here there is always the smell of cows...."
+
+"Martin!" called a harsh voice from the interior, and the boy perforce
+brought his wandering wits to bear on the wrongdoing of David in taking
+a census of the people of Israel.
+
+He read steadily through the chapter which described how a pestilence
+swept from Dan to Beersheba and destroyed seventy thousand men, all
+because David wished to know how many troops he could muster.
+
+He could hear Angele talking to the maids and making them laugh. A
+caravan lumbered through the street; he caught a glimpse of carved
+wooden horses' heads and gilded moldings. His quick and retentive brain
+mastered the words of the chapter, but to-day there was no mysterious
+and soul-awakening glimpse of its spirit.
+
+"What did David say te t' Lord when t' angel smote t' people?" said
+Bolland when the moment came to question his pupil.
+
+"He said, 'Lo, I have sinned; but what have these sheep done?'"
+
+"And what sin had he deaen?"
+
+"I don't know. I think the whole thing was jolly unfair."
+
+"What!" John Bolland laid down the Bible and rested both hands on the
+arms of the chair to steady himself. Had he heard aright? Was the boy
+daring to criticize the written word?
+
+But Martin's brain raced ahead of the farmer's slow-rising wrath. He
+trembled at the abyss into which he had almost fallen. What horror if he
+lost an hour on this Saturday, the Saturday before the Feast, of all
+days in the year!
+
+"I didn't quite mean that," he said, "but it doesn't say why it was
+wrong for a census to be taken, and it does say that when the angel
+stretched his hand over Jerusalem the Lord repented of the evil."
+
+Bolland bent again over the book. Yes, Martin was right. He was letter
+perfect.
+
+"It says nowt about unfairness," growled the man slowly.
+
+"No. That was my mistake."
+
+"Ye mun tak' heed ageaen misteaeks o' that sort. On Monday we begin t'
+Third Book o' Kings."
+
+So, not even the Feast would be allowed to interfere with the daily
+lesson.
+
+Angele had departed with the belated Francoise. Martin, running through
+the orchard like a hare, doubled to the main road along the lane. In two
+minutes he was watching the unloading of the roundabout in front of the
+"Black Lion." Jim Bates was there.
+
+"Here, I want you," said Martin. "You winked at Angele Saumarez
+yesterday."
+
+"Winked at wheae?" demanded Jim.
+
+"At the young lady who lives at The Elms."
+
+"Not afore she pulled a feaece at me."
+
+"Well, if you wink at her again I'll lick you."
+
+"Mebbe."
+
+"There's no 'mebbe' about it. Come down to the other end of the green
+now, if you think I can't."
+
+Jim Bates was no coward, but he was faced with the alternative of
+yielding gracefully and watching the showmen at work or risking a defeat
+in a needless battle. He chose the better part of valor.
+
+"It's neaen o' my business," he said. "I deaen't want te wink at t' young
+leddy."
+
+At the inn door Mrs. Atkinson's three little girls were standing with
+Kitty Thwaites, the housemaid. The eldest, a bonnie child, whose fair
+skin was covered with freckles, ran toward Martin.
+
+"Where hae ye bin all t' week?" she inquired. "Are ye always wi' that
+Saumarez girl?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I heerd tell she was at your pleaece all hours. What beautiful frocks
+she has, but I should be asheaemed te show me legs like her."
+
+"That's the way she dresses," said Martin curtly.
+
+"How funny. Is she fond of you?"
+
+"How do I know?" He tried to edge away.
+
+Evelyn tossed her head.
+
+"Oh, I don't care. Why should I?"
+
+"There's no reason that I can tell."
+
+"You soon forget yer friends. On'y last Whit Monday ye bowt me a packet
+of chocolates."
+
+There was truth in this. Martin quitted her sheepishly. He drew near
+some men, one of whom was Fred, the groom, and Fred had been drinking,
+as a preliminary to the deeper potations of the coming week.
+
+"Ay, there she is!" he muttered, with an angry leer at Kitty. "She
+thinks what's good eneuf fer t' sister is good eneuf fer her. We'll see.
+Oad John Bollan' sent 'im away wiv a flea i' t' lug a-Tuesday. I reckon
+he'll hev one i' t' other ear if 'e comes after Kitty."
+
+One of the men grinned contemptuously.
+
+"Gan away!" he said. "George Pickerin' 'ud chuck you ower t' top o' t'
+hotel if ye said 'Booh' to 'im."
+
+But Fred, too, grinned, blinking like an owl in daylight.
+
+"Them as lives t' longest sees t' meaest," he muttered, and walked toward
+the stables, passing close to Kitty, who looked through him without
+seeing him.
+
+Suddenly there was a stir among the loiterers. Mrs. Saumarez was walking
+through the village with Mr. Beckett-Smythe. Behind the pair came the
+squire's two sons and Angele. The great man had called on the new
+visitor to Elmsdale, and together they strolled forth, while he
+explained the festivities of the coming week, and told the lady that
+these "feasts" were the creation of an act of Charles II. as a protest
+against the Puritanism of the Commonwealth.
+
+Martin stood at the side of the road. Mrs. Saumarez did not notice him,
+but Angele did. She lifted her chin and dropped her eyelids in clever
+burlesque of Elsie Herbert, the vicar's daughter, but ignored him
+otherwise. Martin was hurt, though he hardly expected to be spoken to in
+the presence of distinguished company. But he could not help looking
+after the party. Angele turned and caught his glance. She put out her
+tongue.
+
+He heard a mocking laugh and knew that Evelyn Atkinson was telling her
+sisters of the incident, whereupon he dug his hands in his pockets and
+whistled.
+
+A shooting gallery was in process of erection, and its glories soon
+dispelled the gloom of Angele's snub. The long tube was supported on
+stays, the target put in place, the gaudy front pieced together, and
+half a dozen rifles unpacked. The proprietor meant to earn a few honest
+pennies that night, and some of the men were persuaded to try their
+prowess.
+
+Martin was a born sportsman. He watched the competitors so keenly that
+Angele returned with her youthful cavaliers without attracting his
+attention. Worse than that, Evelyn Atkinson, scenting the possibility of
+rustic intrigue, caught Martin's elbow and asked quite innocently why a
+bell rang if the shooter hit the bull's-eye.
+
+Proud of his knowledge, he explained that there was a hole in the iron
+plate, and that no bell, but a sheet of copper, was suspended in the box
+at the back where the lamp was.
+
+Both Angele and Evelyn appreciated the situation exactly. The boy alone
+was ignorant of their tacit rivalry.
+
+Angele pointed out Martin to the Beckett-Smythes.
+
+"He is such a nice boy," she said sweetly. "I see him every day. He can
+fight any boy in the village."
+
+"Hum," said the heir. "How old is he?"
+
+"Fourteen."
+
+"I am fifteen."
+
+Angele smiled like a seraph.
+
+"Regardez-vous donc!" she said. "He could twiddle you round--so," and
+she spun one hand over the other.
+
+"I'd like to see him try," snorted the aristocrat. The opportunity
+offered itself sooner than he expected, but the purring of a
+high-powered car coming through the village street caused the
+pedestrians to draw aside. The car, a new and expensive one, was driven
+by a chauffeur, but held no passengers.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe gazed after it reflectively.
+
+"Well, I thought I knew every car in this district," he began.
+
+"It is mine, I expect," announced Mrs. Saumarez. "I've ordered one, and
+it should arrive to-day. I need an automobile for an occasional long
+run. For pottering about the village lanes, I may buy a pony cart."
+
+"What make is your car?" inquired the Squire.
+
+"A Mercedes. I'm told it is by far the best at the price."
+
+"It's the best German car, of course, but I can hardly admit that it
+equals the French, or even our own leading types."
+
+"Oh, I don't profess to understand these things. I only know that my
+banker advised me to buy none other. He explained the matter simply
+enough. The German manufacturers want to get into the trade and are
+content to lose money for a year or so. You know how pushful they are."
+
+Beckett-Smythe saw the point clearly. He was even then hesitating
+between a Panhard and an Austin. He decided to wait a little longer and
+ascertain the facts about the Mercedes. A month later he purchased one.
+Mrs. Saumarez's chauffeur, a smart young mechanic from Bremen, who spoke
+English fluently, demonstrated that the buyer was given more than his
+money's worth. The amiable Briton wondered how such things could be, but
+was content to benefit personally. He, in time, spread the story. German
+cars enjoyed a year's boomlet in that part of Yorkshire. With nearly
+every car came a smart young chauffeur mechanic. Surely, this was wisdom
+personified. They knew the engine, could effect nearly all road repairs,
+demanded less wages than English drivers, and were always civil and
+reliable.
+
+"Go-ahead people, these Germans!" was the general verdict.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FEAST
+
+
+An Elmsdale Sunday was a day of rest for man and beast alike. There
+could be no manner of doubt that the horses and dogs were able to
+distinguish the Sabbath from the workaday week. Prince, six-year-old
+Cleveland bay, the strongest and tallest horse in the stable, when his
+headstall was taken off on Sunday morning, showed his canny Yorkshire
+sense by walking past the row of carts and pushing open a rickety gate
+that led to a tiny meadow kept expressly for odd grazing. After him, in
+Indian file, went five other horses; yet, on any other day in the week
+they would stand patiently in the big yard, waiting to be led away
+singly or in pairs.
+
+Curly and Jim, the two sheep-dogs--who never failed between Monday and
+Saturday to yawn and stretch expectantly by the side of John Bolland's
+sturdy nag in the small yard near the house--on the seventh day made
+their way to the foreman's cottage, there attending his leisure for a
+scamper over the breezy moorland.
+
+For, Sunday or weekday, sheep must be counted. If any are missing, the
+almost preternatural intelligence of the collie is invoked to discover
+the hollow in which the lost ones are reposing helplessly on their
+backs. They will die in a few hours if not placed on their legs again.
+Turn over unaided they cannot. Man or dog must help, or they choke.
+
+Even the cocks and hens, the waddling geese and ducks, the huge
+shorthorns, which are the pride of the village, seemed to grasp the
+subtle distinction between life on a quiet day and the well-filled
+existence of the six days that had gone before. At least, Martin thought
+so; but he did not know then that the windows of the soul let in
+imageries that depend more on mood than on reality.
+
+Personally he hated Sunday, or fancied he did. He had Sunday clothes,
+Sunday boots, Sunday food, a Sunday face, and a Sunday conscience.
+Things were wrong on Sunday that were right during the rest of the week.
+Though the sky was as bright, the grass as green, the birds as tuneful
+on that day as on others, he was supposed to undergo a metamorphosis
+throughout all the weary waking hours. His troubles often began the
+moment he quitted his bed. As his "best" clothes and boots were so
+little worn, they naturally maintained a spick-and-span appearance
+during many months. Hence, he was given a fresh assortment about once a
+year, and the outfit possessed three distinct periods of use, of which
+the first tortured his mind and the third his body.
+
+He being a growing lad, the coat was made too long in the sleeves, the
+trousers too long in the legs, and the boots too large. At the beginning
+of this epoch he looked and felt ridiculous. Gradually, the effect of
+roast beef and suet dumplings brought about a better fit, and during
+four months of the year he was fairly smart in appearance. Then there
+came an ominous shrinkage. His wrists dangled below the coat cuffs,
+there was an ever-widening rim of stocking between the tops of the boots
+and the trousers' ends, while Mrs. Bolland began to grumble each week
+about the amount of darning his stockings required. Moreover, there were
+certain quite insurmountable difficulties in the matter of buttons, and
+it was with a joy tempered only by fear of the grotesque that he beheld
+the "best" suit given away to an urchin several sizes smaller than
+himself.
+
+Happily for his peace of mind, the Feast occurred in the middle stage of
+the current supply of raiment, so he was as presentable as a peripatetic
+tailor who worked in the house a fortnight at Christmas could make him.
+
+But this Sunday dragged terribly. The routine of chapel from 10:30 A.M.
+to noon, Sunday-school from 3 P.M. to 4:30 P.M., and chapel again from
+6:30 P.M. to 8 P.M., was inevitable, but there were compensations in the
+whispered confidences of Jim Bates and Tommy Beadlam, the latter
+nicknamed "White Head," as to the nature of some of the shows.
+
+The new conditions brought into his life by Angele Saumarez troubled him
+far more than he could measure. Her mere presence in the secluded
+village carried a breath of the unknown. Her talk was of London and
+Paris, of parks, theatres, casinos, luxurious automobiles, deck-cabins,
+and Pullman cars. She seemed to have lived so long and seen so much. Yet
+she knew very little. Her ceaseless chatter in French and English, which
+sounded so smart at first, would not endure examination.
+
+She had read nothing. When Martin spoke of "Robinson Crusoe" and
+"Ivanhoe," of "Treasure Island" and "The Last of the Mohicans"--a
+literary medley devoured for incident and not for style--she had not
+even heard of them, but produced for inspection an astonishingly rude
+colored cartoon, the French comments on which she translated literally.
+
+He was a boy aglow with dim but fervent ideals; she, a girl who had
+evidently been allowed to grow up almost wild in the midst of
+fashionable life and flippant servants, all exigencies being fulfilled
+when she spoke nicely and cleverly and wore her clothes with the
+requisite chic. The two were as opposed in essentials as an honest
+English apple grown in a wholesome garden and a rare orchid, the product
+of some poisonous equatorial swamp.
+
+He tried to interest her in the sights and sounds of country life. She
+met him more than halfway by putting embarrassing questions as to the
+habits of animals. More than once he told her plainly that there were
+some things little girls ought not to know, whereat she laughed
+scornfully, but switched the conversation to a topic on which she could
+vex him, as was nearly always the case in her references to Elsie
+Herbert or John Bolland's Bible teaching.
+
+Yet he was restless and irritable because he did not see her on the
+Sunday. Mrs. Saumarez, it is true, sped swiftly through the village
+about three o'clock, and again at half-past seven. On each occasion the
+particular chapel affected by the Bollands was resounding with a
+loud-voiced hymn or echoing the vibrant tones of a preacher powerful
+beyond question in the matter of lungs and dogmatism. The whir of the
+Mercedes shut off these sounds; but Martin heard the passing of the car
+and knew that Angele was in it.
+
+It was a novel experience for the Misses Walker to find that their
+lodgers recognized no difference between Sunday and the rest of the
+week. Mrs. Saumarez dined at 6:30 P.M., a concession of an hour and a
+half to rural habits, but she scouted the suggestion that a cold meal
+should be served to enable the "girls" to go to church. The old ladies
+dared not quarrel with one who paid so well. They remained at home and
+cooked and served the dinner.
+
+As Francoise, to a large extent, waited on her mistress, this
+development might not have been noticed had not Angele's quick eyes seen
+Miss Emmy Walker carrying a chicken and a dish of French beans to a
+small table in the hall.
+
+She told her mother, and Mrs. Saumarez was annoyed. She had informed
+Miss Martha that if the servants required a "night out," the addition of
+another domestic to the household at her expense would give them a good
+deal more liberty, but this ridiculous "Sunday-evening" notion must stop
+forthwith.
+
+"It gets on my nerves, this British Sabbath," she exclaimed peevishly.
+"In London I entertain largely on a Sunday and have never had any
+trouble. Do you mean to say I cannot invite guests to dinner on Sunday
+merely to humor a cook or a housemaid? Absurd!"
+
+Miss Martha promised reform.
+
+"Let her have her way," she said to Miss Emmy. "Another servant will
+have nothing to do, and all the girls will grow lazy; but we must keep
+Mrs. Saumarez as long as we can. Oh, if she would only remain a year,
+we'd be out of debt, with the house practically recarpeted throughout!"
+
+Unfortunately, Mrs. Saumarez's nerves were upset. She was snappy all the
+evening. Francoise tried many expedients to soothe her mistress's
+ruffled feelings. She brought a bundle of illustrated papers, a parcel
+of books, the scores of a couple of operas, even a gorgeous assortment
+of patterns of the new autumn dress fabrics, but each and all failed to
+attract. For some reason the preternaturally acute Angele avoided her
+mother. She seemed to be afraid of her when in this mood. The Misses
+Walker, seeing the anxiety of the maid and the unwonted retreat of the
+child to bed at an early hour, were miserable at the thought that such a
+trivial matter should have given their wealthy tenant cause for dire
+offense.
+
+So Sunday passed irksomely, and everyone was glad when the next morning
+dawned in bright cheerfulness.
+
+From an early hour there was evidence in plenty that the Elmsdale Feast
+would be an unqualified success, though shorn of many of its ancient
+glories.
+
+Time was when the village used to indulge in a week's saturnalia, but
+the march of progress had affected rural Yorkshire even so long ago as
+1906. The younger people could visit Leeds, York, Scarborough, or Whitby
+by Saturday afternoon "trips"--special excursion trains run at cheap
+rates--while "week-ends" in London were not unknown luxuries, and these
+frequent opportunities for change of scene and recreation had lessened
+the scope of the annual revels. Still, the trading instinct kept alive
+the commercial side of the Feast; the splendid hospitality of the north
+country asserted itself; church and chapels seized the chance of
+reaching enlarged congregations, and a number of itinerant showmen
+regarded Elmsdale as a fixture in the yearly round.
+
+So, on the Monday, every neighboring village and moorland hamlet poured
+in its quota. The people came on foot from the railway station, distant
+nearly two miles, on horseback, in every sort of conveyance. The roads
+were alive with cattle, sheep, and pigs. The programme mapped out bore a
+general resemblance on each of the four days. The morning was devoted to
+business, the afternoon and evening to religion or pleasure.
+
+The proceedings opened with a horse fair. An agent of the German
+Government snapped up every Cleveland bay offered for sale. George
+Pickering, in sporting garb, and smoking a big cigar, was an early
+arrival. He bid vainly for a couple of mares which he needed to complete
+his stud. Germany wanted them more urgently.
+
+A splendid mare, the property of John Bolland, was put up for auction.
+The auctioneer read her pedigree, and proved its authenticity by
+reference to the Stud Book.
+
+"Is she in foal?" asked Pickering, and a laugh went around. Bolland
+scowled blackly. If a look could have slain the younger man he would
+assuredly have fallen dead.
+
+The bidding commenced at L40 and rose rapidly to L60.
+
+Then Pickering lost his temper. The agent for Germany was too
+pertinacious.
+
+"Seventy," he shouted, though the bids hitherto had mounted by single
+sovereigns.
+
+"Seventy-one," said the agent.
+
+"Eighty!" roared Pickering.
+
+"Eighty-one!" nodded the agent.
+
+"The reserve is off," interposed the auctioneer, and again the
+surrounding farmers guffawed, as the mare had already gone to twenty
+pounds beyond her value.
+
+Pickering swallowed his rage with an effort. He turned to Bolland.
+
+"That's an offset for my hard words the other day," he said.
+
+But the farmer thrust aside the proffered olive branch.
+
+"Once a fule, always a fule," he growled. Pickering, though anything but
+a fool in business, took the ungracious remark pleasantly enough.
+
+"He ought to sing a rare hymn this afternoon," he cried. "I've put a
+score of extra sovereigns in his pocket, and he doesn't even say 'Thank
+you.' Well, it's the way of the world. Who's dry?"
+
+This invitation caused an adjournment to the "Black Lion." The
+auctioneer knew his clients.
+
+Pickering's allusion to the hymn was not made without knowledge. At
+three o'clock, on a part of the green farthest removed from the thronged
+stalls and the blare of a steam-driven organ, Bolland and a few other
+earnest spirits surrounded the stentorian preacher and held an open-air
+service. They selected tunes which everybody knew and, as a result, soon
+attracted a crowd of older people, some of whom brought their children.
+Martin, of course, was in the gathering.
+
+Meanwhile, along the line of booths, a couple of leather-lunged men were
+singing old-time ballads, dealing for the most part with sporting
+incidents. They soon became the centers of two packed audiences, mainly
+young men and boys, but containing more than a sprinkling of girls. The
+ditties were couched in "broad Yorkshire"--sometimes too broad for
+modern taste. Whenever a particularly crude stanza was bawled forth a
+chuckle would run through the audience, and coppers in plenty were
+forthcoming for printed copies of the song, which, however, usually fell
+short of the blunt phraseology of the original. The raucous ballad
+singers took risks feared by the printer.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez, leading Angele by the hand, thought she would like to
+hear one of these rustic melodies, and halted. Instantly the vendor
+changed his cue. The lady might be the wife of a magistrate. Once he got
+fourteen days as a rogue and a vagabond at the instance of just such
+another interested spectator, who put the police in action.
+
+Quickly surfeited by the only half-understood humor of a song describing
+the sale of a dead horse, she wandered on, and soon came across the
+preacher and his lay helpers.
+
+To her surprise she saw John Bolland standing bareheaded in the front
+rank, and with him Martin. She had never pictured the keen-eyed, crusty
+old farmer in this guise. It amused her. The minister began to offer up
+a prayer. The men hid their faces in their hats, the women bowed
+reverently, and fervent ejaculations punctuated each pause in the
+preacher's appeal.
+
+"I do believe!"
+
+"Amen! Amen!"
+
+"Spare us, O Lord!"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez stared at the gathering with real wonderment.
+
+"C'est incroyable!" she murmured.
+
+"What are they doing, mamma?" cried Angele, trying to guess why Martin
+had buried his eyes in his cap.
+
+"They are praying, dearest. It reminds one of the Covenanters. It really
+is very touching."
+
+"Who were the Covenanters?"
+
+"When you are older, ma belle, you will read of them in history."
+
+That was Mrs. Saumarez's way. She treated her daughter's education as a
+matter for governesses whom she did not employ and masters to whose
+control Angele would probably never be entrusted.
+
+The two entered the White House. There they found Mrs. Bolland, radiant
+in a black silk dress, a bonnet trimmed with huge roses, and a velvet
+dolman, the wings of which were thrown back over her portly shoulders to
+permit her the better to press all comers to partake of her hospitality.
+
+Several women and one or two men were seated at the big table, while
+people were coming and going constantly.
+
+It flustered and gratified Mrs. Bolland not a little to receive such a
+distinguished visitor.
+
+"Eh, my leddy," she cried, "I'm glad to see ye. Will ye tek a chair? And
+t' young leddy, too? Will ye hev a glass o' wine?"
+
+This was the recognized formula. There was a decanter of port wine on
+the sideboard, but most of the visitors partook of tea or beer. One of
+the men drew himself a foaming tankard from a barrel in the corner.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled wistfully.
+
+"No wine, thank you," she said; "but that beer looks very nice. I'll
+have some, if I may."
+
+Not until that moment did Mrs. Bolland remember that her guest was a
+reputed teetotaller. So, then, Mrs. Atkinson, proprietress of the "Black
+Lion," was mistaken.
+
+"That ye may, an' welcome," she said in her hearty way.
+
+Angele murmured something in French, but her mother gave a curt answer,
+and the child subsided, being, perhaps, interested by the evident
+amazement and admiration she evoked among the country people. To-day,
+Angele was dressed in a painted muslin, with hat and sash of the same
+material, long black silk stockings, and patent-leather shoes. She
+looked elegantly old-fashioned, and might have walked bodily out of one
+of Caran d'Ache's sketches of French society.
+
+Suddenly she bounced up like an india-rubber ball.
+
+"Tra la!" she cried. "V'la mon cher Martin!"
+
+The prayer meeting had ended, and Martin was speeding home, well knowing
+who had arrived there.
+
+Angele ran to meet him.
+
+"She's a rale fairy," whispered Mrs. Summersgill, mistress of the Dale
+End Farm. "She's rigged out like a pet doll."
+
+"Ay," agreed her neighbor. "D'ye ken wheer they coom frae?"
+
+"Frae Lunnon, I reckon. They're staying wi' t' Miss Walkers. That's t'
+muther, a Mrs. Saumarez, they call her, but they say she's a Jarman
+baroness."
+
+"Well, bless her heart, she hez a rare swallow for a gill o' ale."
+
+This was perfectly true. The lady had emptied her glass with real gusto.
+
+"I was so hot and tired," she said, with an apologetic smile at her
+hostess. "Now, I can admire your wonderful store of good things to eat,"
+and she focussed the display through gold-rimmed eyeglasses.
+
+Truly, the broad kitchen table presented a spectacle that would kill a
+dyspeptic. A cold sirloin, a portly ham, two pairs of chickens, three
+brace of grouse--these solids were mere garnishings to dishes piled with
+currant cakes, currant loaves and plain bread cut and buttered, jam
+turnovers, open tarts of many varieties, "fat rascals," Queen cakes,
+sponge cakes--battalions and army corps of all the sweet and toothsome
+articles known to the culinary skill of the North.
+
+"I'm feared, my leddy, they won't suit your taste," began Mrs. Bolland,
+but the other broke in eagerly:
+
+"Oh, don't say that! They look so good, so wholesome, so different from
+the French cooking we weary of in town. If I were not afraid of spoiling
+my dinner and earning a scolding from Francoise I would certainly ask
+for some of that cold beef and a slice of bread and butter."
+
+"Tek my advice, ma'am, an' eat while ye're in t' humor," cried Mrs.
+Bolland, instantly helping her guest to the eatables named.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez laughed delightedly and peeled off a pair of white kid
+gloves. She ate a little of the meat and crumbled a slice of bread.
+Mrs. Bolland refilled the glass with beer.
+
+Then the lady made herself generally popular by asking questions. Did
+they use lard or butter in the pastry? How was the sponge cake made so
+light? What a curious custom it was to put currants into plain dough;
+she had never seen it done before. Were the servants able to do these
+things, or had they to be taught by the mistress of the house? She
+amused the women by telling of the airs and graces of London domestics,
+and evoked a feeling akin to horror by relating the items of the weekly
+bills in her town house.
+
+"Seven pund o' beaecan for breakfast i' t' kitchen!" exclaimed Mrs.
+Summersgill. "Wheae ivver heerd tell o' sike waste?"
+
+"Eh, ma'am," cried another, "but ye mun addle yer money aisy t' let 'em
+carry on that gait."
+
+Martin, who found Angele in her most charming mood--unconsciously
+pleased, too, that her costume was not so _outre_ as to run any risk of
+caustic comment by strangers--came in and asked if he might take her
+along the row of stalls. Mrs. Bolland had given him a shilling that
+morning, and he resolved magnanimously to let the shooting gallery wait;
+Angele should be treated to a shilling's worth of aught she fancied.
+
+But Mrs. Saumarez rose.
+
+"Your mother will kill me with kindness, Martin, if I remain longer,"
+she said. "Take me, too, and we'll see if the fair contains any toys."
+
+She emptied the second glass of ale, drew on her gloves, bade the
+company farewell with as much courtesy as if they were so many
+countesses, and walked away with the youngsters.
+
+At one stall she bought Martin a pneumatic gun, a powerful toy which the
+dealer never expected to sell in that locality. At another she would
+have purchased a doll for Angele, but the child shrugged her shoulders
+and declared that she would greatly prefer to ride on the roundabouts
+with Martin. Mrs. Saumarez agreed instantly, and the pair mounted the
+hobby-horses.
+
+Among the children who watched them enviously were Jim Bates and Evelyn
+Atkinson. When the steam organ was in full blast and the horses were
+flying round at a merry pace, Mrs. Saumarez bent over Jim Bates and
+placed half a sovereign in his hand.
+
+"Go to the 'Black Lion,'" she said, "and bring me a bottle of the best
+brandy. See that it is wrapped in paper. I do not care to go myself to a
+place where there are so many men."
+
+Jim darted off. The roundabout slackened speed and stopped, but Mrs.
+Saumarez ordered another ride. The whirl had begun again when Bates
+returned with a parcel.
+
+"It was four shillin's, ma'am," he said.
+
+"Thank you, very much. Keep the change."
+
+Even Evelyn Atkinson was so awed by the magnitude of the tip that she
+forgot for a moment to glue her eyes on Angele and Martin.
+
+But Angele, wildly elated though she was with the sensation of flight,
+and seated astride like a boy, until the tops of her stockings were
+exposed to view, did not fail to notice the conclusion of Jim Bates's
+errand.
+
+"Mamma will be ill to-night," she screamed in Martin's ear. "Francoise
+will be busy waiting on her. I'll come out again at eight o'clock."
+
+"You must not," shouted the boy. "It will be very rough here then."
+
+"C'la va--I mean, I know that quite well. It'll be all the more jolly.
+Meet me at the gate. I'll bring plenty of money."
+
+"I can't," protested Martin.
+
+"You must!"
+
+"But I'm supposed to be home myself at eight o'clock."
+
+"If you don't come, I'll find some other boy. Frank Beckett-Smythe said
+he would try and turn up every evening, in case I got a chance to sneak
+out."
+
+"All right. I'll be there."
+
+Martin intended to hurry her through the fair and take her home again.
+If he received a "hiding" for being late, he would put up with it. In
+any case, the squire's eldest son could not be allowed to steal his
+wilful playmate without a struggle. Probably Adam reasoned along similar
+lines when Eve first offered him an apple. Be that as it may, it never
+occurred to Martin that the third chapter of Genesis could have the
+remotest bearing on the night's frolic.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+"IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS"
+
+
+Mrs. Saumarez and Angele returned to The Elms, but Martin had to forego
+accompanying them. He knew that--with Bible opened at the Third Book of
+Kings--John Bolland was waiting in a bedroom, every downstairs apartment
+being crowded.
+
+He ran all the way along the village street and darted upstairs,
+striving desperately to avoid even the semblance of undue haste. Bolland
+was thumbing the book impatiently. He frowned over his spectacles.
+
+"Why are ye late?" he demanded.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez asked me to walk with her through the village," answered
+Martin truthfully.
+
+"Ay. T' wife telt me she was here."
+
+The explanation served, and Martin breathed more freely. The reading
+commenced:
+
+     "Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him
+     with clothes, but he gat no heat.
+
+     "Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my
+     lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king,
+     and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord
+     the king may get heat."
+
+Martin, with his mind in a tumult on account of the threatened escapade,
+did not care a pin what method was adopted to restore the feeble
+circulation of the withered King so long as the lesson passed off
+satisfactorily.
+
+With rare self-control, he bent over the, to him, unmeaning page, and
+acquitted himself so well in the parrot repetition which he knew would
+be pleasing that he ventured to say:
+
+"May I stay out a little later to-night, sir?"
+
+"What for? You're better i' bed than gapin' at shows an' listenin' te
+drunken men."
+
+"I only ask because--because I'm told that Mrs. Saumarez's little girl
+means to see the fair by night, and she--er--would like me to be with
+her."
+
+John Bolland laughed dryly.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez'll soon hev more'n eneuf on't," he said. "Ay, lad, ye can
+stay wi' her, if that's all."
+
+Martin never, under any circumstances, told a downright lie, but he
+feared that this was sailing rather too near the wind to be honest. The
+nature of Angele's statement was so nebulous. He could hardly explain
+outright that Mrs. Saumarez was not coming--that Angele alone would be
+the sightseer. So he flushed, and felt that he was obtaining the
+required permission by false pretense. He could have pulled Angele's
+pretty ears for placing him in such a dilemma, but with a man so utterly
+unsympathetic as Bolland it was impossible to be quite candid.
+
+He had clear ideas of right and wrong. He knew it was wrong for Angele
+to come out unattended and mix in the scene of rowdyism which the
+village would present until midnight. If she really could succeed in
+leaving The Elms unnoticed, the most effectual way to stop her was to
+go now to her mother or to one of the Misses Walker and report her
+intention. But this, according to the boy's code of honor, was to play
+the sneak, than which there is no worse crime in the calendar. No. He
+would look after her himself. There was a spice of adventure, too, in
+acting as the chosen squire of this sprightly damsel. Strong-minded as
+he was, and resolute beyond his years, Angele's wilfulness, her quick
+tongue, the diablerie of her glance, the witchery of her elegant little
+person, captivated heart and brain, and benumbed the inchoate murmurings
+of conscience.
+
+Oddly enough, he often found himself comparing her with Elsie Herbert, a
+girl with whom he had never exchanged a word, and Angele Saumarez
+invariably figured badly in the comparison. The boy did not know then
+that he must become a man, perhaps soured of life, bitter with
+experience, before he would understand the difference between respect
+and fascination.
+
+With housewife prudence, Mrs. Bolland hailed him as he was passing
+through the back kitchen.
+
+"Noo, then, Martin, don't ye go racketin' about too much in your best
+clothes. And mind your straw hat isn't blown off if ye go on one o' them
+whirligigs."
+
+"All right, mother," he said cheerfully, and was gone in a flash.
+
+Two hours must elapse before Angele could appear. Jim Bates, who bore no
+malice, stood treat in gingerbread and lemonade out of the largesse
+bestowed by Mrs. Saumarez. Martin, carried away by sight of a champion
+boxer who offered a sovereign to any local man under twelve stone who
+stood up to him for three two-minute rounds, spent sixpence in securing
+seats for himself and Jim when the gage of combat was thrown down by
+his gamekeeper friend.
+
+There was a furious fight with four-ounce gloves. The showman discovered
+quickly that Velveteens "knew a bit." Repeated attempts to "out" him
+with "the right" on the "point" resulted in heavy "counters" on the
+ribs, and a terrific uppercut failed because of the keeper's quick
+sight.
+
+The proprietor of the booth, who acted as timekeeper, gave every favor
+to his henchman, but at the end of the third round the professional was
+more blown than the amateur. The sovereign was handed over with apparent
+good will, both showmen realizing that it might be money well spent. And
+it was, as the black eyes and swollen lips among the would-be pugilists
+of Elmsdale testified for many days thereafter.
+
+Martin, who had never before seen a real boxing match, was entranced.
+With a troop of boys he accompanied the two combatants to the door of
+the "Black Lion," where a fair proportion of the sovereign was soon
+converted into beer.
+
+George Pickering had witnessed the contest. Generous to a fault, he
+started a purse to be fought for in rounds inside the booth. Wanting a
+pencil and paper, he ran upstairs to his room--he had resolved to stay
+at the inn for a couple of nights--and encountered Kitty Thwaites on the
+stairs.
+
+She carried a laden tray, so he slipped an arm around her waist, and she
+was powerless to prevent him from kissing her unless she dropped the
+tray or risked upsetting its contents. She had no intention of doing
+either of these things.
+
+"Oh, go on, do!" she cried, not averting her face too much.
+
+He whispered something.
+
+"Not me!" she giggled. "Besides, I won't have a minnit to spare till
+closin' time."
+
+Pickering hugged her again. She descended the stairs, laughing and very
+red.
+
+The boys heard something of the details of the proposed Elmsdale
+championship boxing competition. Entries were pouring in, there being no
+fee. George Pickering was appointed referee, and the professional named
+as judge. The first round would be fought at 3 P.M. next day.
+
+The time passed more quickly than Martin expected; as for his money, it
+simply melted. Tenpence out of the shilling had vanished before he
+realized how precious little remained wherewith to entertain Angele. She
+said she would have "plenty of money," but he imagined that a walk
+through the fair and a ride on the roundabout would satisfy her. Not
+even at fourteen does the male understand the female of twelve.
+
+A few minutes before eight he escaped from his companions and strolled
+toward The Elms. The house was not like the suburban villa which stands
+in the center of a row and proudly styles itself Oakdene. It was hidden
+in a cluster of lordly elms, and already the day was so far spent that
+the entrance gate was invisible save at a few yards' distance.
+
+The nearest railway station was situated two miles along this very road.
+A number of slow-moving country people were sauntering to the station,
+where the north train was due at 9:05 P.M. Another train, that from the
+south, arrived at 9:20, and would be the last that night. A full moon
+was rising, but her glories were hidden by the distant hills. There was
+no wind; the weather was fine and settled. The Elmsdale Feast was lucky
+in its dates.
+
+Martin waited near the gate and heard the church clock chime the hour.
+Two boys on bicycles came flying toward the village. They were the
+Beckett-Smythes. They slackened pace as they neared The Elms.
+
+"Wonder if she'll get out to-night?" said Ernest, the younger.
+
+"There's no use waiting here. She said she'd dodge out one evening for
+certain. If she's not in the village, we'd better skip back before we're
+missed," said the heir.
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Pater thinks we're in the grounds, and there
+won't be any bother if we show up at nine."
+
+They rode on. The quarter-hour chimed, and Martin became impatient.
+
+"She was humbugging me, as usual," he reflected. "Well, this time I'm
+pleased."
+
+An eager voice whispered:
+
+"Hold the gate! It'll rattle when I climb over. They've not heard me. I
+crept here on the grass."
+
+Angele had changed her dress to a dark-blue serge and sailor hat. This
+was decidedly thoughtful. In her day attire she must have attracted a
+great deal of notice. Now, in the dark, neither the excellence of her
+clothing nor the elegance of her carriage would differentiate her too
+markedly from the village girls.
+
+She was breathless with haste, but her tongue rattled on rapidly.
+
+"Mamma _is_ ill. I knew she would be. I told Francoise I had a headache,
+and went to bed. Then I crept downstairs again. Miss Walker nearly
+caught me, but she's so upset that she never saw me. As for Fritz, if I
+meet him--poof!"
+
+"What's the matter with Mrs. Saumarez?" asked Martin.
+
+"Trop de cognac, mon cheri."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"It means a 'bit wobbly, my dear.'"
+
+"Is her head bad?"
+
+"Yes. It will be for a week. But never mind mamma. She'll be all right,
+with Francoise to look after her. Here! You pay for everything. There's
+ten shillings in silver. I have a sovereign in my stocking, if we want
+it."
+
+They were hurrying toward the distant medley of sound. Flaring naptha
+lamps gave the village street a Rembrandt effect. Love-making couples,
+with arms entwined, were coming away from the glare of the booths. Their
+forms cast long shadows on the white road.
+
+"Ten shillings!" gasped Martin. "Whatever do we want with ten
+shillings?"
+
+"To enjoy ourselves, you silly. You can't have any fun without money.
+Why, when mamma dines at the Savoy and takes a party to the theater
+afterwards, it costs her as many pounds. I know, because I've seen the
+checks."
+
+"That has nothing to do with it. We can't spend ten shillings here."
+
+"Oh, can't we? You leave that to me. Mais, voyez-vous, imbecile, are
+you going to be nasty?" She halted and stamped an angry foot.
+
+"No, I'm not; but----"
+
+"Then come on, stupid. I'm late as it is."
+
+"The stalls remain open until eleven."
+
+"Magnifique! What a row there'll be if I have to knock to get in!"
+
+Martin held his tongue. He resolved privately that Angele should be home
+at nine, at latest, if he dragged her thither by main force. The affair
+promised difficulties. She was so intractable that a serious quarrel
+would result. Well, he could not help it. Better a lasting break than
+the wild hubbub that would spring up if they both remained out till the
+heinous hour she contemplated.
+
+In the village they encountered Jim Bates and Evelyn Atkinson,
+surrounded by seven or eight boys and girls, for Jim was disposing
+rapidly of his six shillings, and Evelyn bestowed favor on him for the
+nonce.
+
+"Hello! here's Martin," whooped Bates. "I thowt ye'd gone yam (home).
+Where hev ye----"
+
+Jim's eloquence died away abruptly. He caught sight of Angele and was
+abashed. Not so Evelyn.
+
+"Martin's been to fetch his sweetheart," she said maliciously.
+
+Angele simpered sufficiently to annoy Evelyn. Then she laughed
+agreement.
+
+"Yes. And won't we have a time! Come on! Everybody have a ride."
+
+She sprang toward the horses. Martin alone followed.
+
+"Come on!" she screamed. "Martin will pay for the lot. He has heaps of
+money."
+
+No second invitation was needed. Several times the whole party swung
+round with lively yelling. From the roundabouts they went to the swings;
+from the swings to the cocoanut shies. Here they were joined by the
+Beckett-Smythes, who endeavored promptly to assume the leadership.
+
+Martin's blood was fired by the contest. He was essentially a boy
+foredoomed to dominate his fellows, whether for good or evil. He pitched
+restraint to the winds. He could throw better than either of the young
+aristocrats; he could shoot straighter at the galleries; he could
+describe the heroic combat between the boxer and Velveteens; he would
+swing Angele higher than any, until they looked over the crossbar after
+each giddy swirl.
+
+The Beckett-Smythes kept pace with him only in expenditure, Jim Bates
+being quickly drained, and even they wondered how long the village lad
+could last.
+
+The ten shillings were soon dissipated.
+
+"I want that sovereign," he shouted, when Angele and he were riding
+together again on the hobby-horses.
+
+"I told you so," she screamed. She turned up her dress to extricate the
+money from a fold of her stocking. The light flashed on her white skin,
+and Frank Beckett-Smythe, who rode behind with one of the Atkinson
+girls, wondered what she was doing.
+
+She bent over Martin and whispered:
+
+"There are _two_! Keep the fun going!"
+
+The young spark in the rear thought that she was kissing Martin; he was
+wild with jealousy. At the next show--that of a woman grossly fat, who
+allowed the gapers to pinch her leg at a penny a pinch--he paid with his
+last half-crown. When they went to refresh themselves on ginger-beer,
+Martin produced a sovereign. The woman who owned the stall bit it,
+surveyed him suspiciously, and tried to swindle him in the change. She
+failed badly.
+
+"Eleven bottles at twopence and eleven cakes at a penny make
+two-and-nine. I want two more shillings, please," he said coolly.
+
+"Be aff wid ye! I gev ye seventeen and thruppence. If ye thry anny uv
+yer tricks an me I'll be afther askin' where ye got the pound."
+
+"Give me two more shillings, or I'll call the police."
+
+Mrs. Maguire was beaten; she paid up.
+
+The crowd left her, with cries of "Irish Molly!" "Where's Mick?" and
+even coarser expressions. Angele screamed at her:
+
+"Why don't you stick to ginger-beer? You're muzzy."
+
+The taunt stung, and the old Irishwoman cursed her tormentor as a
+black-eyed little witch.
+
+Angele, seeing that Martin carried all before him, began straightway to
+flirt with the heir. At first the defection was not noted, but when she
+elected to sit by Frank while they watched the acrobats the new swain
+took heart once more and squeezed her arm.
+
+Evelyn Atkinson, who was in a smiling temper, felt that a crisis might
+be brought about now. There was not much time. It was nearly ten
+o'clock, and soon her mother would be storming at her for not having
+taken herself and her sisters to bed, though, in justice be it said,
+the girls could not possibly sleep until the house was cleared.
+
+Ernest Beckett-Smythe was her cavalier at the moment.
+
+"We've seen all there is te see," she whispered. "Let's go and have a
+dance in our yard. Jim Bates can play a mouth-organ."
+
+Ernest was a slow-witted youth.
+
+"Where's the good?" he said. "There's more fun here."
+
+"You try it, an' see," she murmured coyly.
+
+The suggestion caught on. It was discussed while Martin and Jim Bates
+were driving a weight up a pole by striking a lever with a heavy hammer.
+Anything in the shape of an athletic feat always attracted Martin.
+
+Angele was delighted. She scented a row. These village urchins were imps
+after her own heart.
+
+"Oh, let's," she agreed. "It'll be a change. I'll show you the American
+two-step."
+
+Frank had his arm around her waist now.
+
+"Right-o!" he cried. "Evelyn, you and Ernest lead the way."
+
+The girl, flattered by being bracketed publicly with one of the squire's
+sons, enjoined caution.
+
+"Once we're past t' stables it's all right," she said. "I don't suppose
+Fred'll hear us, anyhow."
+
+Fred was at the front of the hotel watching the road, watching Kitty
+Thwaites as she flitted upstairs and down, watching George Pickering
+through the bar window, and grinning like a fiend when he saw that
+somewhat ardent wooer, hilarious now, but sober enough according to his
+standard, glancing occasionally at his watch.
+
+There was a gate on each side of the hotel. That on the left led to the
+yard, with its row of stables and cart-sheds, and thence to a spacious
+area occupied by hay-stacks, piles of firewood, hen-houses, and all the
+miscellaneous lumber of an establishment half inn, half farm. The gate
+on the right opened into a bowling-green and skittle-alley. Behind these
+lay the kitchen garden and orchard. A hedge separated one section from
+the other, and entrance could be obtained to either from the back door
+of the hotel.
+
+The radiance of a full moon now decked the earth in silver and black; in
+the shade the darkness was intense by contrast. The church clock struck
+ten.
+
+Half a dozen youngsters crept silently into the stable yard. Angele
+kicked up a dainty foot in a preliminary _pas seul_, but Evelyn stopped
+her unceremoniously. The village girl's sharp ears had caught footsteps
+on the garden path beyond the hedge.
+
+It was George Pickering, with his arm around Kitty's shoulders. He was
+talking in a low tone, and she was giggling nervously.
+
+"They're sweetheartin'," whispered a girl.
+
+"So are we," declared Frank Beckett-Smythe. "Aren't we, Angele?"
+
+"Sapristi! I should think so. Where's Martin?"
+
+"Never mind. We don't want him."
+
+"Oh, he will be furious. Let's hide. There will be such a row when he
+goes home, and he daren't go till he finds me."
+
+Master Beckett-Smythe experienced a second's twinge at thought of the
+greeting he and his brother would receive at the Hall. But here was
+Angele pretending timidity and cowering in his arms. He would not leave
+her now were he to be flayed alive.
+
+The footsteps of Pickering and Kitty died away. They had gone into the
+orchard.
+
+Evelyn Atkinson breathed freely again.
+
+"Even if Kitty sees us now, I don't care," she said. "She daren't tell
+mother, when she knows that we saw her and Mr. Pickerin'. He ought to
+have married her sister."
+
+"Poof!" tittered Angele. "Who heeds a domestic?"
+
+Someone came at a fast run into the yard, running in desperate haste,
+and making a fearful din. Two boys appeared. The leader shouted:
+
+"Angele! Angele! Are you there?"
+
+Martin had missed her. Jim Bates, who knew the chosen rendezvous of the
+Atkinson girls, suggested that they and their friends had probably gone
+to the haggarth.
+
+"Shut up, you fool!" hissed Frank. "Do you want the whole village to
+know where we are?"
+
+Martin ignored him. He darted forward and caught Angele by the shoulder.
+He distinguished her readily by her outline, though she and the rest
+were hidden in the somber shadows of the outbuildings.
+
+"Why did you leave me?" he demanded angrily. "You must come home at
+once. It is past ten o'clock."
+
+"Don't be angry, Martin," she pouted. "I am just a little tired of the
+noise. I want to show you and the rest a new dance."
+
+The minx was playing her part well. She had read Evelyn Atkinson's soul.
+She felt every throb of young Beckett-Smythe's foolish heart. She was
+quite certain that Martin would find her and cause a scene. There was
+deeper intrigue afoot now than the mere folly of unlicensed frolic in
+the fair. Her vanity, too, was gratified by the leading role she filled
+among them all. The puppets bore themselves according to their
+temperaments. Evelyn bit her lip with rage and nearly yielded to a wild
+impulse to spring at Angele and scratch her face. Martin was white with
+determination. As for Master Frank, he boiled over instantly.
+
+"You just leave her alone, young Bolland," he said thickly. "She came
+here to please herself, and can stay here, if she likes. I'll see to
+that."
+
+Martin did not answer.
+
+"Angele," he said quietly, "come away."
+
+Seeing that he had lived in the village nearly all his life, it was
+passing strange that this boy should have dissociated himself so
+completely from its ways. But the early hours he kept, his love of
+horses, dogs, and books, his preference for the society of grooms and
+gamekeepers--above all, a keen, if unrecognized, love of nature in all
+her varying moods, an almost pagan worship of mountain, moor, and
+stream--had kept him aloof from village life. A boy of fourteen does not
+indulge in introspection. It simply came as a fearful shock to find the
+daughter of a lady like Mrs. Saumarez so ready to forget her social
+standing. Surely, she could not know what she was doing. He was
+undeceived, promptly and thoroughly.
+
+Angele snatched her shoulder from his grasp.
+
+"Don't you dare hold me," she snapped. "I'm not coming. I won't come
+with you, anyhow. Ma foi, Frank is far nicer."
+
+"Then I'll drag you home," said Martin.
+
+"Oh, will you, indeed? I'll see to that."
+
+Beckett-Smythe deemed Angele a girl worth fighting for. In any case,
+this clodhopper who spent money like a lord must be taught manners.
+
+Martin smiled. In his bemused brain the idea was gaining ground that
+Angele would be flattered if he "licked" the squire's son for her sake.
+
+"Very well," he said, stepping back into the moonlight. "We'll settle it
+that way. If _you_ beat _me_, Angele remains. If _I_ beat _you_, she
+goes home. Here, Jim. Hold my coat and hat. And, no matter what happens,
+mind you don't play for any dancing."
+
+Martin stated terms and issued orders like an emperor. In the hour of
+stress he felt himself immeasurably superior to this gang of urchins,
+whether their manners smacked of Elmsdale or of Eton.
+
+Angele's acquaintance with popular fiction told her that at this stage
+of the game the heroine should cling in tears to the one she loved, and
+implore him to desist, to be calm for her sake. But the riot in her
+veins brought a new sensation. There were possibilities hitherto
+unsuspected in the darkness, the secrecy, the candid brutality of the
+fight. She almost feared lest Beckett-Smythe should be defeated.
+
+And how the other girls must envy her, to be fought for by the two boys
+pre-eminent among them, to be the acknowledged princess of this village
+carnival!
+
+So she clapped her hands.
+
+"O la la!" she cried. "Going to fight about poor little me! Well, I
+can't stop you, can I?"
+
+"Yes, you can," said one.
+
+"She won't, anyhow," scoffed the other. "Are you ready?"
+
+"Quite!"
+
+"Then 'go.'"
+
+And the battle began.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+WHEREIN THE RED BLOOD FLOWS
+
+
+They fought like a couple of young bulls. Frank intended to demolish his
+rival at the outset. He was a year older and slightly heavier, but
+Martin was more active, more sure-footed, sharper of vision. Above all,
+he had laid to heart the three-pennyworth of tuition obtained in the
+boxing booth a few hours earlier.
+
+He had noted then that a boxer dodged as many blows with his head as he
+warded with his arms. He grasped the necessity to keep moving, and thus
+disconcert an adversary's sudden rush. Again, he had seen the excellence
+of a forward spring without changing the relative positions of the feet.
+Assuming you were sparring with the left hand and foot advanced, a quick
+jump of eighteen inches enabled you to get the right home with all your
+force. You must keep the head well back and the eye fixed unflinchingly
+on your opponent's. Above all, meet offense with offense. Hit hard and
+quickly and as often as might be.
+
+These were sound principles, and he proceeded to put them into
+execution, to the growing distress and singular annoyance of Master
+Beckett-Smythe.
+
+Ernest acted as referee--in the language of the village, he "saw fair
+play"--but was wise enough to call "time" early in the first round, when
+his brother drew off after a fierce set-to. The forcing tactics had
+failed, but honors were divided. The taller boy's reach had told in his
+favor, while Martin's newly acquired science redressed the balance.
+
+Martin's lip was cut and there was a lump on his left cheek, but Frank
+felt an eye closing and had received a staggerer in the ribs. He was
+aware of an uneasy feeling that if Martin survived the next round he
+(Frank) would be beaten, so there was nothing for it but to summon all
+his reserves and deliver a Napoleonic attack. The enemy must be crushed
+by sheer force.
+
+He was a plucky lad and was stung to frenzy by seeing Angele offer
+Martin the use of a lace handkerchief for the bleeding lip, a delicate
+tenderness quietly repulsed.
+
+So, when the rush came, Martin had to fight desperately to avoid
+annihilation. He was compelled to give way, and backed toward the hedge.
+Behind lay an unseen stackpole. At the instant when Beckett-Smythe
+lowered his head and endeavored to butt Martin violently in the stomach,
+the latter felt the obstruction with his heel. Had he lost his nerve
+then or flickered an eyelid, he would have taken a nasty fall and a
+severe shaking. As it was, he met the charge more than halfway, and
+delivered the same swinging upper stroke which had nearly proved fatal
+to his gamekeeper friend.
+
+It was wholly disastrous to Beckett-Smythe. It caught him fairly on the
+nose, and, as the blow was in accord with the correct theory of dynamics
+as applied to forces in motion, it knocked him silly. His head flew up,
+his knees bent, and he dropped to the ground with a horrible feeling
+that the sky had fallen and that stars were sparkling among the rough
+paving-stones.
+
+"That's a finisher. He's whopped!" exulted Jim Bates.
+
+"No, he's not. It was a chance blow," cried Ernest, who was strongly
+inclined to challenge the victor on his own account. "Get up, Frank.
+Have another go at him!"
+
+But Frank, who could neither see nor hear distinctly, was too groggy to
+rise, and the village girls drew together in an alarmed group. Such
+violent treatment of the squire's son savored of sacrilege. They were
+sure that Martin would receive some condign punishment by the law for
+pummeling a superior being so unmercifully.
+
+Angele, somewhat frightened herself, tried to console her discomfited
+champion.
+
+"I'm so sorry," she said. "It was all my fault."
+
+"Oh, go away!" he protested. "Ernest, where's there a pump?"
+
+Assisted by his brother, he struggled to his feet. His nose was bleeding
+freely and his face was ghastly in the moonlight. But he was a spirited
+youngster. He held out a hand to Martin.
+
+"I've had enough just now," he said, with an attempt at a smile. "Some
+other day, when my eye is all right, I'd like to----"
+
+A woman's scream of terror, a man's cry of agony, startled the silent
+night and nearly scared the children out of their wits.
+
+Someone came running up the garden path. It was Kitty Thwaites. She
+swayed unsteadily as she ran; her arms were lifted in frantic
+supplication.
+
+"Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you've killed him!" she wailed. "Murder! Murder!
+Come, someone! For God's sake, come!"
+
+She stumbled and fell, shrieking frenziedly for help. Another woman--a
+woman whose extended right hand clutched a long, thin knife such as is
+used to carve game--appeared from the gloom of the orchard. Her wan face
+was raised to the sky, and a baleful light shone in her eyes.
+
+"Ay, I'll swing for him," she cried in a voice shrill with hysteria.
+"May the Lord deal wi' him as he dealt wi' me! And my own sister, too!
+Out on ye, ye strumpet! 'Twould sarve ye right if I stuck ye wi' t' same
+knife."
+
+With a clatter of ironshod boots, most of the frightened children
+stampeded out of the stable yard. Martin, to whom Angele clung in
+speechless fear, and the two Beckett-Smythes alone were left.
+
+The din of steam organ and drums, the ceaseless turmoil of the fair, the
+constant fusillade at the shooting gallery, and the bawling of men in
+charge of the various sideshows, had kept the women's shrieks from other
+ears thus far. But Kitty Thwaites, though almost shocked out of her
+senses, gained strength from the imminence of peril. Springing up from
+the path just in time to avoid the vengeful oncoming of her sister, she
+staggered toward the hotel and created instant alarm by her cries of
+"Murder! Help! George Pickering has been stabbed!"
+
+A crowd of men poured out from bar and smoking-room. One, who took
+thought, rushed through the front door and snatched a naphtha lamp from
+a stall. Meanwhile, the three boys and the girl on the other side of
+the hedge, seeing and hearing everything, but unseen and unheard
+themselves, took counsel in some sort.
+
+"I say," Ernest Beckett-Smythe urged his brother, "let's get out of
+this. Father will thrash us to death if we're mixed up in this
+business."
+
+The advice was good. Frank forgot his dizziness for the moment, and the
+two raced to secure their bicycles from a stall-holder's care. They rode
+away to the Hall unnoticed.
+
+Martin remained curiously quiet. All the excitement had left him. If
+Elmsdale were rent by an earthquake just then, he would have watched the
+toppling houses with equanimity.
+
+"I suppose you don't wish to stop here now?" he said to Angele.
+
+The girl was sobbing bitterly. Her small body shook as though each gulp
+were a racking cough. She could not answer. He placed his arm around her
+and led her to the gate. While they were crossing the yard the people
+from the hotel crowded into the garden. The man with the lamp had
+reached the back of the house across the bowling green, and a stalwart
+farmer had caught Betsy Thwaites by the wrist. The blood-stained knife
+fell from her fingers. She moaned helplessly in disjointed phrases.
+
+"It's all overed now. God help me! Why was I born?"
+
+Already a crowd was surging into the hotel through the front door.
+Martin guided his trembling companion to the right; in a few strides
+they were clear of the fair, only to run into Mrs. Saumarez's German
+chauffeur.
+
+He was not in uniform; in a well-fitting blue serge suit and straw hat,
+he looked more like a young officer in mufti than a mechanic. He was the
+first to recognize Angele, and was so frankly astonished that he bowed
+to her without lifting his hat.
+
+"_You_, mees?" he cried, seemingly at a loss for other words.
+
+Angele recovered her wits at once. She said something which Martin could
+not understand, though he was sure it was not in French, as the girl's
+frequent use of that language was familiarizing his ears with its
+sounds. As a matter of fact, she spoke German, telling the chauffeur to
+mind his own business, and she would mind hers; but if any talking were
+done her tongue might wag more than his.
+
+At any rate, the man did then raise his hat politely and walk on. The
+remainder of the road between Elmsdale and The Elms was deserted. Martin
+hardly realized the pace at which he was literally dragging his
+companion homeward until she protested.
+
+"Martin, you're hurting my arm! What's the hurry?... Did she really kill
+him?"
+
+"She said so. I don't know," he replied.
+
+"Who was she?"
+
+"Kitty Thwaites's sister, I suppose. I never saw her before. They were
+not bred in this village."
+
+"And why did she kill him?"
+
+"How can I tell?"
+
+"She had a knife in her hand."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps she killed him because she was jealous."
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Martin, don't be angry with me. I didn't mean any harm. I was only
+having a lark. I did it just to tease you--and Evelyn Atkinson."
+
+"That's all very fine. What will your mother say?"
+
+The quietude, the sound of her own voice, were giving the girl courage.
+She tossed her head with something of contempt.
+
+"She can say nothing. You leave her to me. You saw how I shut Fritz's
+mouth. What was the name of the man who was killed?"
+
+"George Pickering."
+
+"Ah. He walked down the garden with Kitty Thwaites."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes. When I get in I can tell Miss Walker and Francoise all about it.
+They will be so excited. There will be no fuss about me being out. V'la
+la bonne fortune!"
+
+"Speak English, please."
+
+"Well, it is good luck I was there. I can make up such a story."
+
+"Good luck that a poor fellow should be stabbed!"
+
+"That wasn't my fault, was it? Good-night, Martin. You fought
+beautifully. Kiss me!"
+
+"I won't kiss you. Run in, now. I'll wait till the door opens."
+
+"Then _I'll_ kiss _you_. There! I like you better than all the
+world--just now."
+
+She opened the gate, careless whether it clanged or not. Martin heard
+her quick footsteps on the gravel of the short drive. She rattled loudly
+on the door.
+
+"Good-night, Martin--dear!" she cried.
+
+He did not answer. There was some delay. Evidently she had not been
+missed.
+
+"Are you there?" She was impatient of his continued coldness.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why don't you speak, silly?"
+
+The door opened with the clanking of a chain. There was a woman's
+startled cry as the inner light fell on Angele. Then he turned.
+
+Not until he reached the "Black Lion" and its well-lighted area did he
+realize that he was coatless and hatless. Jim Bates had vanished with
+both of these necessary articles. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound!
+There would be a fearful row, and the thrashing would be the same in any
+case.
+
+He avoided the crowd, keeping to the darker side of the street. A
+policeman had just come out of the inn and was telling the people to go
+away. All the village seemed to have gathered during the few minutes
+which had elapsed since the tragedy took place. He felt strangely sorry
+for Betsy Thwaites. Would she be locked up, handcuffed, with chains on
+her ankles? What would they do with the knife? Why should she want to
+kill Mr. Pickering? Wouldn't he marry her? Even so, that was no reason
+he should be stabbed. Where did she stick him? Did he quiver like
+Absalom when Joab thrust the darts into his heart?
+
+At last he ran up the slight incline leading to the White House; there
+was a light in the front kitchen. For one awful moment he paused, with a
+finger on the sneck; then he pressed the latch and entered.
+
+John Bolland, grim as a stone gargoyle, wearing his Sunday coat and
+old-fashioned tall hat, was leaning against the massive chimneypiece.
+Mrs. Bolland, with bonnet awry, was seated. She had been crying. A
+frightened kitchenmaid peeped through the passage leading to the back of
+the house when the door opened to admit the truant. Then she vanished.
+
+There was a period of chill silence while Martin closed the door. He
+turned and faced the elderly couple, and John Bolland spoke:
+
+"So ye've coom yam, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"An' at a nice time, too. Afther half-past ten! An hour sen yer muther
+an' me searched high and low for ye. Where hev ye bin? Tell t' truth,
+ye young scamp. Every lie'll mean more skin off your back."
+
+Mrs. Bolland, drying her eyes, now that Martin had returned, noticed his
+disheveled condition. His face was white as his shirt, and both were
+smeared with blood. A wave of new alarm paled her florid cheeks. She ran
+to him.
+
+"For mercy's sake, boy, what hev ye bin doin'? Are ye hurt?"
+
+"No, mother, not hurt. I fought Frank Beckett-Smythe. That is all."
+
+"T' squire's son. Why on earth----"
+
+"Go to bed, Martha," said John, picking up a riding whip. But Mrs.
+Bolland's sympathies discerned a deeper reason for Martin's escapade
+than a mere boyish frolic which deserved a thrashing. He was unnaturally
+calm. Something out of the common had happened. He did not flinch at the
+sight of the whip.
+
+"John," she said sternly, "ye shan't touch him t'-night."
+
+"Stand aside, Martha. If all my good teachin' is of no avail----"
+
+"Mebbe t' lad's fair sick o' yer good teachin'. You lay a hand on him at
+yer peril. If ye do, I don't bide i' t' house this night!"
+
+Never before, during thirty years of married life, had Martha Bolland
+defied her husband. He glowered with anger and amazement.
+
+"Would ye revile the Word te shield that spawn o' Satan?" he roared.
+"Get away, woman, lest I do thee an injury."
+
+But his wife's temper was fierce as his own when roused. She was a
+Meynell, and there have been Meynells in Yorkshire as long as any
+Bollands.
+
+"Tak' yer threats te those who heed 'em," she retorted bitterly. "D'ye
+think folk will stand by an' let ye raise yer hand te me?... David,
+William, Mary, coom here an' hold yer master. He's like te have a fit
+wi' passion."
+
+There was a shuffling in the passage. The men servants, such as happened
+to be in the house, came awkwardly at their mistress's cry. The farmer
+stood spellbound. What devil possessed the household that his authority
+should be set at naught thus openly?
+
+It was a thrilling moment, but Martin solved the difficulty. He wrenched
+himself free of Mrs. Bolland's protecting arms.
+
+"Father, mother!" he cried. "Don't quarrel on my account. If I must be
+beaten, I don't care. I'll take all I get. But it's only fair that I
+should say why I was not home earlier."
+
+Now, John Bolland, notwithstanding his dealing in the matter of the
+pedigree cow, prided himself on his sense of justice. Indeed, the man
+who does the gravest injury to his fellows is often cursed with a
+narrow-minded certainty of his own righteousness. Moreover, this matter
+had gone beyond instant adjustment by the unsparing use of a whip. His
+wife, his servants, were arrayed against him. By the Lord, they should
+rue it!
+
+"Aye," he said grimly. "Tell your muther why you've been actin' t'
+blackguard. Mebbe she'll understand."
+
+Mrs. Bolland had the sense to pass this taunt unheeded. Her heart was
+quailing already at her temerity.
+
+"Angele Saumarez came out without her mother," said Martin. "Mrs.
+Saumarez is ill. I thought it best to remain with her and take her home
+again. Frank Beckett-Smythe joined us, and he--he--insulted her, in a
+way. So I fought him, and beat him, too. And then George Pickering was
+murdered----"
+
+"What?"
+
+Bolland dropped the whip on the table. His wife sank into a chair with a
+cry of alarm. The plowmen and maids ventured farther into the room. Even
+the farmer's relentless jaw fell at this terrific announcement.
+
+"Yes, it is quite true. Frank and I fought in the yard of the 'Black
+Lion.' George Pickering and Kitty Thwaites went down the garden--at
+least, so I was told. I didn't see them. But, suddenly, Kitty came
+screaming along the path, and after her a woman waving a long knife in
+the air. Kitty called her 'Betsy,' and said she had killed George
+Pickering. She said so herself. I heard her. Then some men came with a
+light and caught hold of Betsy. She was going to stab Kitty, too, I
+think; and Jim Bates ran away with my coat and hat, which he was
+holding."
+
+The effect of such a narration on a gathering of villagers, law-abiding
+folk who lived in a quiet nook like Elmsdale, was absolutely paralyzing.
+John Bolland was the first to recover himself. A man of few ideas, he
+could not adjust his mental balance with sufficient nicety to see that
+the tragedy itself in no wise condoned Martin's offense.
+
+"Are ye sure of what ye're sayin', lad?" he demanded, though indeed he
+felt it was absurd to imagine that such a tale would be invented as a
+mere excuse.
+
+"Quite sure, sir. If you walk down to the 'Black Lion,' you'll see all
+the people standing round the hotel and the police keeping them back."
+
+"Well, well, I'll gan this minit. George Pickerin' was no friend o'
+mine, but I'm grieved te hear o' sike deeds as these in oor village. I
+was maist angered wi' you on yer muther's account. She was grievin' so
+when we failed te find ye. She thowt sure you were runned over or
+drownded i' t' beck."
+
+This was meant as a graceful apology to his wife, and was taken in that
+spirit. Never before had he made such a concession.
+
+"Here's yer stick, John," she said. "Hurry and find out what's happened.
+Poor George! I wish my tongue hadn't run so fast t' last time I seed
+him."
+
+Bolland and the other men hastened away, and Martin was called on to
+recount the sensational episode, with every detail known to him, for
+the benefit of the household. No one paid heed to the boy's own
+adventures. All ears were for the vengeance taken by Betsy Thwaites on
+the man who jilted her. Even to minds blunted almost to callousness, the
+_crime passionel_ had a vivid, an entrancing interest. The women were
+quick to see its motive, a passive endurance stung to sudden frenzy by
+the knowledge that the faithless lover was pursuing the younger sister.
+But how did Betsy Thwaites, who lived in far-off Hereford, learn that
+George Pickering was "making up" to Kitty? The affair was of recent
+growth. Indeed, none of those present was aware that Pickering and the
+pretty maid at the "Black Lion" were so much as acquainted with each
+other. And where did Betsy spring from? She could not have been staying
+in the village, or someone aware of her history must have seen her. Did
+Kitty know she was there? If so, how foolish of the younger woman to be
+out gallivanting in the moonlight with Pickering.
+
+The whole story was fraught with deepest mystery. Martin could not
+answer one-tenth of the questions put to him. Boy-like, he felt himself
+somewhat of a hero, until he remembered Angele's glee at the "good luck"
+of the occurrence--how she would save herself from blame by telling Miss
+Walker and Francoise "all about it."
+
+He flushed deeply. He wished now that Bolland had given him a hiding
+before he blurted out his news.
+
+"Bless the lad, he's fair tired te death!" said Mrs. Bolland. "Here,
+Martin, drink a glass o' port an' off te bed wi' ye."
+
+He sipped the wine, wondering dimly what Frank Beckett-Smythe was
+enduring and how he would explain that black eye. He was about to go
+upstairs, when hasty steps sounded without, and Bolland entered with a
+policeman.
+
+This was the village constable, and, of course, well known to all.
+During the feast other policemen came from neighboring villages, but the
+local officer was best fitted to conduct inquiries into a case requiring
+measures beyond a mere arrest. His appearance at this late hour created
+a fresh sensation.
+
+"Martin," said the farmer gravely, "did ye surely hear Kitty Thwaites
+say that Betsy had killed Mr. Pickering?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did."
+
+"And ye heerd Betsy admit it?"
+
+"Oh, yes--that is, if Betsy is the woman with the knife."
+
+"There!" said Bolland, turning to the policeman. "I telt ye so. T' lad
+has his faults, but he's nae leear; I'll say that for him."
+
+The man took off his helmet and wiped his forehead, for the night was
+close and warm.
+
+"Well," he said, "I'll just leave it for the 'Super' te sattle. Mr.
+Pickerin' sweers that Betsy never struck him. She ran up tiv him wi' t'
+knife, an' they quarrelled desperately. That he don't deny. She
+threatened him, too, an' te get away frev her he was climin' inte t'
+stackyard when he slipped, an' a fork lyin' again' t' fence ran intiv
+his ribs."
+
+"Isn't he dead, then?" exclaimed Mrs. Bolland shrilly.
+
+"Not he, ma'am, and not likely te be. He kem to as soon as he swallowed
+some brandy, an' his first words was, 'Where's Betsy?' He was fair wild
+when they telt him she was arrested. He said it was all the fault of
+that flighty lass, Kitty, an' that a lot of fuss was bein' made about
+nowt. I didn't know what te deae. Beaeth women were fair ravin', and said
+all soarts o' things, but t' upshot is that Betsy is nussin' Mr.
+Pickerin' now until t' doctor comes frae Nottonby."
+
+He still mopped his head, and his glance wandered to the goodly cask in
+the corner.
+
+"Will ye hev a pint?" inquired Bolland.
+
+"Ay, that I will, Mr. Bolland, an' welcome."
+
+"An' a bite o' bread an' meat?" added Mrs. Bolland.
+
+"I doan't min' if I do, ma'am."
+
+A glance at a maid produced eatables with lightning speed. Mary feared
+lest she should miss a syllable of the night's marvels.
+
+The policeman had many "bites," and talked while he ate. Gradually the
+story became lucid and consecutive.
+
+Fred, the groom, was jealous of Pickering's admiration for Kitty. Having
+overheard the arrangement for a meeting on Monday, he wrote to Betsy,
+sending her the information in the hope that she would come from
+Hereford and cause a commotion at the hotel.
+
+He expected her by an earlier train, but she did not arrive until 9:20
+P.M., and there was a walk of over two miles from the station.
+
+Meanwhile, he had seen Kitty and Pickering steal off into the garden. He
+knew that any interference on his part would earn him a prompt beating,
+so, when Betsy put in a belated appearance, he met her in the passage
+and told her where she would find the couple.
+
+Instantly she ran through the kitchen, snatching a knife as she went.
+Before the drink-sodden meddler could realize the extent of the mischief
+he had wrought, Kitty was shrieking that Pickering was dead. All this he
+blurted out to the police before the injured man gave another version of
+the affair.
+
+"Martin bears out one side o' t' thing," commented the constable
+oracularly, "but t' chief witness says that summat else happened. There
+was blood on t' knife when it was picked up; but there, again, there's a
+doubt, as Betsy had cut her own arm wi't. Anyhow, Betsy an' Kitty were
+cryin' their hearts out when they kem out of Mr. Pickerin's room for
+towels; and he's bleedin' dreadful."
+
+This final gory touch provided an artistic curtain. The constable
+readjusted his belt and took his departure.
+
+After another half-hour's eager gossip among the elders, in which Fred
+suffered much damage to his character, Martin was hurried off to bed.
+Mrs. Bolland washed his bruised face and helped him to undress. She was
+folding his trousers, when a shower of money rattled to the floor.
+
+"Marcy on us!" she cried in real bewilderment, "here's a sovereign, a
+half-sovereign, an' silver, an' copper! Martin, my boy, whatever...."
+
+"Angele gave it to me, mother. She gave me two pounds ten to spend."
+
+"Two pund ten!"
+
+"Yes. I suppose it was very wrong. I'll give back all that is left to
+Mrs. Saumarez in the morning."
+
+Martha Bolland was very serious now. She crept to the door of the
+bedroom and listened.
+
+"I do hope yer father kens nowt o' this," she whispered anxiously.
+
+Then she counted the money.
+
+"You've spent sixteen shillin's and fowerpence, not reckonin' t'
+shillin' I gev ye this mornin'. Seventeen an' fowerpence! Martin,
+Martin, whatever on?"
+
+Such extravagance was appalling. Her frugal mind could not assimilate it
+readily. This sum would maintain a large family for a week.
+
+"We stood treat to a lot of other boys and girls. But don't be vexed
+to-night, mother, dear. I'm so tired."
+
+"Vexed, indeed. What'll Mrs. Saumarez say? There'll be a bonny row i' t'
+mornin'. You tak' it back t' first thing. An', here. If she sez owt
+about t' balance, come an' tell me an' I'll make it up. You fond lad; if
+John knew this, he'd never forgive ye. There, honey, go te sleep."
+
+There were tears in her eyes as she bent and kissed him. But he was
+incapable of further emotion. He was half asleep ere she descended the
+stairs, and his last sentient thought was one of keen enjoyment, for his
+knuckles were sore when he closed his right hand, and he remembered the
+smashing force of that uppercut as it met the aristocratic nose of
+Master Beckett-Smythe.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GEORGE PICKERING PLAYS THE MAN
+
+
+Martin was awakened by the rays of a bright autumn sun. He sprang out of
+bed in a jiffy, lest he should be late for breakfast, a heinous offense
+at the farm; but the sight of William feeding the pigs in the yard
+beneath told him that it was only half-past six.
+
+The first puzzle that presented itself was one of costume. Should he
+wear his commonplace corduroys, or don all that was left of his gray
+tweeds? During the Feast he was supposed to dress in his best each day;
+he decided to obey orders as far as was possible.
+
+He missed the money from his trousers pocket and knew that his mother
+had taken it. Also, he found that she had selected a clean shirt and
+collar from the drawer and placed them ready for use. By degrees his
+active brain recalled the startling events of the previous evening in
+their proper sequence, and he found himself speculating more on the
+reception Mrs. Saumarez might accord than on the attitude John Bolland
+would certainly adopt when the overnight proceedings arranged themselves
+in a slow-moving mind.
+
+He was downstairs long before seven. The farmer was out. Mrs. Bolland,
+immersed in the early cares of the household, showed no traces of the
+excitement of eight hours earlier.
+
+"Martin," she cried as soon as she caught sight of him, "I heerd a hen
+cluckin' a bit sen at t' bottom o' t' garth. Just look i' t' hedge an'
+see if she's nestin'?"
+
+This was a daily undertaking in a house where poultry were plentiful as
+sparrows in Piccadilly.
+
+Martin hailed the mission as a sign that normal times were come again. A
+gate led into the meadow from the garden, but to go that way meant
+walking twenty yards or more, so the boy took a running jump, caught a
+stout limb of a pear tree, swung himself onto a ten-foot pile of wood,
+and dropped over into the field beyond.
+
+Mrs. Bolland witnessed the feat with some degree of alarm. In the course
+of a few hours she had come to see her adopted son passing from
+childhood into vigorous adolescence.
+
+"Drat that lad!" she cried irately. "Does he want to break his neck?"
+
+"He larnt that trick t' other day, missus," commented William, standing
+all lopsided to balance a huge pail of pig's food. "He'll mek a rare
+chap, will your Martin."
+
+"He's larnin' a lot o' tricks that I ken nowt about," cried Mistress
+Martha. "Nice doin's there was last night. How comes it none o' you men
+saw him carryin' on i' t' fair wi' that little French la-di-dah?"
+
+"I dunno, ma'am."
+
+William grinned, though, for some of the men had noted the children's
+antics, and none would "split" to the farmer.
+
+"But I did hear as how Martin gev t' Squire's son a fair weltin'," he
+went on. "One o' t' grooms passed here an oor sen, exercisin' a young
+hoss, an' he said that beaeth young gentlemen kem yam at half-past ten.
+Master Frank had an eye bunged up, an' a nose like a bad apple. He was
+that banged about that t' Squire let him off a bastin' an' gev t' other a
+double allowance."
+
+Mrs. Bolland smiled.
+
+"Gan on wi' yer wark," she said. "Here's it's seven o'clock, half t' day
+gone, an' nothin' done."
+
+Martin, searching for stray eggs, suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He
+looked around and saw Jim Bates's head over the top of the lane hedge.
+
+Jim held up a bundle.
+
+"Here's yer coat an' hat," he said. "I dursent bring 'em last neet."
+
+"Why did you run away?" inquired Martin, approaching to take his
+property.
+
+"I was skeert. Yon woman's yellin' was awful. I went straight off yam."
+
+"Did you catch it for being out late?"
+
+"Noa; but feyther gev me a clout this mornin' for not tellin' him about
+t' murder. He'd gone te bed."
+
+"Nobody was murdered," said Martin.
+
+"That wasn't Betsy's fault. It's all my eye about Mr. Pickerin' stickin'
+a fork into hisself. There was noa fork there."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Coss I was pullin' carrots all Saturday mornin' for Mrs. Atkinson, an'
+if there'd bin any fork I should ha' seen it."
+
+"Martin," cried a shrill voice from the garth, "is that lookin' fer
+eggs?"
+
+Jim Bates's head and shoulders shot out of sight instantaneously.
+
+"All right, mother, I'm only getting back my lost clothes," explained
+Martin. He began a painstaking survey of the hedge bottom and was
+rewarded by the discovery of a nest of six hidden away by a hen anxious
+to undertake the cares of maternity.
+
+At breakfast John Bolland was silent and severe. He passed but one
+remark to Martin:
+
+"Happen you'll be wanted some time this mornin'. Stop within hail until
+Mr. Benson calls."
+
+Mr. Benson was the village constable.
+
+"What will he want wi' t' lad?" inquired Mrs. Bolland tartly.
+
+"Martin is t' main witness i' this case o' Pickerin's. Kitty Thwaites
+isn't likely te tell t' truth. Women are main leears when there's a man
+i' t' business."
+
+"More fools they."
+
+"Well, let be. I'm fair vexed that Martin's neaem should be mixed up i'
+this affair. Fancy the tale that'll be i' t' _Messenger_--John Bolland's
+son fightin' t' young squire at ten o'clock o' t' neet in t' 'Black
+Lion' yard--fightin' ower a lass. What ailed him I cannot tell. He must
+ha' gone clean daft."
+
+The farmer pushed back his chair angrily, and Mrs. Bolland wondered what
+he would say did he know of Martin's wild extravagance. Mother and son
+were glad when John picked up a riding-whip and lumbered out to mount
+Sam, the pony, for an hour's ride over the moor.
+
+Evidently, he had encountered Benson before breakfast, as that worthy
+officer arrived at half-past ten and asked Martin to accompany him.
+
+The two walked solemnly through the fair, in which there was already
+some stir. A crowd hanging around the precincts of the inn made way as
+they approached, and Martin saw, near the door, two saddled horses in
+charge of a policeman.
+
+He was escorted to an inner room, receiving a tremulous, but gracious,
+smile from Evelyn as he passed. To his very genuine astonishment and
+alarm, he was confronted not only by the district superintendent of
+police but also by Mr. Frank Reginald de Courcy Beckett-Smythe, the
+magnate of the Hall.
+
+"This is the boy, your wuship," said Benson.
+
+"Ah. What is his name?"
+
+"Martin Court Bolland, sir."
+
+"One of John Bolland's sons, eh?"
+
+"No, sir. Mr. Bolland has no son. He adopted this lad some thirteen
+years ago."
+
+Had a bolt from the blue struck Martin at that moment he could not have
+been more dumbfounded. Both John and Martha had thought fit to keep the
+secret of his parentage from his knowledge until he was older, as the
+fact might tend to weaken their authority during his boyhood. The adults
+in Elmsdale, of course, knew the circumstances thoroughly, and respected
+Mr. and Mrs. Bolland's wishes, while the children with whom he grew up
+regarded him as village-born like themselves.
+
+It took a good deal to bring tears to Martin's eyes, but they were
+perilously near at that instant. Though the words almost choked him, he
+faltered:
+
+"Is that true, Mr. Benson?"
+
+"True? It's true eneuf, lad. Didn't ye know?"
+
+"No, they never told me."
+
+A mist obscured his sight. The presence of the magistrate and
+superintendent ceased to have any awe-inspiring effect. What disgrace
+was this so suddenly blurted out by this stolid policeman? Whose child
+was he, then, if not theirs? Could he ever hold up his head again in
+face of the youthful host over which he lorded it by reason of his
+advanced intelligence and greater strength? There was comfort in the
+thought that no one had ever taunted him in this relation. The veiled
+hint in Pickering's words to the farmer was the only reference he could
+recall.
+
+Benson seemed to regard the facts as to his birth as matters of common
+knowledge. Perhaps there was some explanation which would lift him from
+the sea of ignominy into which he had been pitched so unexpectedly.
+
+He was aroused by Mr. Beckett-Smythe saying:
+
+"Now, my lad, was it you who fought my son last night?"
+
+"Yes--sir," stammered Martin.
+
+The question sharpened his wits to some purpose. A spice of dread helped
+the process. Was he going to be tried on some dire charge of malicious
+assault?
+
+"Hum," muttered the squire, surveying him with a smile. "A proper
+trouncing you gave him, too. I shall certainly thrash him now for
+permitting it. What was the cause of the quarrel?"
+
+"About a girl, sir."
+
+"You young rascals! A girl! What girl?"
+
+"Perhaps it was all my fault, sir."
+
+"That is not answering my question."
+
+"I would rather not tell, sir."
+
+Then Mr. Beckett-Smythe leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
+
+"'Pon my honor," he said to the superintendent, "these young sparks are
+progressive. They don't care what happens, so long as the honor of the
+lady is safeguarded. My son refused point-blank to say even why he
+fought. Well, well, Martin, I see you did not come out of the fray
+scatheless; but you are not brought here because you decorated Frank's
+ingenuous countenance. I want you to tell me exactly what took place in
+the garden when Mr. Pickering was wounded."
+
+Somewhat reassured, Martin told all he knew, which was not a great deal.
+The magistrate, who, of course, was only assisting the police inquiry,
+was perplexed.
+
+"There were others present?" he commented.
+
+"Yes, sir. Master Frank and Master Ernest----"
+
+"Master Frank could not see much at the moment, eh?"
+
+Martin blushed.
+
+"But Ernest--surely, he might have noted something that you missed?"
+
+"I think not, sir. He was--er--looking after his brother."
+
+"And the other children?"
+
+"Several boys and girls of the village, but they were frightened by the
+screaming, sir, and ran away."
+
+"Including the young lady who caused the combat?"
+
+No answer. Martin thought it best to leave the point open. Again Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe laughed.
+
+"I suppose this village belle is one of Mrs. Atkinson's daughters. Gad!
+I never heard tell of such a thing. All right, Martin, you can go now,
+but let me give you a parting word of advice. Never again fight for a
+woman, unless to protect her from a blackguard, which, I presume, was
+hardly the cause of the dispute with Frank."
+
+"I don't think he was to blame at all, sir."
+
+"Thank you. Good-day, Martin. Here's a half-crown to plaster that
+damaged lip of yours."
+
+Left to themselves, the magistrate and superintendent discussed the
+advisability of taking proceedings against Betsy Thwaites.
+
+"I'm sure Pickering made up his story in order to screen the woman,"
+said the police officer. "A rusty fork was found in the stackyard, but
+it was thirty feet away from the nearest point of the track made by the
+drops of blood, and separated from the garden by a stout hedge.
+Moreover, Pickering and Kitty were undoubtedly standing in the orchard,
+many yards farther on. Then, again, the girl was collared by Thomas
+Metcalfe, of the Leas Farm, and the knife, one of Mrs. Atkinson's, fell
+from her hand; while a dozen people will swear they heard her sister
+calling out that she had murdered George Pickering."
+
+Beckett-Smythe shook his head doubtfully.
+
+"It is a queer affair, looked at in any light. Do you think I ought to
+see Pickering himself? You can arrest Betsy Thwaites without a warrant,
+I believe, and, in any event, I'll not sit on the bench if the case
+comes before the court."
+
+The superintendent was only too glad to have the squire's counsel in
+dealing with a knotty problem. The social position of the wounded man
+required some degree of caution before proceedings were commenced, in
+view of his emphatic declaration that his wound was self-inflicted. If
+his state became dangerous, there was only one course open to the
+representatives of the law; but the doctor's verdict was that
+penetration of the lung had been averted by a hair's breadth, and
+Pickering would recover. Indeed, he might be taken home in a carriage at
+the end of the week. Meanwhile, the hayfork and the blood-stained knife
+were impounded.
+
+The two men went upstairs and were shown to the room occupied by the
+injured gallant. Kitty Thwaites, pale as a ghost, was flitting about
+attending to her work, the hotel being crowded with stock-breeders and
+graziers. Her unfortunate sister, even more woebegone in appearance, was
+nursing the invalid, at his special request. It was a puzzling
+situation, and Mr. Beckett-Smythe, who knew Pickering intimately, was
+inclined to act with the utmost leniency that the law allowed.
+
+Betsy Thwaites, who was sitting at the side of the bed, rose when they
+entered. Her white face became suffused with color, and she looked at
+the police officer with frightened eyes.
+
+The magistrate saw this, and he said quite kindly:
+
+"If Mr. Pickering is able to speak with us for a little while, you may
+leave us with him."
+
+"No, no," interrupted the invalid in an astonishingly strong and hearty
+voice. "There's nothing to be said that Betsy needn't hear. Is there,
+lass?"
+
+She began to tremble, and lifted a corner of her apron. Notwithstanding
+her faithless swain's statement to her sister, she was quite as
+good-looking as Kitty, and sorrow had given her face a pathetic dignity
+that in no wise diminished its charm.
+
+She knew not whether to stay or go. The superintendent took the hint
+given by the squire.
+
+"It would be best, under the circumstances, if we were left alone while
+we talk over last night's affair, Mr. Pickering."
+
+"Not a bit of it. Don't go, Betsy. What is there to talk over? I made a
+fool of myself--not for the first time where a woman was concerned--and
+Betsy here, brought from Hereford by a meddlesome scamp, lost her
+temper. No wonder! Poor girl, she had traveled all day in a hot train,
+without eatin' a bite, and found me squeezing her sister at the bottom
+of the garden. There's no denying that she meant to do me a mischief,
+and serve me right, too. I'll admit I was scared, and in running away I
+got into worse trouble, as, of course, I could easily have mastered her.
+Kitty, too, what between fear and shame, lost her senses, and poor Betsy
+cut her own arm. You see, a plain tale stops all the nonsense that has
+been talked since ten o'clock last night."
+
+"Not quite, George." Mr. Beckett-Smythe was serious and magisterial.
+"You forget, or perhaps do not know, that there were witnesses."
+
+Pickering looked alarmed.
+
+"Witnesses!" he cried. "What d'you mean?"
+
+"Well, no outsider saw the blow, or accident, whichever it was; but a
+number of children saw and heard incidents which, putting it mildly,
+tend to discredit your story."
+
+Betsy began to sob.
+
+"I told you you had better leave the room," went on the squire in a low
+tone.
+
+Pickering endeavored to raise himself in the bed, but sank back with a
+groan. The unfortunate girl forgot her own troubles at the sound, and
+rushed to arrange the pillow beneath his head.
+
+"It comes to this, then," he said huskily; "you want to arrest, on a
+charge of attempting to murder me, a woman whom I intend to marry long
+before she can be brought to trial!"
+
+Betsy broke down now in real earnest. Beckett-Smythe and the
+superintendent gazed at Pickering with blank incredulity. This
+development was wholly unlooked for. They both thought the man was
+light-headed. He smiled dryly.
+
+"Yes, I mean it," he continued, placing his hand on the brown hair of
+the girl, whose face was buried in the bedclothes. "I--I didn't sleep
+much last night, and I commenced to see things in a different light to
+that which presented itself before. I treated Betsy shamefully--not in a
+monied sense, but in every other way. She's not one of the general run
+of girls. I promised to marry her once, and now I'm going to keep my
+promise. That's all."
+
+He was desperately in earnest. Of that there could be no manner of
+doubt. The superintendent stroked his chin reflectively, and the
+magistrate could only murmur:
+
+"Gad, that changes the venue, as the lawyers say."
+
+One thought dominated the minds of both men; Pickering was behaving
+foolishly. He was a wealthy man, owner of a freehold farm of hundreds of
+acres; he might aspire to marry a woman of some position in the county
+and end his days in all the glory of J. P.-dom and County Aldermanship.
+Yet, here he was deliberately throwing himself away on a dairymaid who,
+not many hours since, had striven to kill him during a burst of jealous
+fury. The thing was absurd. Probably when he recovered he would see this
+for himself; but for the time it was best to humor him and give official
+sanction to his version of the overnight quarrel.
+
+"Don't keep us in suspense, squire," cried the wounded man, angered by
+his friend's silence. "What are you going to do?"
+
+"Nothing, George; nothing, I think. I only hope your accident with the
+pitchfork will not have serious results--in any shape."
+
+The policeman nodded a farewell. As they quitted the room they heard
+Pickering say faintly:
+
+"Now, Betsy, my dear, no more crying. I can't stand it. Damn it all, one
+doesn't get engaged to be married and yelp over it!"
+
+On the landing they saw Kitty, a white shadow, anxious, but afraid to
+speak.
+
+"Cheer up," said Beckett-Smythe pleasantly. "This affair looks like
+ending in smoke."
+
+Gaining courage from the magistrate's affability, the girl said
+brokenly:
+
+"Mr. Pickering and--my--sister--are quite friendly. You saw that for
+yourself, sir."
+
+"Gad, yes. They're going to be--well--er--I was going to say we have
+quite decided that an accident took place and there is no call for
+police interference--so long as Mr. Pickering shows progress toward
+recovery, you understand. There, there! You women always begin to cry,
+whether pleased or vexed. Bless my heart, let's get away, Mr.
+Superintendent."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+SHOWING HOW MARTIN'S HORIZON WIDENS
+
+
+The sufferings of the young are strenuous as their joys. When Martin
+passed into the heart of the bustling fair its glamour had vanished. The
+notes of the organ were harsh, the gay canvas of the booths tawdry, the
+cleanly village itself awry. The policeman's surprise at his lack of
+knowledge on the subject of his parentage was disastrously convincing.
+The man treated the statement as indisputable. There was no question of
+hearsay; it was just so, a recognized fact, known to all the grown-up
+people in Elmsdale.
+
+Tommy Beadlam, he of the white head, ran after him to ask why the
+"bobby" brought him to the "Black Lion," but Martin averted eyes laden
+with misery, and motioned his little friend away.
+
+Tommy, who had seen the fight, and knew of the squire's presence this
+morning, drew his own conclusions.
+
+"Martin's goin' to be locked up," he told a knot of awe-stricken
+youngsters, and they thrilled with sympathy, for their champion's
+victory over the "young swell frae t' Hall" was highly popular.
+
+The front door of the White House stood hospitably open. Already a
+goodly number of visitors had gathered, and every man and woman talked
+of nothing but the dramatic events of the previous night. When Martin
+arrived, fresh from a private conversation with the squire and the
+chief of police, they were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Perhaps he
+might add to the store of gossip. Even Mrs. Bolland felt a certain pride
+that the boy should be the center of interest in this _cause celebre_.
+
+But his glum face created alarm in her motherly breast.
+
+"Why, Martin," she cried, "what's gone wrong? Ye look as if ye'd seen a
+ghost wi' two heaeds!"
+
+The all-absorbing topic to Martin just then was his own history and not
+the half-comprehended tragedy of the rural lovers. If his mother's
+friends knew that which was hidden from him, why should he compel his
+tongue to wag falsely? Somehow, the air seemed thick with deception just
+now, but his heart would have burst had he attempted to restrain the
+words that welled forth.
+
+"Mother," he said, and his lips quivered at the remembrance that the
+affectionate title was itself a lie, "Mr. Benson told the squire I was
+not your boy--that father and you adopted me thirteen years ago."
+
+Mrs. Bolland's face glowed with quick indignation. No one spoke.
+Martin's impetuous repudiation of his name was the last thing they
+looked for.
+
+"It is true, I suppose," he went on despairingly. "If I am not your son,
+then whose son am I?"
+
+Martha lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
+
+"Well, of all the deceitful scoundrels!" she gasped. "Te think of me
+fillin' his blue coat wi' meat an' beer last neet, an' all t' return he
+maks is te worry this poor lad's brains wi' that owd tale!"
+
+"Oh, he's sly, is Benson," chimed in stout Mrs. Summersgill. "A
+fortnight sen last Tuesday I caught him i' my dairy wi' one o' t'
+maids, lappin' up cream like a great tomcat."
+
+A laugh went round. None paid heed to Martin's agony. A dullness fell on
+his soul. Even the woman he called mother was angered more by the
+constable's blurting out of a household secret than by the destruction
+of an ideal. Such, in confused riot, was the thought that chilled him.
+
+But he was mistaken. Martha Bolland's denunciations of the policeman
+only covered the pain, sharp as the cut of a knife, caused by the boy's
+cry of mingled passion and sorrow. She was merely biding her time. When
+chance served, she called him into the larder, the nearest quiet place
+in the house, and closed the door.
+
+"Martin, my lad," she said, while big tears shone in her honest eyes,
+"ye are dear to me as my own. I trust I may be spared to be muther te ye
+until ye're a man. John an' me meant no unkindness te ye in not tellin'
+ye we found ye i' Lunnun streets, a poor, deserted little mite, wi'
+nather feyther nor muther, an' none te own ye. What matter was it that
+ye should know sooner? Hev we not done well by ye? When ye come to
+think over 't, ye're angered about nowt. Kiss me, honey, an' if anyone
+says owt cross te ye, tell 'em ye hev both a feyther an' a muther, which
+is more'n some of 'em can say."
+
+This display of feeling applied balm to Martin's wounds. Certainly Mrs.
+Bolland's was the common sense view to take of the situation. He forbore
+to question her further just then, and hugged her contentedly. The very
+smell of her lavender-scented clothes was grateful, and this embrace
+seemed to restore her to him.
+
+His brightened countenance, the vanishing of that unwonted expression of
+resentful humiliation, was even more comforting to Martha herself.
+
+"Here," she said, thrusting a small paper package into his hand, "I
+mayn't hev anuther chance. Ye'll find two pun ten i' that paper. Gie it
+te Mrs. Saumarez an' tell her I'll be rale pleased if there's no more
+talk about t' money. An' mebbe, later i' t' day, I'll find a shillin' fer
+yersen. But, fer goodness' sake, come an' tell t' folk all that t'
+squire said te ye. They're fair crazed te hear ye."
+
+"Mother, dear!" he cried eagerly, "I was so--so mixed up at first that I
+forgot to tell you. Mr. Beckett-Smythe gave me half a crown."
+
+"Ye doan't say! Well, I can't abide half a tale. Let's hae t' lot i' t'
+front kitchen."
+
+It was noon, and dinner-time, before Martin could satisfy the cackling
+dames as to all within his cognizance concerning Betsy Thwaites's
+escapade. Be it noted, they unanimously condemned Fred, the groom;
+commiserated with Betsy, and extolled George Pickering as a true
+gentleman.
+
+P. C. Benson, all unconscious of the rod in pickle for his broad back,
+strolled in about the eating hour. Mrs. Bolland, brindling with
+repressed fury, could scarce find words wherewith to scold him.
+
+"Well, of all the brazen-faced men I've ever met--" she began.
+
+"So you've heerd t' news?" he interrupted.
+
+"Heerd? I should think so, indeed! Martin kem yam----"
+
+"Martin! Did he know?"
+
+"Know!" she shrilled. "Wasn't it ye as said it?"
+
+"No, ma'am," he replied stolidly. "Mrs. Atkinson told me, and she said
+that Mr. Pickerin' had ta'en his solemn oath te do't in t' presence of
+t' super and t' squire!"
+
+"Do what?" was the chorus.
+
+"Why, marry Betsy, to be sure, as soon as he can be led te t' church.
+What else is there?"
+
+This stupendous addition to the flood of excitement carried away even
+Martha Bolland for the moment. In her surprise she set a plate for
+Benson with the others, and, after that, the paramount rite of
+hospitality prevented her from "having it out wi' him" until hunger was
+sated. Then, however, she let him "feel the edge of her tongue"; he was
+so flustered that John had to restore his mental poise with another pint
+of ale.
+
+Meanwhile, Martin managed to steal out unobserved, and made the best of
+his way to The Elms. Although in happier mood, he was not wholly pleased
+with his errand. He was not afraid of Mrs. Saumarez--far from it, but he
+did not know how to fulfill his mission and at the same time exonerate
+Angele. His chivalrous nature shrank from blaming her, yet his unaided
+wits were not equal to the task of restoring so much money to her mother
+without answering truthfully the resultant deluge of questions.
+
+He was battling with this problem when, near The Elms, he encountered
+the Rev. Charles Herbert, M.A., vicar of Elmsdale, and his daughter
+Elsie.
+
+Martin doffed his straw hat readily, and would have passed, but the
+vicar hailed him.
+
+"Martin, is it correct that you were in the stableyard of the 'Black
+Lion' last night and saw something of this sad affair of Mr.
+Pickering's?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Martin blushed. The girl's blue eyes were fixed on his with the innocent
+curiosity of a fawn. She knew him well by sight, but they had never
+exchanged a word. He found himself wondering what her voice was like.
+Would she chatter with the excited volubility of Angele? Being better
+educated than he, would she pour forth a jargon of foreign words and
+slang? Angele was quiet as a mouse under her mother's eye. Was Elsie
+aping this demure demeanor because her father was present? Certainly,
+she looked a very different girl. Every curve of her pretty face, each
+line in her graceful contour, suggested modesty and nice manners. Why,
+he couldn't tell, but he knew instinctively that Elsie Herbert would
+have drawn back horrified from the mad romp overnight, and he was
+humbled in spirit before her.
+
+The worthy vicar never dreamed that the farmer's sturdy son was capable
+of deep emotion. He interpreted Martin's quick coloring to knowledge of
+a discreditable episode. He said to the girl:
+
+"I'll follow you home in a few minutes, my dear."
+
+Martin thought that an expression of disappointment swept across the
+clear eyes, but Elsie quitted them instantly. The boy had endured too
+much to be thus humiliated before one of his own age.
+
+"I would have said nothing to offend the young lady," he cried hotly.
+
+Very much taken aback, Mr. Herbert's eyebrows arched themselves above
+his spectacles.
+
+"My good boy," he said, "I did not choose that my daughter should hear
+the--er--offensive details of this--er--stabbing affray, or worse, that
+took place at the inn."
+
+"But you didn't mind slighting me in her presence, sir," was the
+unexpected retort.
+
+"I am not slighting you. Had I met Mr. Beckett-Smythe and sought
+information as to this matter, I would still have asked her to go on to
+the Vicarage."
+
+This was a novel point of view for Martin. He reddened again.
+
+"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "Everything has gone wrong with me to-day. I
+didn't mean to be rude."
+
+The vicar deemed him a strange youth, but tacitly accepted the apology,
+and drew from Martin the story of the night's doings.
+
+It shocked him to hear that Martin and Frank Beckett-Smythe were
+fighting in the yard of the "Black Lion" at such an hour.
+
+"How came you to be there?" he said gently. "You do not attend my
+church, Martin, but I have always regarded Mr. Bolland as a God-fearing
+man, and your teacher has told me that you are gifted with intelligence
+and qualities beyond your years or station in life."
+
+"I was there quite by accident, sir, and I couldn't avoid the fight."
+
+"What caused it?"
+
+"We fought to settle that question, sir, and it's finished now."
+
+The vicar laughed.
+
+"Which means you will not tell me. Well, I am no disbeliever in a manly
+display of fisticuffs. It breaks no bones and saves many a boy from the
+growth of worse qualities. I suppose you are going to the fair this
+afternoon?"
+
+"No, sir. I'm not."
+
+"Would you mind telling me how you will pass the time between now and
+supper?"
+
+"I am taking a message from my mother to Mrs. Saumarez, and then I'll go
+straight to the Black Plantation"--a dense clump of firs situate at the
+head of the ghylls, or small valleys, leading from the cultivated land
+up to the moor.
+
+"Dear me! And what will you do there?"
+
+The boy smiled, somewhat sheepishly.
+
+"I have a nest in a tree there, sir, where I often sit and read."
+
+"What do you read?"
+
+"Just now, sir, I am reading Scott's poems."
+
+"Indeed. What books do you favor, as a rule?"
+
+Delighted to have a sympathetic listener, Martin forgot his troubles in
+pouring forth a catalogue of his favorite authors. The more Mr. Herbert
+questioned him the more eager and voluble he became. The boy had the
+rare faculty of absorbing the joys and sorrows, the noble sentiments,
+the very words of the heroes of romance, and in this scholarly gentleman
+he found an auditor who appreciated all that was hitherto dumb thought.
+
+Several people passing along the road wondered what "t' passon an' oad
+John Bolland's son were makkin' sike deed about," and the conversation
+must have lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, when the vicar heard the
+chimes of the church clock.
+
+He laughed genially. Although, on his part, there was an underlying
+motive in the conversation, Martin had fairly carried it far afield.
+
+"You have had your revenge on me for sending my daughter away," he
+cried. "My lunch will be cold. Now, will you do me a favor?"
+
+"Of course, sir; anything you ask."
+
+"Nay, Martin, make that promise to no man. But this lies within your
+scope. About four o'clock leave your crow's nest and drop over to Thor
+ghyll. I may be there."
+
+Overjoyed at the prospect of a renewed chat on topics dear to his heart,
+the boy ran off, light-heartedly, to The Elms. His task seemed easier
+now. The wholesome breeze of intercourse with a cultivated mind had
+momentarily swept into the background a host of unpleasing things.
+
+He found he could not see Mrs. Saumarez, so he asked for Miss Walker.
+The lady came. She was prim and severe. Instantly he detected a note of
+hostility which her first words put beyond doubt.
+
+"My mother sent me to return some money to Mrs. Saumarez," he explained.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez is ill. Mrs. Bolland must wait until she recovers. As for
+you, you bad boy, I wonder you dare show your face here."
+
+Martin never flinched from a difficulty.
+
+"Why?" he demanded. "What have I done?"
+
+"Can you ask? To drag that poor little mite of a girl into such horrible
+scenes as those which took place in the village? Be off! You just wait
+until Mrs. Saumarez is better, and you will hear more of it."
+
+With that, she slammed the door on him.
+
+So Angele had posed as a simpleton, and he was the villain. This phase
+of the medley amused him. He was retreating down the drive, when he
+heard his name called. He turned. A window on the ground floor opened,
+and Mrs. Saumarez appeared, leaning unsteadily on the sill.
+
+"Come here!" she cried imperiously.
+
+Somehow she puzzled, indeed flustered, him. For one thing, her attire
+was bizarre. Usually dressed with unexceptionable taste, to-day she wore
+a boudoir wrap--a costly robe, but adjusted without care, and all untidy
+about neck and breast. Her hair was coiled loosely, and stray wisps hung
+out in slovenly fashion. Her face, deathly white, save for dull red
+patches on the cheeks, served as a fit setting for unnaturally brilliant
+eyes which protruded from their sockets in a manner quite startling,
+while the veins on her forehead stood out like whipcord.
+
+Martin was utterly dismayed. He stood stock-still.
+
+"Come!" she said again, glaring at him with a curious fixity. "I want
+you. Francoise is not here, and I wish you to run an errand."
+
+Save for a strange thickness in her speech, she had never before
+reminded him so strongly of Angele. She had completely lost her
+customary air of repose. She spoke and acted like a peevish child.
+
+Anyhow, she had summoned him, and he could now discharge his trust. In
+such conditions, Martin seldom lacked words.
+
+"I asked for you at the door, ma'am," he explained, drawing nearer,
+"but Miss Walker said you were ill. My mother sent me to give you this."
+
+He produced the little parcel of money and essayed to hand it to her.
+She surveyed it with lackluster eyes.
+
+"What is it?" she said. "I do not understand. Here is plenty of money. I
+want you to go to the village, to the 'Black Lion,' and bring me a
+sovereign's worth of brandy."
+
+She held out a coin. They stood thus, proffering each other gold.
+
+"But this is yours, ma'am. I came to return it. I--er--borrowed some
+money from Ang--from Miss Saumarez--and mother said----"
+
+"Cease, boy. I do not understand, I tell you. Keep the money and bring
+me what I ask."
+
+In her eagerness she leaned so far out of the window that she nearly
+overbalanced. The sovereign fell among some flowers. With an effort she
+recovered an unsteady poise. Martin stooped to find the money. A door
+opened inside the house. A hot whisper reached him.
+
+"Tell no one. I'll watch for you in half an hour--remember--a
+sovereign's worth."
+
+The boy, not visible from the far side of the room, heard the voice of
+Francoise. The window closed with a bang. He discovered the coin and
+straightened himself. The maid was seating her mistress in a chair and
+apparently remonstrating with her. She picked up from the floor a
+wicker-covered Eau de Cologne bottle and turned it upside down with an
+angry gesture. It was empty.
+
+Martin, whose experience of intoxicated people was confined to the
+infrequent sight of a village toper, heavy with beer, lurching homeward
+in maudlin glee or fury, imagined that Mrs. Saumarez must be in some
+sort of fever. Obviously, those in attendance on her should be consulted
+before he brought her brandy secretly.
+
+Back he marched to the front door and rang the bell. Lest Miss Walker
+should shut him out again, he was inside the hall before anyone could
+answer his summons, for the doors of country houses remain unlocked all
+day. The elder sister reappeared, very starchy at this unheard-of
+impertinence.
+
+"I was forced to return, ma'am," he said civilly. "Mrs. Saumarez saw me
+in the drive and asked me to buy her some brandy. She gave me a
+sovereign. She looked very ill, so I thought it best to come and tell
+you."
+
+The lady was thoroughly nonplussed by this plain statement.
+
+"Oh," she stammered, so confused that he did not know what to make of
+her agitation, "this is very nice of you. She must not have brandy. It
+is--quite unsuitable--for her illness. It is really very good of you to
+tell me. I--er--I'm sorry I spoke so harshly just now, but--er----"
+
+"That's all right, ma'am. It was all a mistake. Will you kindly take
+charge of this sovereign, and also of the two pounds ten which Miss
+Angele lent me?"
+
+"Which Miss Angele lent you! Two pounds ten! I thought you said your
+mother----"
+
+"It is mine, please," said a voice from the broad landing above their
+heads. Angele skipped lightly down the stairs and held out her hand.
+Martin gave her the money.
+
+"I don't understand this, at all," said the mystified Miss Walker. "Does
+Mrs. Saumarez know----"
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez knows nothing. Neither does Martin."
+
+With wasp-like suddenness, the girl turned and faced a woman old enough
+to be her grandmother. Their eyes clashed. The child's look said
+plainly:
+
+"Dare to utter another word and I'll disgrace your house throughout the
+village."
+
+The woman yielded. She waved a protesting hand. "It is no business of
+mine. Thank you, Martin, for coming back."
+
+Angele lashed out at him next.
+
+"Allez, donc! I'll never speak to you again."
+
+She ran up the stairs. He stood irresolute.
+
+"Anyhow, not now," she added. "I may be out in an hour's time."
+
+Miss Walker was holding the door open. He hurried away, and Francoise
+saw him, wondering why he had called.
+
+And for hours thereafter, until night fell, a white-faced woman paced
+restlessly to and fro in the sitting-room, ever and anon raising the
+window, and watching for Martin's return with a fierce intensity that
+rendered her almost maniacal in appearance.
+
+Happily, the boy was unaware of the pitiful tragedy in the life of the
+rich and highly placed Mrs. Saumarez. While she waited, with a rage
+steadily dwindling into a wearied despair, he was passing, all
+unconsciously, into the next great phase of his career.
+
+He took one forward step into the unknown before leaving the tree-lined
+drive. He met Fritz, the chauffeur, who was so absorbed in the study of
+a folding road-map that he did not see Martin until the latter hailed
+him.
+
+"Hello!" was the boy's cheery greeting. "That affair is ended. Please
+don't say anything to Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+The German closed the map.
+
+"Whad iss ented?" he inquired, surveying Martin with a cool hauteur rare
+in chauffeurs.
+
+"Why, last night's upset in the village."
+
+"Ah, yez. Id iss nod my beeznez."
+
+"I didn't quite mean that. But there's no use in getting Miss Angele
+into a row, is there?"
+
+"Dat iss zo. Vere do you leeve?"
+
+"At the White House Farm."
+
+"Vere de brize caddle are?"
+
+Martin smiled. He had never before heard English spoken with a strong
+German accent. Somehow he associated these resonant syllables with a
+certain indefinite stress which Mrs. Saumarez laid on a few words.
+
+"Yes," he said. "My father's herd is well known."
+
+Fritz's manner became genial.
+
+"Zome tay you vill show me, yez?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll be very pleased. And will you explain your car to me--the engine,
+I mean?"
+
+"Komm now."
+
+"Sorry, but I have an engagement."
+
+There was plenty of time at Martin's disposal, but he did not want to
+loiter about The Elms that afternoon. This man was a paid servant who
+could hardly refuse to carry out any reasonable order, and it would have
+been awkward for Martin if Mrs. Saumarez asked him to give Fritz the
+sovereign she had intrusted to his keeping.
+
+"All aright," agreed the chauffeur, whose strong, intellectual face was
+now altogether amiable; in fact, a white scar on his left cheek creased
+so curiously when he grinned that his aspect was almost comical. "We
+vill meed when all dis noise sdops, yez?" and he waved a hand toward the
+distant drone of the fair.
+
+Thus began for Martin another strange friendship--a friendship destined
+to end so fantastically that if the manner of its close were foretold
+then and there by any prophet, the mere telling might have brought the
+seer to the madhouse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE WILDCAT
+
+
+It was nearly three o'clock when Martin re-entered the village. Outside
+the boxing booth a huge placard announced, in sprawling characters, that
+the first round of the boxing competition would start punctually at 3
+P.M. "Owing to the illness of Mr. George Pickering, deeply regretted,"
+another referee would be appointed.
+
+It cost the boy a pang to stride on. He would have dearly liked to watch
+the display of pugilism. He might have gone inside the tent for an hour
+and still kept his tryst with Mr. Herbert, but John Bolland's dour
+teaching had scored grooves in his consciousness not readily effaced.
+The folly of last night must be atoned in some way, and he punished
+himself deliberately now by going straight home.
+
+The house was only a little less thronged than the "Black Lion," so he
+made his way unobserved to the great pile of dry bracken in which he hid
+books borrowed from the school library. Ten minutes later he was seated
+in the fork of a tree full thirty feet from the ground and consoling
+himself for loss of the reality by reading of a fight far more
+picturesque in detail--the Homeric combat between FitzJames and Roderick
+Dhu.
+
+From his perch he could see the church clock. Shortly before the
+appointed hour he climbed down and surmounted the ridge which divided
+the Black Plantation from Thor ghyll. It was a rough passage, naught
+save gray rock and flowering ling, or heather, growing so wild and bushy
+that in parts it overtopped his height. But Martin was sure-footed as a
+goat. Across the plateau and down the tree-clad slope on the other side
+he sped, until he reached a point whence he could obtain a comprehensive
+view of the winding glen.
+
+On a stretch of turf by the side of the silvery beck that rushed so
+frantically from the moorland to the river, he spied a small garden
+tent. In front was a table spread with china and cakes, while a copper
+kettle, burnished so brightly that it shone like gold in the sunlight,
+was suspended over a spirit lamp. Mr. Herbert was there, and an elderly
+lady, his aunt, who acted as his housekeeper--also Elsie and her
+governess and two young gentlemen who "read" with the vicar during the
+long vacation. Evidently a country picnic was toward; Martin was at a
+loss to know why he had been invited.
+
+Perhaps they wished him to guide them over the moor to some distant glen
+or to the early British camp two miles away. Sometimes a tourist
+wandering through Elmsdale called at the farm for information, and
+Martin would be dispatched with the inquirer to show the way.
+
+It was a pity that Mr. Herbert had not mentioned his desire, as the
+daily reading of the Bible was due in an hour, and most certainly,
+to-day of all days, Martin must be punctual.
+
+If his brain were busy, his eye was clear. He sprang from rock to rock
+like a chamois. Once he swung himself down a small precipice by the
+tough root of a whin. He knew the root was there, and had already tested
+its capabilities, but the gathering beneath watched him with dismay,
+for the feat looked hazardous in the extreme. In a couple of minutes he
+had descended two hundred feet of exceedingly rough going. He stopped at
+the beck to wash his hands and dry them on his handkerchief. Then he
+approached the group.
+
+"Do you always descend the ghyll in that fashion, Martin?" cried the
+vicar.
+
+"Yes, sir. It is the nearest way."
+
+"A man might say that who fell out of a balloon."
+
+"But I have been up and down there twenty times, sir."
+
+"Well, well; my imaginary balloonist could make no such answer. Sit down
+and have some tea. Elsie, this is young Martin Bolland, of whom I have
+been telling you."
+
+The girl smiled in a very friendly way and brought Martin a cup of tea
+and a plate of cakes. So he was a guest, and introduced by the vicar to
+his daughter! How kind this was of Mr. Herbert! How delighted Mrs.
+Bolland would be when she heard of it, for, however strict her
+Nonconformity, the vicar was still a social power in the village, and
+second only to the Beckett-Smythes in the estimation of the parish.
+
+At first poor Martin was tongue-tied. He answered in monosyllables when
+the vicar or Mrs. Johnson, the old lady, spoke to him; but to Elsie he
+said not a word. She, too, was at a loss how to interest him, until she
+noticed a book in his pocket. When told that it was Scott's poems she
+said pleasantly that a month ago she went with her father to a place
+called Greta Bridge and visited many of the scenes described in
+"Rokeby."
+
+Unhappily, Martin had not read "Rokeby." He resolved to devour it at the
+first opportunity, but for the nonce it offered no conversational
+handle. He remained dumb, yet all the while he was comparing Elsie with
+Angele, and deciding privately that girls brought up as ladies in
+England were much nicer than those reared in the places which Angele
+named so glibly.
+
+But his star was propitious that day. One of the young men happened to
+notice a spot where a large patch of heather had been sliced off the
+face of the moor.
+
+He asked Mr. Herbert what use the farmers made of it.
+
+"Nothing that I can recall," said the vicar, a man who, living in the
+country, knew little of its ways; "perhaps Martin can tell you."
+
+"We make besoms of it, sir," was the ready reply, "but that space has
+been cleared by the keepers so that the young grouse may have fresh
+green shoots to feed on."
+
+Here was a topic on which he was crammed with information. His face grew
+animated, his eyes sparkled, the words came fast and were well chosen.
+As he spoke, the purple moor, the black firs, the meadows, the corn land
+red with poppies, became peopled with fur and feather. On the hilltops
+the glorious black cock, in the woods the dandy pheasant and swift
+pigeon, among the meadows and crops the whirring partridge, became
+actualities, present, but unseen. There were plenty of hares on the
+arable land and the rising ground; as for rabbits, they swarmed
+everywhere.
+
+"This ghyll will be alive with them in little more than an hour," said
+Martin confidently. "I shouldn't be surprised, if we had a dog and put
+him among those whins, but half-a-dozen rabbits would bolt out in all
+directions."
+
+"Please, can I be a little bow-wow?" cried Elsie. She sprang to her feet
+and ran toward the clump of gorse and bracken he had pointed out,
+imitating a dog's bark as she went.
+
+"Take care of the thorns," shouted Martin, making after her more
+leisurely.
+
+She paused on the verge of the tangled mass of vegetation and said,
+"Shoo!"
+
+"That's no good," he laughed. "You must walk through and kick the thick
+clumps of grass--this way."
+
+He plunged into the midst of the gorse. She followed. Not a rabbit
+budged.
+
+"That's odd," he said, rustling the undergrowth vigorously. "There ought
+to be a lot here."
+
+"You know Angele Saumarez?" said the girl suddenly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He ceased beating the bushes and looked at her fixedly, the question was
+so unexpected. Yet Angele had asked him the selfsame question concerning
+Elsie Herbert. One girl resembled another as two peas in a pod.
+
+"Do you like her?"
+
+"I think I do, sometimes."
+
+"Do you think she is pretty?"
+
+"Yes, often."
+
+"What do you mean by 'sometimes,' 'often?' How can a girl be
+pretty--'often'?"
+
+"Well, you see, I think she is nice in many ways, and that if--she knew
+you--and copied your manner--your voice, and style, and behavior--she
+would improve very greatly."
+
+Martin had recovered his wits. Elsie tittered and blushed slightly.
+
+"Really!" she said, and recommenced the kicking process with ardor.
+
+Suddenly, with a fierce snarl, an animal of some sort flew at her. She
+had a momentary vision of a pair of blazing eyes, bared teeth, and
+extended claws. She screamed and turned her head. In that instant a
+wildcat landed on her back and a vicious claw reached for her face. But
+Martin was at her side. Without a second's hesitation he seized the
+growling brute in both hands and tore it from off her shoulders. His
+right hand was around its neck, but he strove in vain to grasp the small
+of its back in the left. It wriggled and scratched with the ferocity of
+an undersized tiger. Martin's coat sleeves and shirt were slashed to
+shreds, his waistcoat was rent, and deep gashes were cut in his arms,
+but he held on gamely.
+
+Mr. Herbert and the others ran up, but came unarmed. They had not even a
+stick. The vicar, with some presence of mind, rushed back and wrenched a
+leg from the camp table, but by the time he returned the cat was moving
+its limbs in its final spasms, for Martin had choked it to death.
+
+The vicar danced about with his improvised weapon, imploring the boy to
+"throw it down and let me whack the life out of it," but Martin was
+enraged with the pain and the damage to his clothing. In his anger he
+felt that he could wrench the wretched beast limb from limb, and he
+might have endeavored to do that very thing were it not for the presence
+of Elsie Herbert. As it was, when the cat fell to the ground its
+struggles had ended, but Mr. Herbert gave it a couple of hearty blows to
+make sure.
+
+It was a tremendous brute, double the size of its domestic progenitors.
+At one period in its career it had been caught in a rabbit trap, for one
+of its forelegs was removed at the joint, and the calloused stump was
+hard as a bit of stone.
+
+A chorus of praise for Martin's promptitude and courage was cut short
+when he took the table leg and went back to the clump of gorse.
+
+"I thought it was curious that there were no rabbits here," he said.
+"Now I know why. This cat has a litter of kittens hidden among the
+whins."
+
+"Are you gug-gug-going to kuk-kuk-kill them?" sobbed Elsie.
+
+He paused in his murderous search.
+
+"It makes no matter now," he said, laughing. "I'll tell the keeper.
+Wildcats eat up an awful lot of game."
+
+His coolness, his absolute disregard of the really serious cuts he had
+received, were astounding to the town-bred men. The vicar was the first
+to recover some degree of composure.
+
+"Martin," he cried, "come this instant and have your wounds washed and
+bound up. You are losing a great deal of blood, and that brute's claws
+may have been venomous."
+
+The boy obeyed at once. He presented a sorry spectacle. His arms and
+hands were bathed in blood and his clothes were splashed with it.
+
+Elsie Herbert's eyes filled with tears.
+
+"This is nothing," he said to cheer her. "They're only scratches, but
+they look bad."
+
+As a matter of fact, he did not realize until long afterwards that were
+it not for the fortunate accident which deprived the cat of her off
+foreleg, some of the tendons of his right wrist might have been severed.
+From the manner in which he held her she could not get the effective
+claws to bear crosswise.
+
+The vicar looked grave when a first dip in the brook revealed the extent
+of the boy's injuries.
+
+"You are plucky enough to bear the application of a little brine,
+Martin?" he said.
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he emptied the contents of a paper of
+salt into a teacup and dissolved it in hot water. Then he washed the
+wounds again in the brook and bound them with handkerchiefs soaked in
+the mixture. It was a rough-and-ready cauterization, and the pain made
+Martin white, but later on it earned the commendation of the doctor. Mr.
+Herbert was pallid himself when Elsie handed him the last handkerchief
+they could muster, while Mrs. Johnson was already tearing the tablecloth
+into strips.
+
+"It is bad enough to have your wrists scored in this way, my lad," he
+murmured, "but it will be some consolation for you to know that
+otherwise these cuts would have been in my little girl's face, perhaps
+her eyes--great Heaven!--her eyes!"
+
+The vicar could have chosen no better words. Martin's heart throbbed
+with pride. At last the bandages were secured and the tattered sleeve
+turned down. All this consumed nearly half an hour, and then Martin
+remembered a forgotten duty.
+
+"What time is it?" he said anxiously.
+
+"A quarter past five."
+
+"Oh, bother!" he murmured. "I'll get into another row. I have missed my
+Bible lesson."
+
+"Your Bible lesson?"
+
+"Yes, sir. My father makes me read a portion of Scripture every day."
+
+The vicar passed unnoticed the boy's unconsciously resentful tone. He
+sighed, but straightway resumed his wonted cheeriness.
+
+"There will be no row to-day, Martin," he promised. "We shall escort you
+home in triumphal procession. We leave the things here for my man, who
+will bring a pony and cart in a few minutes. Now, you two, tie the hind
+legs of that beast with a piece of string and carry it on the stick. The
+cat is Martin's _spolia opima_. Here, Elsie, guide your warrior's
+faltering footsteps down the glen."
+
+They all laughed, but by the time they reached the White House the boy
+was ready to drop, for he had lost a quantity of blood, and the torment
+of the saline solution was becoming intolerable.
+
+John Bolland, after waiting with growing impatience long after the
+appointed time, closed the Bible with a bang and went downstairs.
+
+"What's wrang wi' ye now?" inquired his spouse as he dropped morosely
+into a chair and answered but sourly a hearty greeting from a visitor.
+
+"Where's that lad?" he growled.
+
+"Martin. Hasn't he come yam?"
+
+She trembled for her adopted son's remissness on this, the first day
+after the great rebellion.
+
+"Yam!"--with intense bitterness--"he's not likely te hearken te t' Word
+when he's encouraged in guile."
+
+"Eh, but there's some good cause this time," cried the old lady, more
+flustered than she cared to show. "Happen he's bin asked to see t'
+squire again."
+
+"T' squire left Elmsdale afore noon," was the gruff reply.
+
+Then the vicar entered, and Elsie, leading Martin, and the two pupils
+carrying the gigantic cat. Mrs. Johnson and the governess-companion had
+remained with the tent and would drive home in the dogcart.
+
+Mr. Herbert's glowing account of Martin's conduct, combined with a
+judicious reference to his anxiety when he discovered that the hour for
+his lesson had passed, placed even Bolland in a good humor. Once again
+the boy filled the mouths of the multitude, since nothing would serve
+the farmhands but they must carry off the cat to the fair for exhibition
+before they skinned it.
+
+The doctor came, waylaid on his return from the "Black Lion." He removed
+the salt-soaked bandages, washed the wounds in tepid water, examined
+them carefully, and applied some antiseptic dressing, of which he had a
+supply in his dogcart for the benefit of George Pickering.
+
+"An' how is Mr. Pickerin' te-night?" inquired Mrs. Bolland, who was
+horrified at first by the sight of Martin's damages, but reassured when
+the doctor said the boy would be all right in a day or two.
+
+"Not so well, Mrs. Bolland," was the answer.
+
+"Oh, ye don't say so. Poor chap! Is it wuss than ye feared for?"
+
+"No; the wound is progressing favorably, but he is feverish. I don't
+like that. Fever is weakening."
+
+No more would the doctor say, and Mrs. Bolland soon forgot the
+sufferings of another in her distress at Martin's condition. She
+particularly lamented that he should be laid up during the Feast.
+
+At that the patient laughed.
+
+"Surely I can go out, doctor!" he cried.
+
+"Go out, you imp! Of course, you can. But, remember, no larking about
+and causing these cuts to reopen. Better stay in the house until I see
+you in the morning."
+
+So Martin, fearless of consequences, hunted up "Rokeby," and read it
+with an interest hardly lessened by the fact that that particular poem
+is the least exciting of the magician's verse. At last the light failed
+and the table was laid for supper, so the boy's reading was disturbed.
+More than once he fancied he had heard at the back of the house a long,
+shrill whistle which sounded familiar. Curiosity led him to the meadow.
+He waited a little while, and again the whistle came from the lane.
+
+"Who is it?" he called.
+
+"Me. Is that you, Martin?"
+
+"Me" was Tommy Beadlam, but his white top did not shine in the dark.
+
+"What's up?"
+
+"Come nearer. I mustn't shout."
+
+Wondering what mystery was afoot, Martin approached the hedge.
+
+"Yon lass," whispered Tommy--"I can't say her name, but ye ken fine
+wheae 'tis--she's i' t' fair ageaen."
+
+"What! Angele?"
+
+"That's her. She gemme sixpence te coom an' tell yer. I've bin whistlin'
+till me lips is sore."
+
+"You tell her from me she is a bad girl and ought to go home at once."
+
+"Not me! She'd smack my feaece."
+
+"Well, I can't get out. I've had an accident and must go to bed soon."
+
+"There's a rare yarn about you an' a cat. I seed it. Honest truth--did
+you really kill it wi' your hands?"
+
+"Yes; but it gave me something first. Can you see? My arms and left hand
+are all bound up."
+
+"An' it jumped fust on Elsie Herbert?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"An' yer grabbed it offen her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Gosh! Yon lass is fair wild te hear all about it. She greeted when
+Evelyn Atkinson telt her yer were nearly dead, but yan o' t' farmhands
+kem along an' we axed him, an' he said ye were nowt worse."
+
+Martin's heart softened when he heard of Angele's tears, but he was
+sorry she should have stolen out a second time to mix with the rabble of
+the village.
+
+"I can't come out to-night," he said firmly.
+
+"Happen ye'd be able to see her if I browt her here?"
+
+The white head evidently held brains, but Martin had sufficient strength
+of character to ask himself what his new friends, the Herbert family,
+would think if they knew he was only too willing to dance to any tune
+the temptress played.
+
+"No, no," he cried, retreating a pace or two. "You must not bring her.
+I'm going to supper and straight to bed. And, look here, Tommy. Try and
+persuade her to go home. If you and Jim Bates and the others take her
+round the fair to-night you'll all get into trouble. You ought to have
+heard the parson to-day, and Miss Walker, too. I wouldn't be in your
+shoes for more than sixpence."
+
+This was crafty counsel. Beadlam, after consulting Jim Bates,
+communicated it to Angele. She stared with wide-open eyes at the
+doubting pair.
+
+"Misericorde!" she cried. "Were there ever such idiots! Because he
+cannot come himself, he doesn't want me to be with you."
+
+There was something in this. Their judgment wavered, and--and--Angele
+had lots of money.
+
+But she laughed them to scorn.
+
+"Do you think I want you!" she screamed. "Bah! I spit at you. Evelyn, ma
+cherie, walk with me to The Elms. I want to hear all about the man who
+was stabbed and the woman who stabbed him."
+
+Thereupon, Evelyn and one of her sisters went off with a girl whom they
+hated. But she was clever, in their estimation, and pretty, and well
+dressed, and, oh, so rich! Above all, she was not "stuck up" like Elsie
+Herbert, but laughed at their simple wit, and was ready to sink to their
+level.
+
+Martin, taking thought before he slept, wondered why Angele had not come
+openly to the farm. It did not occur to him that Angele dared not face
+John Bolland. The child feared the dour old farmer. She dreaded a single
+look from the shrewd eyes which seemed to search her very soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+DEEPENING SHADOWS
+
+
+The doctor came late next morning. He did not reach Elmsdale until after
+eleven o'clock. He called first at the White House and handed Mrs.
+Bolland a small package.
+
+"These are the handkerchiefs I took away yesterday," he said. "I suppose
+they belong to Mr. Herbert's household. My servant has washed them. Will
+you see that they are returned?"
+
+"Mercy o' me!" cried Martha. "I nivver knew ye took 'em. What did ye
+want 'em for, docthor?"
+
+"There might have been some malignant substance--some poisonous
+matter--in the cat's claws, and as the county analyst was engaged at my
+place on some other business I--Oh, come now, Mrs. Bolland, there's no
+need to be alarmed. Martin's wounds were cleansed, and the salt applied
+to the raw edges so promptly, that any danger which might have existed
+was stopped effectually."
+
+Yet the doctor's cheery face was grave that morning and his brow was
+wrinkled as he unfastened the bandages. Beyond a slight stiffness of
+certain sinews and the natural soreness of the cut flesh, Martin had
+never felt better in his life. After a disturbed slumber, when he
+dreamed that he was choking a wildcat--a cat with Angele's face which
+changed suddenly in death to Elsie Herbert's smiling features--he lay
+awake for some hours. Then the pain in his wrists abated gradually, he
+fell sound asleep, and Mrs. Bolland took care that he was left alone
+until he awoke of his own accord at half-past eight, an unprecedented
+hour.
+
+So the boy laughed at his mother's fears. Her lips quivered, and she
+tried to choke back a sob. The doctor turned on her angrily.
+
+"Stop that!" he growled. "I suppose you think I'm hoodwinking you. It is
+not so. I am very much worried about another matter altogether, so
+please accept my assurance that Martin is all right. He can run about
+all day, if he likes. The only consequence of disturbing these cuts will
+be that they cannot heal rapidly. Otherwise, they will be closed
+completely by the end of the week."
+
+While he talked he worked. The dressings were changed and fresh lint
+applied. He handed Mrs. Bolland a store of materials.
+
+"There," he said, "I need not come again, but I'll call on Monday, just
+to satisfy you. Apply the lotion morning and night. Good-by, Martin. You
+did a brave thing, I hear. Good-by, Mrs. Bolland."
+
+He closed his bag hurriedly and rushed away. Mrs. Bolland, drying her
+eyes, and quite satisfied now, went to the door and gazed after him.
+
+"He's fair rattled wi' summat," she told another portly dame who labored
+up the incline at the moment. "He a'most snapped my head off. Did he
+think a body wouldn't be scared wi' his talk about malignous p'ison i'
+t' lad's bluid, I wonder?"
+
+The doctor did not pull up outside the "Black Lion." He drove to the
+Vicarage--a circumstance which would most certainly have given Mrs.
+Bolland renewed cause for alarm, were she aware of it--and asked Mr.
+Herbert to walk in the garden with him for a few minutes.
+
+The two conversed earnestly, and the vicar seemed to be greatly shocked
+at the outcome of their talk. At last they arrived at a decision. The
+doctor hastened back to the "Black Lion." He did not remain long in the
+sick room, but scribbled a note downstairs and gave it to his man.
+
+"Take that to Mr. Herbert," he said. "I'll make a few calls on foot and
+meet you at the bridge in a quarter of an hour."
+
+The note read:
+
+"There is no hope. Things are exactly as I feared."
+
+The vicar, looking most woebegone, murmured that there was no answer. He
+procured his hat and walked slowly to the inn, which was crowded, inside
+and out. Nearly every man knew him and spoke to him, and many noted that
+"t' passon looked varra down i' t' mooth this mornin'."
+
+He went upstairs. The conjecture flew around at once that Pickering was
+worse. Someone remembered that Kitty Thwaites said the patient had
+experienced a touch of fever overnight. Surely, his wound had not
+developed serious symptoms. The chief herd of his Nottonby estate had
+seen him during the preceding afternoon and found his master looking
+wonderfully well. Indeed, Pickering spoke of attending to some business
+matter in person on Saturday, or on Monday for certain. Why, then, the
+vicar's visit? What did it portend? People gathered in small groups and
+their voices softened. By contrast, the blare of lively music and the
+whistle of the roundabout were intolerably loud.
+
+In the quiet room at the back of the hotel, with its scent of iodoform
+mingling with the sweet breath of the garden wafted in through an open
+window, Pickering moved restlessly in bed. His face was flushed, his
+eyes singularly bright, with a glistening sheen that was abnormal.
+
+By his side sat the pallid Betsy, reading a newspaper aloud. She
+followed the printed text with difficulty. Her mind was troubled. The
+fatigue of nursing was nothing to one of her healthy frame, but her
+thoughts were terrifying. She lived in a waking nightmare. Had she dared
+to weep, she might have felt relief, but this sure solace of womankind
+was denied her.
+
+The vicar's entrance caused a sensation. Betsy, in a quick access of
+fear, dropped the paper, and Pickering's face blanched. Some secret
+doubt, some inner monitor, brought a premonition of what was to come. He
+flinched from the knowledge, but only for a moment.
+
+Mr. Herbert essayed most gallantly to adopt his customary cheerful mien.
+
+"Dr. MacGregor asked me to call and see you, George," he said. "I hope
+you are not suffering greatly."
+
+"Not at all, thanks, vicar. Just a trifle restless with fever, perhaps,
+but the wound is nothing, a mere cut. I've had as bad a scratch and much
+more painful when thrusting through a thorn hedge after hounds."
+
+"Ah. That is well."
+
+The reverend gentleman seemed to be strangely at a loss for words. He
+glanced at Betsy.
+
+"Would you mind leaving me alone with Mr. Pickering for a little while?"
+he said.
+
+The wounded man laughed, and there was a note in his voice that showed
+how greatly the tension had relaxed.
+
+"If that's what you're after, Mr. Herbert," he said promptly, "you may
+rest assured that the moment I'm able to stir we'll be married. I told
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe so yesterday."
+
+"Indeed; I am glad to hear it. Nevertheless, I want to talk with you
+alone."
+
+The vicar's insistence was a different thing to the wish expressed by a
+magistrate and a police superintendent. Betsy went out at once.
+
+For an appreciable time after the door had closed no word was spoken by
+either of the men. The vicar's eyes were fixed mournfully on the valley,
+through which a train was winding its way. The engine left in its track
+white wraiths of steam which vanished under the lusty rays of the sun.
+The drone of the showman's organ playing "Tommy Atkins" reached the
+hardly conscious listeners as through a telephone. From a distant
+cornfield came the busy rattle of a reaping machine. The harvest had
+commenced a fortnight earlier than usual. Once again was the bounteous
+earth giving to man a hundredfold what he had sown. "As ye sow, so shall
+ye reap." Out there in the field were garnered the wages of honest
+endeavor; here in the room, with its hospital perfume, were being
+awarded the wages of sin, for George Pickering was condemned to death,
+and it was the vicar's most doleful mission to warn him of his doom.
+
+"Now, Mr. Herbert, pitch into me as much as you like," said the patient,
+breaking an uneasy silence. "I've been a bad lot, but I'll try to make
+amends. Betsy's case is a hard one. You're a man of the world and you
+know what the majority of these village lasses are like; but Betsy----"
+
+The vicar could bear the suspense no longer. He must perform his task,
+no matter what the cost.
+
+"George," he broke in tremulously, "my presence here to-day is due to a
+very sad and irrevocable fact. Dr. MacGregor tells me that your
+condition is serious, most serious. Indeed--indeed--there is no hope of
+your recovery."
+
+Pickering, who had raised himself on an elbow, gazed at the speaker for
+an instant with fiery eyes. Then, as though he grasped the purport of
+the words but gradually, he sank back on the pillow in the manner of one
+pressed down by overwhelming force. The vicar moved his chair nearer and
+grasped his friend's right hand.
+
+"George," he murmured, "bear up, and try to prepare your soul for that
+which is inevitable. What are you losing? A few years of joys and
+sorrows, to which the end must come. And the end is eternity, compared
+with which this life is but a passing shadow."
+
+Pickering did not answer immediately. He raised his body again. He moved
+his limbs freely. He looked at a square bony wrist and stretched out the
+free hand until he caught an iron rail, which he clenched fiercely. In
+his veins ran the blood of a race of yeomen. His hardy ancestors had
+exchanged blow for blow with Scottish raiders who sought to steal their
+cattle. They had cracked the iron rind of many a marauder, broken many
+a border skull in defense of their lives and property. Never had they
+feared death by flood or field, and their descendant scoffed at the grim
+vision now.
+
+"What nonsense is this MacGregor has been talking?" he shouted. "Die! A
+man like me! By gad, vicar, I'd laugh, if I wasn't too vexed!"
+
+"Be patient, George, and hear me. Things are worse than you can guess.
+Your wound alone is a small matter, but, unfortunately, the knife----"
+
+"There was no knife! It was a pitchfork!"
+
+"Bear with me, I pray you. You will need to conserve your energy, and
+your protest only makes my duty the harder. The knife has been submitted
+to analysis, as well as corpuscles of your blood. Alas, that it should
+fall to me to tell it! Alas, for the poor girl whom you have declared
+your intention to marry! The knife had been used to carve grouse, and
+some putrid matter from a shot wound had dried on the blade. This was
+communicated to your system. The wound was cleansed too late. Your blood
+was poisoned before the doctor saw you, and--and--there is no hope now."
+
+The vicar bowed his head. He dared not look in the eyes of the man to
+whom he was conveying this dire sentence. He felt Pickering subsiding
+gently to the pillow and straightening his limbs.
+
+"How long?"
+
+The words were uttered in a singularly calm voice--so calm that the
+pastor ventured to raise his sorrow-laden face.
+
+"Soon. Perhaps three days. Perhaps a week. But you will be delirious.
+You have little time in which to prepare."
+
+Again a silence. A faint shriek reached them from afar, the whistle of
+the train entering Nottonby, the pleasant little town which Pickering
+would never more see.
+
+"What a finish!" he muttered. "I'd have liked it better in the saddle. I
+wouldn't have cared a damn if I broke my neck after hounds."
+
+Another pause, and the vicar said gently:
+
+"Have you made your will?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then it must be attended to at once."
+
+"Yes, of course. Then, there's Betsy. Oh, God, I've treated her badly.
+Now, help me, won't you? There's a hundred pounds in notes and some
+twenty-odd in gold in that drawer. Telegraph first to Stockwell, my
+lawyer in Nottonby. Bring him here. Then, spare no money in getting a
+license for my marriage. I can't die unless that is put right. Don't
+delay, there's a good chap. You have to apply to the Archbishop, don't
+you? You'll do everything, I know. Will you be a trustee under my will?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish it."
+
+"It'll please me more than anything. Of course, I'll make it worth your
+while. I insist, I tell you. Go, now! Don't lose a moment. Send Betsy.
+And, vicar, for Heaven's sake, not a word to her until we are married.
+I'll tell her the fever is serious; just that, and no more."
+
+"One other matter, George. Mr. Beckett-Smythe will come here to-day or
+to-morrow to take your sworn deposition. You must not die with a lie on
+your conscience, however good the motive."
+
+"I'll jump that fence when I reach it, Mr. Herbert. Meanwhile, the
+lawyer and the license. They're all-important."
+
+The vicar left it at that. He deemed it best to take the urgent measures
+of the hour off the man's mind before endeavoring to turn his thoughts
+toward a fitting preparation for the future state. With a reassuring
+handclasp, he left him.
+
+The two sisters waylaid him in the passage.
+
+"Ye had but ill news, I fear, sir," said Betsy despairingly, catching
+Mr. Herbert by the arm.
+
+The worried man stooped to deception.
+
+"Now, why should you jump to conclusions?" he cried. "Dr. MacGregor
+asked me to look up his patient. Am I a harbinger of disaster, like
+Mother Carey's chickens?"
+
+"Oh, parson," she wailed, "I read it i' yer face, an' in t' doctor's.
+Don't tell me all is well. I know better. Pray God I may die----"
+
+"Hush, my poor girl, you know not what you say. Go to Mr. Pickering. He
+wants you."
+
+He knew the appeal would be successful. She darted off. Before Kitty, in
+turn, could question him, he escaped.
+
+It was easier to run the gantlet of friendly inquirers outside. He
+telegraphed to the solicitor and sent a telegraphic remittance of the
+heavy fees demanded for the special license. Within two hours he had the
+satisfaction of knowing that the precious document was in the post and
+would reach him next morning.
+
+Mr. Stockwell's protests against Pickering's testamentary designs were
+cut short by his client.
+
+"Look here, Stockwell," was the irritated comment, "you are an old
+friend of mine and I'd like this matter to remain in your hands, but if
+you say another word I'll be forced to send for someone else."
+
+"If you put it that way----" began the lawyer.
+
+"I do, most emphatically. Now, what is it to be? Yes or no?"
+
+For answer the legal man squared some foolscap sheets on a small table
+and produced a stylographic pen.
+
+"Let me understand clearly," he said. "You intend to marry
+this--er--lady, and mean to settle four hundred a year on her for life?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Suppose she marries again?"
+
+"God in heaven, man, do you think I want to play dog-in-the-manger in my
+grave?"
+
+"Then it had better take the form of a marriage settlement. It is the
+strongest instrument known in the law and avoids the death duties."
+
+Pickering winced, but the lawyer went on remorselessly. He regarded the
+marriage as a wholly quixotic notion, and knew only too well that Betsy
+Thwaites would be tried for murder if Pickering died.
+
+"Have you no relatives?" he said. "I seem to recollect----"
+
+"My cousin Stanhope? He's quite well off, an M.P., and likely to be made
+a baronet."
+
+"He will not object to the chance of dropping in for L1,500 a year."
+
+"Do you think the estate will yield so much?"
+
+"More, I imagine. Did you ever know what you spent?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, is it to be this Mr. Stanhope?"
+
+"No. He never gave me a thought. Why should I endow him and his whelps?
+Let the lot go to the County Council in aid of the county orphanage. By
+Jove, that's a good idea! I like that."
+
+"Anything else?" demanded the lawyer.
+
+"Yes. You and Mr. Herbert are to be the trustees."
+
+"The deuce we are. Who said so?"
+
+"I say so. You are to receive L50 a year each from the estate for
+administering it."
+
+"Ah. That gilds the pill. Next?"
+
+"I have nearly a thousand in the bank. Keep half as working capital,
+give a hundred to my company in the Territorials, and divide the
+balance, according to salary, among all my servants who have more than
+five years' service. And--Betsy is to have the use of the house and
+furniture, if she wishes it."
+
+"Anything else?"
+
+Pickering was exhausted, but continued to laugh weakly.
+
+"Yes; I had almost forgotten. I bequeath to John Bolland the shorthorn
+cow he sold me, and to that lad of his--you must find out his proper
+name--my pair of hammerless guns and my sword. He frames to be a
+sportsman, and I think he'll make a soldier. He picked up a poker like a
+shot the other day when I quarreled with old John."
+
+"What was the quarrel about?"
+
+"When you send back the cow, you'll be told."
+
+Mr. Stockwell scanned his notes rapidly.
+
+"I'll put my clerks to work at this to-night," he said. "As I am a
+trustee, my partner will attend to-morrow to get your signature. Of
+course, you know you must be married before you make your will, or it
+will be invalid? Before I go, George, are you sure it is all over with
+you?"
+
+"MacGregor says so. I suppose he knows."
+
+"Yes, he knows, if any man does. Yet I can't believe it. It seems
+monstrous, incredible."
+
+They gazed fixedly at each other. Of the two, the man of law was the
+more affected. Before either could speak again they heard Betsy's
+agonized cry:
+
+"Oh, for God's sake, miss, don't tell me I may not be with him always!
+I've done my best; I have, indeed. I'll give neither him nor you any
+trouble. Don't keep me away from him now, or I'll go mad!"
+
+The lawyer, wondering what new frenzy possessed the woman who had struck
+down his friend, opened the door. He was confronted by a hospital nurse
+sent by Dr. MacGregor. She looked like a strong-minded person and was
+probably a stickler for the etiquette of the sick room. He took in the
+situation at a glance.
+
+"There need be no difficulty, nurse, where Miss Thwaites is concerned,"
+he said. "She is to be married to Mr. Pickering to-morrow, and as he has
+only a few days to live they should see as much of each other as
+possible. Any other arrangement would irritate your patient greatly, and
+be quite contrary to Dr. MacGregor's wishes, I am sure."
+
+The nurse bowed, and Betsy sobbed as the secret that was no secret to
+her was revealed. None of the three realized that several men standing
+in the hall beneath, whose talk had been silenced by Betsy's frenzied
+exclamation, must have heard every word the lawyer uttered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+ FOR ONE, THE NIGHT; FOR ANOTHER,
+ THE DAWN
+
+
+So Elmsdale was given another thrill, and a lasting one. The Feast was
+ruined. Not a man or a woman had heart for enjoyment. If a child sought
+a penny, it was chided sharply and asked what it meant by gadding about
+"when poor George Pickerin' an' that lass of his were in such trouble."
+
+Martin heard the news while standing outside the boxing booth, waiting
+for the sparring competition to commence. He went in, it is true, and
+saw some hard hitting, but the tent was nearly empty. When he and Jim
+Bates came out an hour later, Elmsdale was a place of mourning.
+
+A series of exciting events, each crowding on its predecessor's heels as
+though some diabolical agency had resolved to disturb the community, had
+roused the hamlet from its torpor.
+
+Five slow-moving years had passed since the village had been stirred so
+deeply. Then it endured a fortnight's epidemic of suicide. A traveling
+tinker began the uncanny cycle. On a fine summer's day he was repairing
+his kettles on a corner of the green, when he was observed to leave his
+little handcart and to go into a neighboring wood. He did not return.
+Search next day discovered him swaying from a branch of a tall tree,
+looking like some forlorn scarecrow suspended there by a practical
+joker.
+
+The following morning a soldier on furlough, one of the very men who
+helped to cut down the tinker's body, went into a cow-house at the back
+of his mother's cottage and suspended himself from a rafter. An odd
+feature of this man's exit was that the rope had yielded so much that
+his feet rested on the ground. Before the hanging he had actually cut
+letters out of his red-cloth tunic and formed the word, "Farewell" in a
+semicircle on the stable floor. A girl soon afterwards selected the
+mill-dam for a consoling plunge; and, to crown all, the vicar, Mr.
+Herbert's forerunner, having received a telegram announcing the failure
+of a company in which he had invested some money, opened his jugular
+vein with a sharp scissors. That these tragedies should happen within a
+fortnight in a community of less than three hundred people was enough to
+give a life-insurance actuary an attack of hysteria.
+
+But each lacked the dramatic flavor attached to the ill-governed passion
+of Betsy Thwaites and her fickle swain. Kitty was known to all in
+Elmsdale, Betsy to few, but George Pickering was a popular man
+throughout the whole countryside. It was sensation enough that one of
+his many amours should result in an episode more typical of Paris than
+of an English Sleepy Hollow. But the sequel--the marriage of this
+wealthy gentleman-farmer to a mere dairymaid, followed by his death from
+a wound inflicted by the bride-to-be--this was undiluted melodrama drawn
+from the repertoire of the Petit Guignol.
+
+That night the story spread over England. A reporter from the
+_Messenger_ came to Elmsdale to glean the exact facts as to Mr.
+Pickering's "accident." Owing to the peculiar circumstances, he,
+perforce, showed much discretion in compiling the story telegraphed to
+the Press Association. Not even the use of that magic word "alleged"
+would enable him to charge Betsy Thwaites with attempted murder, after
+the police had apparently withdrawn the accusation. But he contrived to
+retail the legend by throwing utter discredit on it, and the rest was
+plain sailing. Moreover, he was a smart young man. He pondered deeply
+after dispatching the message. He was employed on the staff of a local
+weekly newspaper, so his traveling allowance was limited to a
+third-class return ticket and a shilling for "tea." Yet he decided to
+remain in Elmsdale at his own expense. The departure of the German
+Government agent for another horse-fair left a vacant bedroom at the
+"Black Lion." This he secured. He foresaw a golden harvest.
+
+Luck favored him. Conversing with a village Solon in the bar, he caught
+a remark that "John Bolland's lad" would be an important witness at the
+inquest. Of course, he made inquiries and was favored with a full and
+accurate account of the wanderings of the farmer and his wife in London
+thirteen years earlier, together with their adoption of the baby which
+had literally fallen from the skies. To the country journalist, Fleet
+Street is the Mecca of his earthly pilgrimage, and St. Martin's Court,
+Ludgate Hill, was near enough to newspaperdom to be sacred ground. The
+very name of the boy smacked of "copy."
+
+John Bolland, lumbering out of the stockyard at tea-time, encountered
+Dr. MacGregor. The farmer had been thinking hard while striding through
+his diminished cornfields, and crumbling ears of wheat, oats, and barley
+in his strong hands to ascertain the exact date when they would be ripe.
+Already some of his neighbors were busy, but John was more anxious about
+the condition of the straw than the forwardness of the grain; moreover,
+men and women did not work so well during feast-time. Next week he would
+obtain full measure for his money.
+
+"I reckon Martin'll soon be fit?" he said.
+
+The doctor nodded.
+
+"He's a bright lad, yon?" went on the farmer.
+
+"Yes. What are you going to make of him?"
+
+Dr. MacGregor knew the ways of Elmsdale folk. They required leading up
+to a subject by judicious questioning. Rarely would they unburden their
+minds by direct statements.
+
+"That's what's worryin' me," said John slowly. "What d'ye think yersen,
+docthor?"
+
+"It is hard to say. It all hinges on what you intend doing for him,
+Bolland. He is not your son. If he has to depend on his own resources
+when he's a man, teach him a useful trade. No matter how able he may be,
+that will never come amiss."
+
+The farmer gazed around. As men counted in that locality, he was rich,
+not in hard cash, but in lands, stock, and tenements. His expenses did
+not grow proportionately with his earnings. He ate and dressed and
+economized now as on the day when Martha and he faced the world
+together, with the White House and its small meadows their only
+belongings. In a few years the produce of his shorthorn herd alone
+would bring in hundreds annually, and his Cleveland bays were noted
+throughout the county.
+
+He took the doctor's hint.
+
+"I've nayther chick nor child but Martin," he said. "When Martha an' me
+are gone te t' Lord, all that we hev'll be Martin's. That's settled lang
+syne. I med me will four years agone last Easter."
+
+There was something behind this, and MacGregor probed again.
+
+"Isn't he cut out for a farmer?"
+
+"I hae me doots," was the cautious answer.
+
+The doctor waited, so John continued.
+
+"I was sair set on t' lad being a minister. But I judge it's not t'
+Lord's will. He's of a rovin' stock, I fancy. When he's a man, Elmsdale
+won't be big eneuf te hold him. He cooms frae Lunnon, an' te Lunnon
+he'll gang. It's in his feaece. Lunnon's a bad pleaece for a youngster
+wheae kens nowt but t' ways o' moor folk, docthor."
+
+Then the other laughed.
+
+"In a word, Bolland, you have made up your mind, and want me to agree
+with you. Of course, if Martin succeeds you, and you have read his
+character aright, there is but one line open. Send him to a good school,
+leave the choice of a profession to his more cultivated mind, and tie up
+your property so that it cannot be sold and wasted in a young man's
+folly. When he is forty he may be glad to come back to Elmsdale and give
+thanks for your foresight on his bended knees. In any event, a little
+extra book lore will make him none the worse stock-raiser. Eh, is that
+what you think?"
+
+"You're a sound man, docthor. There's times I wunner hoo it happens ye
+cling te sike nonsense as that mad Dutchman----"
+
+MacGregor laughed again, and nudged his groom's arm as a signal to drive
+on. He favored neither church nor chapel, but claimed a devoted
+adherence to the doctrines of Emanuel Swedenborg, thus forming a sect
+unto himself. There was not a Swedenborgian temple within a hundred
+miles. Mayhap the doctor's theological views had a geographical
+foundation.
+
+The farmer lumbered across the street and took a corner of the crowded
+tea-table. Mrs. Summersgill was entertaining the company with a
+description of George Pickering's estate.
+
+"It's a meracle, that's what it is!" she exclaimed. "Te think of Betsy
+Thwaites livin' i' style in yon fine hoos! There's a revenue o' trees
+quarther of a mile long, an' my husband sez t' high-lyin' land grows t'
+best wuts (oats) i' t' county. An' she's got it by a prod wi' a
+carving-knife, while a poor body like me hez te scrat sae hard for a
+livin' that me fingers are worn te t' bone!"
+
+Mrs. Summersgill weighed sixteen stone, but she was heedless of satire.
+Her eye fell on Martin, eating silently, but well.
+
+"Some folks git their bread easy, I'm sure," she went on. "Ivver sen I
+was a bit lass I've tewed and wrowt an' mead sike deed ower spendin'
+hawpenny, whiles uthers hev a silver spoon thrust i' their gob frae t'
+time they're born!"
+
+"T' Lord gives, an' t' Lord taks away. Ye munnot fly i' t' feaece o' t'
+Lord," said Bolland.
+
+"I'm not built for flyin' anywhere," cried the old lady. "I wish I was.
+'Tis flighty 'uns as wins nowadays. Look at Betsy Thwaites! Look at Mrs.
+Saumarez! She mun hae gotten her money varra simple te fling it about as
+she does. My man telt me that her little gal, t' other neet----"
+
+"Yer cup's empty, Mrs. Summersgill," put in Martha quickly. "Bless my
+heart, ye talk an' eat nowt. Speakin' o' Mrs. Saumarez, hez anyone heerd
+if she's better? One o' Miss Walker's maids said she was poorly."
+
+Martin caught his mother's eye, and rose. He went upstairs; the farmer
+followed him. The two sat near the window; on the broad ledge reposed
+the Bible; but Bolland did not open the book. He laid his hand on it
+reverently and looked at the boy.
+
+"Martin," he began, "yer muther tells me that Benson med yer mind sair
+by grabbin' te t' squire aboot yer bringin' up. Nay, lad, ye needn't say
+owt. 'Tis no secret. We on'y kept it frae ye for yer good. Anyhow, 'tis
+kent noo, an' there's nae need te chew on 't. What troubled me maist was
+yer muther's defiance when I was minded te punish ye for bein' out
+late."
+
+"It won't occur again, sir," said Martin quietly.
+
+"Mebbe. T' spirit is willin', but t' flesh is wake. Noo, I want a
+straight answer te a straight question. Are these Bible lessons te yer
+likin'?"
+
+It was so rare for the farmer to speak in this downright fashion that
+the boy was alarmed. He knew not what lay behind; but he had not earned
+his reputation for honesty on insufficient grounds.
+
+"No, they're not," he said.
+
+Bolland groaned. "T' minister said so. Why not?"
+
+"I can hardly explain. For one thing, I don't understand what I read.
+And often I would like to be out in the fields or on the moor when I'm
+forced to be here. All the same, I do try hard, and if I thought it
+would please you and mother, I'd do much more than give up half an hour
+a day."
+
+"Ay, ay. 'Tis compulsion, not love. I telt t' minister that Paul urged
+insistence in season an' out o' season, but he held that the teachin'
+applied te doctrine, an' not te Bible lessons for t' young. Well,
+Martin, I've weighed this thing, an' not without prayer. I've seen many
+a field spoiled by bad farmin', an', when yer muther calls my own hired
+men te help her ageaen me; when a lad like you goes fightin' young
+gentlemen aboot a lass; when yon Frenchified ninny eggs ye on te spend
+money like watter, an' yer muther gies ye t' brass next day te pay Mrs.
+Saumarez, lest it should reach my ears--why, I've coom te believe that
+my teachin' is mistakken."
+
+Martin was petrified at hearing his delinquencies laid bare in this
+manner. He had not realized that the extravagant display of Monday must
+evoke comment in a small village, and that Bolland could not fail to
+interpret correctly his wife's anxiety to hush up all reference to it.
+He blushed and held his tongue, for the farmer was speaking again.
+
+"T' upshot of all this is that I've sought counsel. Ye're an honest lad,
+I will say that fer ye, but ye're a lad differin' frae those of yer age
+i' Elmsdale. If all goes well wi' me, ye'll nivver want food nor
+lodgin', but an idle man is a wicked man, nine times out o' ten, an'
+I'd like te see ye sattled i' summat afore I go te my rest. You're not
+cut out fer t' ministry, ye're none for farmin', an' I'd sooner see ye
+dead than dancin' around t' countryside after women, like poor George
+Pickerin'. Soa ye mun gang te college an' sharpen yer wits, an' happen
+fower or five years o' delvin' i' books'll shape yer life i' different
+gait te owt I can see at this minnit. What think you on't?"
+
+"Oh, I should like it better than anything else in the world."
+
+The boy's eyes sparkled at this most unlooked-for announcement. Never
+before had his heart so gone out to the rugged old man whose stern
+glance was now searching him through the horn-rimmed spectacles.
+
+What magician had transformed John Bolland? Was it possible that beneath
+the patriarchial inflexibility of the rugged farmer's character there
+lay a spring of human tenderness, a clear fountain hidden by half a
+century of toil and narrow religion, but now unearthed forcibly by
+circumstances stronger than the man himself? The boy could not put these
+questions into words. He was too young to understand even the meaning of
+psychological analysis. He could only sit there mute, stunned by the
+glory of the unexpected promise.
+
+Of course, if a thinker like Dr. MacGregor were aware of all the facts,
+he would have seen that the rebellion of Martha had been a lightning
+stroke. The few winged words she shot at her husband on that memorable
+night had penetrated deeper than she thought. It chanced, too, that the
+revivalist preacher whom Bolland took into his confidence was a man of
+sound common sense, and much more acute in private life than anyone
+could imagine who witnessed his methods of hammering the Gospel into
+the dullards of the village. He it was who advised a timely diminution
+of devotional exercises which were likely to become distasteful to a
+spirited lad. He recommended the farmer to educate Martin beyond the
+common run, while the choice of a profession might be left to maturer
+consideration. Among the many influences conspiring in that hour to mold
+the boy's future life, none was more wholesome than that of the
+tub-thumping preacher.
+
+Bolland seemed to be gratified by Martin's tongue-tied enthusiasm.
+
+"Well," he said, rising. "Noo my hand's te t' plow I'll keep it there.
+Remember, Martin, when ye tak te study t' Word o' yer own accord, ye can
+start at t' second chapter o' t' Third Book o' Kings. I'll be throng wi'
+t' harvest until t' middle o' September, but I'll ax Mr. Herbert te
+recommend a good school. He's a fair man, if he does lean ower much te
+t' Romans. Soa, fer t' next few days, run wild an' enjoy yersen. Happen
+ye'll never hae as happy a time again."
+
+He patted the boy's head, a rare sign of sentiment, and walked heavily
+out of the room. Martin saw him cross the road and clout a stable-boy's
+ears because the yard was not swept clean. Then he called to his
+foreman, and the two went off to the low-lying meadows. Bolland had been
+turning over in his mind Mrs. Saumarez's remarks about draining; they
+were worthy of consideration and, perhaps, of experiment.
+
+Martin remained standing at the window. So he was to leave Elmsdale, go
+out into the wide world beyond the hills, mix with people who spoke and
+acted and moved like the great ones of whom he had read in books. He
+was glad of it; oh, so glad! He would learn Greek and Latin, French and
+German. No longer would the queer-looking words trouble his eyes. Their
+meaning would be made clear to his understanding. He would soon acquire
+that nameless manner of which the squire, the vicar, Mrs. Saumarez, the
+young university students he met yesterday, possessed the secret. Elsie
+Herbert had it, and Angele was veneered with it, though in her case he
+knew quite well that the polish was only skin deep.
+
+It was what he had longed for with all his heart, yet now that the
+longing was to be appeased he had never felt more drawn to his parents;
+his only by adoption, it was true; but nevertheless father and mother by
+every tie known to him.
+
+By the way, whose child was he? No one had told him the literal manner
+in which he fell into the hands of the Bollands. Probably his real
+progenitors were dead long since. Were it not for the kindness of the
+farmer and his wife he might have been reared in that awful place, the
+"Union," of which the poverty-stricken old people in the parish spoke
+with such dread. His own folk must have been poor. Those who were well
+off were fond of their children and loth to part from them. Well, he
+must be a real son to John and Martha Bolland. They should have reason
+to be proud of him. He would do nothing to disgrace their honored name.
+
+What was it his father said just now? When he studied the Bible of his
+own accord he might begin at the second chapter of the Second Book of
+Kings.
+
+It would please the old man to know that he gave the first moment of
+liberty to reading the Word which was held so precious. He opened the
+book at the page where the long, narrow strip of black silk marked the
+close of the last lesson. For the first time in his life the boy brought
+to bear on the task an unaided and sympathetic intelligence, and this is
+what he read:
+
+     "Now the days of David drew nigh that he should die; and he charged
+     Solomon his son, saying,
+
+     "I go the way of all the earth: be thou strong therefore, and shew
+     thyself a man;
+
+     "And keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, to
+     keep his statutes, and his commandments, and his judgments, and his
+     testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, that thou mayest
+     prosper in all that thou doest, and whithersoever thou turnest
+     thyself:
+
+     "That the Lord may continue his word which he spake concerning me,
+     saying, If thy children take heed to their way, to walk before me
+     in truth with all their heart and with all their soul, there shall
+     not fail thee (said he) a man on the throne of Israel."
+
+Not even a boy of fourteen could peruse these words unmoved, coming, as
+they did, after the memorable interview with Bolland. The black letters
+seemed to Martin to have fiery edges. They burnt themselves into his
+brain. In years to come they were fated to stand out unbidden before the
+eyes of his soul many a time and oft.
+
+He read on, but soon experienced the old puzzled feeling when he
+encountered the legacy of revenge which David bequeathed to his son
+after delivering that inspired message. It reminded Martin of the
+farmer's dignified and quite noble-hearted renunciation of his own
+dreams in order to follow what he thought was the better way, to be
+succeeded by his passage to the farm buildings across the road in order
+to box the ears of a lazy hind.
+
+Ere he closed the book, Martin went over the opening verses of the
+chapter. He promised himself to obey the injunctions therein contained,
+and it was with a host of unformed ideals churning in his brain that he
+descended the stairs.
+
+Mrs. Bolland was gazing through the front door.
+
+"Mercy on us," she cried, "if there isn't Mrs. Saumarez coomin' doon t'
+road wi' t' nuss an' her little gell. An' don't she look ill, poor
+thing! I'll lay owt she hez eaten summat as disagreed wi' her, an' it
+gev her a bilious attack."
+
+"Dod, ay," said Mrs. Summersgill. "Some things are easy te swallow, but
+hard te digest. Ye could hev knocked me down wi' a feather when our
+Tommy bolted a glass ally last June twelve months."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT
+
+
+Mrs. Saumarez did indeed look unwell. It was not that her pallor was
+marked or her gait feeble; obviously, she had applied cosmetics to her
+face, and her carriage was as imposing and self-possessed as ever. But
+her cheeks were swollen, her eyes bloodshot, her eyelids puffy and
+discolored. To a certain extent, too, she simulated the appearance of
+illness by wearing a veil of heliotrope tint, for it was part of her
+intent to-day to persuade Elmsdale that her complete seclusion from its
+society during the past forty-eight hours was due to a cause beyond her
+own control.
+
+In very truth this was so; she suffered from a malady far worse than any
+case of dyspepsia ever diagnosed by doctor. The unfortunate woman was an
+erratic dipsomaniac. She would exist for weeks without being troubled by
+a craving for drink; then, without the slightest warning or contributory
+error on her part, the demon of intoxication would possess her, and she
+yielded so utterly as to become a terror to her immediate associates.
+
+The Normandy nurse, Francoise, exercised a firmer control over her than
+any other maid she had ever employed; hence, Francoise's services were
+retained long after other servants had left their mistress in disgust or
+fright. This distressing form of lunacy seemed also to account for the
+roving life led by Mrs. Saumarez. She was proud, with the inbred
+arrogance of the Junker class from which she sprang. She would not
+endure the scorn, or, mayhap, the sympathy of her friends or dependants.
+Whenever she succumbed to her malady she usually left that place on the
+first day she was able to travel.
+
+But the Elmsdale attack, thanks to a limited supply of brandy and Eau de
+Cologne, was of brief duration. Francoise knew exactly what to do. Every
+drop of alcoholic liquor--even the methylated spirit used for heating
+curling-irons--must be kept out of her mistress's way during the ensuing
+twenty-four hours, and a deaf ear turned to frantic pleadings for the
+smallest quantity of any intoxicant. Threats, tears, pitiable requests,
+physical violence at times, must be disregarded callously; then would
+come reaction, followed by extreme exhaustion. Francoise, despising her
+German mistress, nevertheless had the avaricious soul of a French
+peasant, and was amassing a small fortune by attending to her.
+
+The Misses Walker were so eager to retain their wealthy guest that they
+pretended absolute ignorance of her condition. They succeeded so
+well--their own dyspeptic symptoms were described with such ingenuous
+zeal--that the lady believed her secret was unknown to the household at
+The Elms.
+
+Oddly enough, certain faculties remained clear during these attacks. She
+took care that the chauffeur should not see her, and remembered also
+that young Martin Bolland had conversed with her while she was in the
+worst paroxysm of drink-craving. He was a quick boy, observant beyond
+his age. What did he know? What wondrous tale had he spread through the
+village? A visit to his mother, a meeting with the gossip-loving women
+sure to be gathered beneath the farmer's hospitable roof, would tell her
+all. She nerved herself for the ordeal, and approached slowly,
+fearfully, but outwardly dignified as ever.
+
+Mrs. Bolland's hearty greeting was reassuring.
+
+"Eh, my lady, but ye do look poorly, te be sure. I've bin worritin' te
+think ye've mebbe bin upset by all this racket i' t' place, when ye kem
+here for rest an' quiet."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled.
+
+"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Bolland," she said. "I cannot blame Elmsdale,
+except, perhaps, that your wonderful air braced up my appetite too
+greatly, and I had to pay the penalty for so many good things to eat."
+
+"Ay, I said so," chimed in Mrs. Summersgill, in the accents of deep
+conviction. "Ower much grub an' nowt te do is bad for man or beast."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez laughed frankly at that.
+
+"In which category do you place me, Mrs. Summersgill?" she inquired.
+Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to where Martin stood. She was asking
+herself why the boy should gaze so fixedly at Angele.
+
+The stout party did not know what a category was. She thought it was
+some species of malady.
+
+"Well, ma'am," she cried, "if I was you, I'd try rabbit meat for a few
+days. Eat plenty o' green stuff an' shun t' teapot. It's slow p'ison."
+
+She stretched out a huge arm and poured out a cup of tea. There was a
+general laugh at this forgetfulness. Mrs. Summersgill waved aside
+criticism.
+
+"Ay, ay!" she went on, "it's easier te preach than te practice, as t'
+man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv him
+te ho'd fast."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why did
+Martin avoid her?
+
+"Martin, my little friend," she said, "why did you not come in and see
+me yesterday when you called at The Elms?"
+
+"Miss Walker did not wish it," was the candid answer. "I suppose she
+thought I might be in the way when you were so ill."
+
+"There nivver was sike a bairn," protested Martha Bolland. "He's close
+as wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well,
+Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+The lady's glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed his
+bandaged arms and hands.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked. "Have you been scalding yourself?"
+
+Martin reddened. It was Angele who answered quickly:
+
+"You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, chere maman. It
+was all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin saved
+Elsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces."
+
+And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic of
+Mrs. Saumarez's sudden ailment. She praised Martin's bravery in her
+polished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat's skin was
+brought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, that
+she actually asked Mrs. Bolland for some tea, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Summersgill's earnest warnings.
+
+She made a hearty meal. Francoise, too, joined in the feast, her homely
+Norman face perceptibly relaxing its grim vigilance. Her mistress was
+safe now, for a month, two months, perchance six. The desire for food
+was the ultimate sign of complete recovery--for the time. Had Mrs.
+Saumarez dared ask for a glass of beer from the majestic cask in the
+corner, Francoise would have prevented her from taking it, using force
+if necessary. The sturdy peasant from Tinchebrai was of stronger moral
+fiber than the born aristocrat, and her mistress knew it.
+
+Martin stood somewhat shyly near the broad ingle. Angele approached. She
+caressed his lint-wrapped arms, saying sweetly:
+
+"Do they pain you a great deal?"
+
+"Of course not. They're just a bit sore to the touch--that's all."
+
+His manner was politely repellant. He wished she would not pat him with
+her nervous fingers. She pawed him like a playful cat. To-day she wore
+the beautiful muslin frock he had admired so greatly on the first day of
+the fair. The deep brim of her hat concealed her eyes from all but his.
+
+"I am quite jealous of Elsie," she murmured. "It must be simply lovely
+to be rescued in that way. Poor little me! At home nursing mamma, while
+you were fighting for another girl!"
+
+"The thing was not worth so much talk. I did nothing that any other boy
+would not have done."
+
+"My wud," cried Mrs. Summersgill suddenly, "it'd do your little lass a
+power o' good te git some o' that fat beaecan intiv her, Mrs. Saumarez."
+
+From the smoke-blackened rafters over the spacious fireplace were
+hanging a dozen sides of home-cured bacon, huge toothsome slabs
+suggesting mounds of luscious rashers. The sturdy boy beneath gave proof
+that there was good nutriment in such ample store, but the girl was so
+fragile, so fairy-like in her gossamer wings, that she might have been
+reared on the scent of flowers.
+
+The attention thus drawn to the two caused Martin to flush again, but
+Angele wheeled round.
+
+"Do all pigs grow fat when they are old?" she asked.
+
+"Nay, lass, that they don't. We feed 'em te mak' 'em fat while they're
+young, but some pigs are skinny 'uns always."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez smiled indulgently at this passage between two such
+sharp-tongued combatants. Angele's eyes blazed. Francoise, eating
+steadily, wondered what had been said to make the women laugh, the child
+angry.
+
+Angele caught the astonished expression on the nurse's face. Quickly her
+mood changed. Francoise sat near. She bent over and whispered:
+
+"Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!"
+
+Francoise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs.
+Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgill
+described "an old sow who talks like one of us!" Angele cried airily to
+Martin:
+
+"Take me to the stables. I haven't seen the pony and the dogs for days
+and days."
+
+He was glad to escape. He dreaded Mrs. Summersgill's mordant humor if a
+war of wits broke out between her and the girl.
+
+"All right," he said. "I'll whistle for Curly and Jim at the back and
+join you at the gate."
+
+But Angele skipped lightly toward her hostess.
+
+"Please, Mrs. Bolland," she said coaxingly, "may I not go through the
+back kitchen, too?"
+
+"Sure-ly, honey," cried Martha. "One way's as good as another. Martin,
+tak t' young leddy anywheres she wants te go, an' dinnat be so gawky.
+She won't bite ye."
+
+The two passed into the farmyard.
+
+"You see, Martin," explained Angele coolly, "I must find out how Jim
+Bates and Tommy Beadlam always get hold of you without other people
+being the wiser. Show me the lane and the paddock they tell me of."
+
+"I don't see why it should interest you," was the ungracious reply.
+
+"You dear boy! Are you angry yet because I wouldn't let you kiss me the
+other night?"
+
+He was compelled to laugh at the outrageous untruth.
+
+"I'm afraid I spoke very crossly then," he admitted, thinking it best to
+avoid argument.
+
+"Oh, yes. I wept for hours. My poor little eyes were sore yesterday.
+Look and see if they are red now."
+
+They were standing behind the woodpile. She thrust her face temptingly
+near. Her beautiful eyes, clear and limpid in their dark depths, blinked
+saucily. Her parted lips revealed two rows of white, even teeth, and her
+sweet breath mingled with the fragrance that always clung to her
+garments. He experienced a new timidity now; he was afraid of her in
+this mood, though secretly flattered by the homage she was paying.
+
+"Martin," she whispered, "I like you better than any of the other boys,
+oh, a great deal better, even though Evelyn Atkinson does say you are a
+milksop."
+
+What a hateful word to apply to one whose flesh was scarred by the claws
+of an infuriated wildcat conquered in fair fight. Milksop, indeed! He
+knew Angele's ways well enough by this time to give convincing proof
+that he was no milksop.
+
+He placed his bandaged right arm around her waist, boldly drew her
+toward him, and kissed her three times--on the lips.
+
+"That is more than I ever did to Evelyn Atkinson," he said.
+
+She returned the embrace with ardor.
+
+"Oh, Martin, I do love you," she sighed. "And you fought for me as well
+as for Elsie, didn't you?"
+
+If the thought were grateful to Angele, it stung the boy's conscience.
+Under what different circumstances had he defended the two girls! He
+grew scarlet with confusion and sought to unclasp those twining arms.
+
+"Someone may see us," he protested.
+
+"I don't care," she cooed. "Tommy Beadlam is watching us now over the
+hedge. Tell him to go away."
+
+He wrenched himself free. True enough, "White Head" was gazing at them,
+eyes and mouth wide open.
+
+"Hello, Tommy!" shouted Martin.
+
+"By gum!" gasped Tommy.
+
+But the spell was broken, and the three joined company to make a tour of
+the farm. Angele was quite unembarrassed and promptly rescued both boys
+from sheepishness. She knew that the observant "White Head" would
+harrow Evelyn Atkinson's soul with a full description of the tender
+episode behind the big pile of wood. This pleased her more than Martin's
+gruff "spooning."
+
+Inside the farmhouse conversation progressed vigorously. Mrs. Saumarez
+joined in the talk with zest. The quaint gossip of the women interested
+her. She learnt, seemingly with surprise, that these, her humble
+sisters, were swayed by emotions near akin to her own. Some quiet
+chronicle of a mother's loss by the death of a soldier son in far-off
+South Africa touched a dormant chord in her heart.
+
+"My husband was killed in that foolish war," she said. "I never think of
+it without a shudder."
+
+"I reckon he'd be an officer, ma'am," said Martha.
+
+"Yes; he was shot while leading his regiment in a cavalry charge at the
+Modder River."
+
+"It's a dreadful thing, is war," observed the bereaved mother. "My lad
+wouldn't hurt a fly, yet his capt'in wrote such a nice letter, sayin' as
+how Willie had killed four Boers afore he was struck down. T' capt'in
+meant it kindly, no doot, but it gev me small consolation."
+
+"It is the wives and mothers who suffer most. Men like the army. I
+suppose if my child were a boy he would enter the service."
+
+"Thank the Lord, Martin won't be a sojer!" cried Martha fervently.
+
+"You're going to make him a minister, are you not?"
+
+"Noa," said John Bolland's deep voice from the door. "He's goin' to
+college. I've settled it to-day."
+
+None present appreciated the force of this statement like Martha, and
+she resented such a momentous decision being arrived at without her
+knowledge. Her head bent, and twitching fingers sought the ends of her
+apron. John strode ponderously forward and placed a huge hand on her
+shoulder.
+
+"Dinnat be vexed, Martha," he said gently. "I hadn't a chance te speak
+wi' ye sen Dr. MacGregor an' me had a bit crack about t' lad. I didn't
+need te coom te you for counsel. Who knew better'n me that yer heart was
+set on Martin bein' browt up a gentleman?"
+
+This recognition of motherly rights somewhat mollified his wife.
+
+"Eh, but I'm main pleased, John," she said. "Yet I'll be sorry to lose
+him."
+
+"Ye'll wear yer knuckles te t' bone makkin' him fine shirts an' fallals,
+all t' same," laughed her husband.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez had seen the glint of tears in Mrs. Bolland's eyes, and
+came to the rescue with a request for a second cup of tea.
+
+"England is fortunate in being an island," she said. "Now, in my native
+land every man has to serve in the army. It cannot be avoided, you know.
+Germany has France on the one hand and Russia on the other, each ready
+to spring if she relaxes her vigilance for a moment."
+
+"Is that so?" inquired Bolland. "I wunner why?"
+
+The lady smiled.
+
+"That is a wide political question," she replied. "To give one reason
+out of many, look at our--at Germany's thousand miles of open frontier."
+
+"Right enough, ma'am. But why is Jarmany buildin' such a big fleet?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette. She had not expected so apt a
+retort.
+
+"She is gathering colonies, and already owns a huge mercantile marine.
+Surely, these interests call for adequate protection?"
+
+"Nobody's threatenin' 'em, so far as I can see," persisted Bolland.
+
+"Not at present. But a wise government looks ahead of the hour.
+Germany's aim is to educate the world by her culture. She is doing it
+already, as any of your own well-informed leading men will tell you; but
+the time may come when, in her zeal for advancement, she may tread on
+somebody's toes, so she must be prepared, both on land and sea.
+Fortunately, this is the one country she will never attack."
+
+John shook his head.
+
+"I'm none so sure," he said slowly. "I hevn't much time fer readin', but
+I did happen t' other day on a speech by Lord Roberts which med me scrat
+me head. Beg pardon, ma'am. I mean it med me think."
+
+"Lord Roberts!" began the lady scornfully. Then she sipped her tea, and
+the pause gave time to collect her wits. "You must remember that he is a
+professional soldier, and his views are tainted by militarism."
+
+"Isn't that the trouble i' Jarmany?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez drank more tea.
+
+"Circumstances alter cases," she said. "The broad fact remains that
+Germany harbors no evil designs against Great Britain. She believes the
+world holds plenty of room for both powers. And, when all is said and
+done, why should the two nations quarrel? They are kith and kin. They
+look at life from the same viewpoints. Even their languages are alike.
+Hardly a word in your quaint Yorkshire dialect puzzles me now, because I
+recognize its source in the older German and in the current speech of
+our Baltic provinces. Germany and England should be friends, not
+enemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worrying
+about German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate her
+wonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who uses
+fabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how to
+make aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-time
+theories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, can
+surely bear out that contention?"
+
+"Steady on, ma'am," said Bolland, leaning forward, with hands on knees,
+and with eyes fixed on the speaker in an almost disconcerting intensity.
+"T' Jarmans hev med all t' wo'ld _buy_ their dyes, but there hezn't been
+much _teachin'_, as I've heerd tell of. As for farmin', they coom here
+year after year an' snap up our best stock i' horses an' cattle te
+improve their own breeds. _I_ can't grummel at that. They compete wi' t'
+Argentine an' t' United States, an' up go my prices. Still, I do think
+our government is te blame for lettin' our finest stallions an' brood
+mares leave t' country. They differ frae cattle. They're bowt for use i'
+t' army, an' we're bein' drained dhry. That's bad for us. An' why are
+they doin' it?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez pushed away her cup and saucer. She laughed nervously,
+with the air of one who had gone a little further than was intended.
+
+"There, there!" she cried pleasantly. "I am only trying to show you
+Germany's open aims, but some Englishmen persist in attributing a
+hostile motive to her every act. You see, I know Germany, and few people
+here trouble either to learn the language or visit the country."
+
+"Likely not, ma'am," was the ironical answer. "Mr. Pickerin' went te
+some pleaece--Bremen, I think they call it--two year sen this July, te
+see a man who'd buy every Cleveland bay he could offer. George had just
+been med an officer i' t' Territorials--which meant a week's swankin'
+aboot i' uniform at a camp, an' givin' his men free beer an' pork pies
+te attend a few drills--an' he was fule enough te carry a valise wi' his
+rank an' regiment painted on it. Why, they watched him like a cat
+watchin' a mouse. He couldn't eat a bite or tak a pint o' their light
+beer that a 'tec wasn't sittin' at t' next table. They fairly chased him
+away. Even his friend, the hoss-buyer, got skeered at last, an' advised
+him te quit te avoid arrest."
+
+"That must have been a wholly exceptional case," said Mrs. Saumarez,
+speaking in a tone of utter indifference. "Had _I_ known him, for
+instance, and given him a letter of introduction, he would have been
+welcomed, not suspected. By the way, how is he? I hear----"
+
+The conversation was steered into a safer channel. They were discussing
+the wounded man's condition when Mrs. Saumarez's car passed. The door
+stood open, so they all noted that the vehicle was white with dust, but
+the chauffeur was the sole occupant.
+
+"Her ladyship" was pleased to explain.
+
+"It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day," she said.
+"You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself,
+as the phrase goes."
+
+"Expensive work, ma'am," smiled John, rising. "An' now, good folk," he
+continued, "wheae's coomin' te t' love feast?"
+
+There was a general movement. The assembly dear to old-time Methodism
+appealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised her
+lorgnette once more.
+
+"What is a love feast?" she asked.
+
+"It's a gathering o' members o' our communion, ma'am," was Bolland's
+ready answer.
+
+"May I come, too?"
+
+Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even John
+Bolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the lady
+seemed to be in earnest.
+
+"I really mean it," she went on. "I have a spare hour, and, as I don't
+care for dinner to-night, I'll be most pleased to attend--that is, if I
+may?"
+
+The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenly
+tinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps saw
+more than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.
+
+"Happen it'll be an hour well spent, ma'am," he said quietly. "Admission
+is by membership ticket, but t' minister gev' me a few 'permits' for
+outside friends, an' I'll fill yan in for ye wi' pleasure."
+
+He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, "Admit
+Brother" or "Sister ----," and signed, "Eli Todd." With a stubby pencil
+he scrawled "Saumarez" in a blank space. The lady thanked him, and gave
+some instructions in French to Francoise. Five minutes later "Sister
+Saumarez," escorted by "Brother" and "Sister" Bolland, entered the
+village meetinghouse.
+
+The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mild
+sensation among the small congregation already collected. They were
+mostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by their
+absence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field close
+to the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be fought
+for the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions the
+Gospel was not a "draw."
+
+Gradually the spacious but bare room--so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarez
+knew of churches--became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimed
+the half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboring
+classroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but his
+bell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer.
+He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from the
+people. The first time John Bolland cried "Amen!" Mrs. Saumarez started.
+She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge.
+But the next period produced a hearty "Hallelujah!" and others joined in
+with "Glory be!" "Thy will, O Lord!" and kindred ejaculations.
+
+One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord's
+Prayer.
+
+"Give us this day our daily bread," he said.
+
+"And no baccy, Lord!" growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.
+
+The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding the petition, and
+a broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learned
+subsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandoned
+his pipe, together with gun and beer jug, "when he found Christ." Eli
+Todd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on the
+point.
+
+All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:
+
+     _O what a joyful meeting there,
+       In robes of white arrayed;
+     Palms in our hands we all shall bear
+       And crowns upon our heads._
+
+The joyous energy of his declamation, the no less eager volume of sound
+that arose from the congregation, atoned for any deficiencies of meter
+or rhyme. The village worshipers lost themselves in the influence of the
+moment. With spiritual vision they saw the last great meeting, and
+thundered vociferously the closing lines of the chorus:
+
+     _And then we shall in Heaven reign,
+     And never, never part again._
+
+"Grace before meat" was sung, and, to Mrs. Saumarez's great
+discomfiture, bread and water were passed round. Each one partook save
+herself; Bolland, with real tact, missed her in handing the tray and
+pitcher to the other occupants of their pew.
+
+"Grace after meat" followed, and forthwith Eli Todd began to deliver an
+address. His discourse was simple and well reasoned, dealing wholly
+with the sustenance derived from God's saving spirit. It may be that the
+unexpected presence of a stranger like Mrs. Saumarez exercised a
+slightly unnerving influence, as he spoke more seriously and with less
+dramatic intensity than was his wont.
+
+Suddenly he rebelled against this sensation of restraint. Changing, with
+the skill of a born revivalist, from the rounded periods of ordinary
+English to the homely vernacular of the district, he thundered out:
+
+"There's noa cittidell o' sin 'at God cannot destroy. Ay, friends, t'
+sword o' t' Spirit s'all oppen a way through walls o' brass an' iron
+yats (gates). Weaen't ye jine His conquerin' army? He's willin' te list
+ye noo. There's none o' yer short service whilst ye deae t' Lord's
+work--it's for ivver an' ivver, an' yer pension is life ivverlastin'."
+
+And so the curious service went to its end, which came not until various
+members of the congregation made public confession of faith, personal
+statements which often consisted of question and answer between pastor
+and penitent. It was a strange interrogatory. Eli Todd had a ready quip,
+a quick appreciation, an emphatic or amusing disclaimer, for each and
+every avowal of broad-minded Christianity or intolerant views. For these
+dalesfolk did not all think alike. Some were inclined to damn others who
+did not see through the myopic lenses of their own spiritual spectacles.
+
+The preacher would have none of this exclusive righteousness. As he
+said, in his own strenuous way:
+
+"The Lord is ivverywhere. He isn't a prisoner i' this little room
+te-night. He's yonder i' t' street amang t' organs an' shows. He's
+yonder i' t' tent where foolish youths an' maidens cannot see Him. If ye
+seek Him ye'll find Him, ay, in the abodes of sin and the palaces of
+wantonness. No door can be closed to His saving mercy, no heart too
+hardened to resist His love."
+
+As it happened, his glance fell on Mrs. Saumarez as he uttered the
+concluding words, and his voice unconsciously tuned itself to suit her
+understanding. She dropped her eyes, and the observant minister thought
+that she was reading a personal meaning into his address.
+
+At once he began the "Doxology," which was sung with great fervor, and
+the love feast broke up after a brief prayer. Mr. Todd overtook Mrs.
+Saumarez on the green. Bolland and his wife were escorting her to The
+Elms.
+
+"I hope you liked the service, madam," he said politely.
+
+"I thought it most interesting," she answered slowly. "I think I shall
+come again."
+
+He took off his hat and assured her that she would always be welcome at
+Bethel Chapel. He, worthy man, no less than the Bollands, could little
+guess this woman's motives in thus currying favor with the villagers.
+Had an angel from Heaven laid bare her intent, they would scarce have
+believed, or, if conviction came, they would only have deemed her mad.
+
+A breathless Francoise met her mistress at the gate. Angele was not to
+be found anywhere, and it was so late, nearly eight o'clock. Nor was
+Martin to be seen. Madam would remember, they had gone off together.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez explained what all the gesticulation was about.
+
+"If she's wi' Martin, she'll be all right," said Bolland. "He'll bring
+her yam afore ye git yer things off, ma'am."
+
+He was right. Angele had discovered that Elsie Herbert would be at the
+church bazaar that evening, and planned the ramble with Martin so that
+the vicar's daughter might meet them together on the high road.
+
+It delighted her to see the only rival she feared flash a quick side
+glance as she bowed smilingly and passed on, for Mr. Herbert did not
+wholly approve of Angele, so Elsie thought it best not to stop for a
+chat. Martin, too, was annoyed as he doffed his cap. He thought Elsie
+would surely ask how he was. Moreover, those hot kisses were burning yet
+on his lips; the memory made him profoundly uncomfortable.
+
+That was all. When he left Angele at the gate she did not suggest a
+rendezvous at a later hour. Not only would it be useless, but she had
+seen Frank Beckett-Smythe earlier in the day, and he said there was a
+dinner party at the Hall.
+
+Perhaps he might be able to slip away unnoticed about nine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A DYING DEPOSITION
+
+
+Before Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down to dinner that evening a very
+unpleasant duty had been thrust on him.
+
+The superintendent of police drove over from Nottonby to show him the
+county analyst's report. Divested of technicalities, this document
+proved that George Pickering's dangerous condition arose from blood
+poisoning caused by a stab from a contaminated knife. It was admitted
+that a wound inflicted by a rusty pitchfork might have had equally
+serious results, but the analysis of matter obtained from both
+instruments proved conclusively that the knife alone was impregnated
+with the putrid germs found in the blood corpuscles, which also
+contained an undue proportion of alcohol.
+
+Moreover, Dr. MacGregor's statement on the one vital point was
+unanswerable. Pickering was suffering from an incised wound which could
+not have been inflicted by the rounded prongs of a fork. The doctor was
+equally emphatic in his belief that the injured man would succumb
+speedily.
+
+In the face of these documents it was necessary that George Pickering's
+depositions should be taken by a magistrate. Most unwillingly, Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe accompanied the superintendent to the "Black Lion Hotel"
+for the purpose.
+
+They entered the sick room about the time that Mrs. Saumarez was
+crossing the green on her way to the Methodist Chapel. A glance at
+Pickering's face showed that the doctor had not exaggerated the gravity
+of the affair. He was deathly pale, save for a number of vivid red spots
+on his skin. His eyes shone with fever. Were not his malady identified,
+the unskilled observer might conclude that he was suffering from a
+severe attack of German measles.
+
+Betsy was there, and the prim nurse. The contrast between the two women
+was almost as startling as the change for the worse in Pickering's
+appearance. The nurse, strictly professional in deportment, paid heed to
+naught save the rules of treatment. The word "hospital," "certificate,"
+"method," shrieked silently from her flowing coif and list slippers,
+from the clinical thermometer on the table, and the temperature chart on
+the mantelpiece.
+
+Poor Betsy was sitting by the bedside, holding her lover's hand. She was
+smiling wistfully, striving to chatter in cheerful strain, yet all the
+time she wanted to wail her despair, to petition on her knees that her
+crime might be avenged on herself, not on its victim.
+
+When the magistrate stepped gingerly forward, Pickering turned
+querulously to see who the visitor was, for the nurse had nodded
+permission to enter when the two men looked through the half-open door.
+
+"Oh, it's you, squire," he said in a low voice. "I thought it might be
+MacGregor."
+
+"How are you feeling now, George?"
+
+"Pretty sick. I suppose you've heard the verdict?"
+
+"The doctor says you are in a bad state."
+
+"Booked, squire, booked! And no return ticket. I don't care. I've made
+all arrangements--that is, I'll have a free mind this time
+to-morrow--and then, well, I'll face the music."
+
+He caught sight of the police officer.
+
+"Hello, Jonas! You there? Come for my last dying depositions, eh? All
+right. Fire away! Betsy, my lass, leave us for a bit. The nurse can
+stay. The more witnesses the merrier."
+
+Betsy arose. There was no fear in her eyes now--only dumb agony. She
+walked steadily from the room. While Mr. Beckett-Smythe was thanking
+Providence under his breath that a most distressing task was thus being
+made easy for him, they all heard a dreadful sob from the exterior
+landing, followed by a heavy thud. The nurse hurried out. Betsy had
+fainted.
+
+With a painful effort Pickering raised himself on one arm. His forced
+gayety gave place to loud-voiced violence.
+
+"Confound you all!" he roared. "Why come here to frighten the poor
+girl's life out of her?"
+
+He cursed both the magistrate and Superintendent Jonas by name; were he
+able to rise he would break their necks down the stairs. The policeman
+crept out on tip-toe; Mr. Beckett-Smythe sat down. Pickering stormed
+away until the nurse returned.
+
+"Miss Thwaites is better," she said. "She was overcome by the long
+strain, but she is with her sister now, and quite recovered."
+
+Betsy was crying her heart out in Kitty's arms: fortunately, the sounds
+of her grief were shut out from their ears. Jonas came back and closed
+the door. The doomed man sank to the pillow and growled sullenly:
+
+"Now, get on with your business, and be quick over it. I'll not have
+Betsy worried again while I have breath left to protest."
+
+"I am, indeed, very sorry to disturb you, George," said the magistrate
+quietly. "It is a thankless office for an old friend. Try and calm
+yourself. I do not ask your forbearance toward myself and Mr. Jonas, but
+there are tremendous issues at stake. For your own sake you must help us
+to face this ordeal."
+
+"Oh, go ahead, squire. My bark is worse than my bite--not that I have
+much of either in me now. If I spoke roughly, forgive me. I couldn't
+bear to hear yon lass suffering."
+
+Thinking it best to avoid further delay, Mr. Beckett-Smythe nodded to
+the police officer, who drew forward a small table, which, with writing
+materials, he placed before the magistrate.
+
+A foolscap sheet bore already some written words. The magistrate bent
+over it, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion:
+
+"Listen, George. I have written here: 'I, George Pickering, being of
+sound mind, but believing myself to be in danger of death, solemnly take
+oath and depose as follows': Now, I want you to tell me, in your own
+words, what took place last Monday night. You are going to the awful
+presence of your Creator. You must tell the truth, fully and fearlessly,
+not striving to determine the course of justice by your own judgment,
+but leaving matters wholly in the hands of God. You are conscious of
+what you are doing, fully sensible that you will soon be called on to
+meet One who knoweth all things. I hope, I venture to pray, that you
+will give testimony in all sincerity and righteousness.... I am ready."
+
+Pickering heard this solemn injunction with due gravity. His features
+were composed, his eyes fixed on the distant landscape through the open
+window. No disturbing noise reached him save the lowing of cattle and
+the far-off rattle of a reaping machine, for the police had ordered the
+removal of the shooting gallery and roundabout to the other end of the
+green.
+
+He remained silent so long that the two men glanced at him anxiously,
+but were reassured by the belief that he was only collecting his
+thoughts. Indeed, it was not so. He was striving to bridge that dark
+chasm on whose perilous verge he tottered--striving to frame an excuse
+that would not be uttered by his mortal lips.
+
+At last he spoke.
+
+"On Monday night, about five minutes past ten, I met Kitty Thwaites, by
+appointment, at the wicket gate which opens into the garden from the
+bowling green of the 'Black Lion Hotel,' Elmsdale. We walked down the
+garden together. We were talking and laughing about the antics of a
+groom in this hotel, a fellow named Fred--I do not know his surname--who
+was jealous of me because I was in the habit of chaffing Kitty and
+placing my arm around her waist if I encountered her on the stairs. This
+man Fred, I believe, endeavored to pay attentions to Kitty, which she
+always refused to encourage. Kitty and I stopped at the foot of the
+garden beneath a pear tree which stands in the boundary fence of the
+paddock.
+
+"I had my arm around her neck, but was only playing the fool, which
+Kitty knew as well as I. There was a bright moon, and, although almost
+invisible ourselves in the shadow of the hedge and tree, we could see
+clearly into both paddock and garden. My back was toward the hotel.
+Suddenly, we heard someone running down the gravel path. I turned and
+saw that it was Betsy Thwaites, Kitty's sister, a girl whom I believed
+to be then in a situation at Hereford. I had promised to marry Betsy,
+and was naturally vexed at being caught in an apparently compromising
+attitude with her sister. Betsy had a knife in her hand. I could see it
+glittering in the moonlight."
+
+He paused. He was corpse-like in color. The red spots on his face were
+darker than before by contrast with the wan cheeks. He motioned to the
+nurse, who gave him a glass of barley water. He emptied it at a gulp.
+Catching Mr. Beckett-Smythe's mournful glance, he smiled with ghastly
+pleasantry.
+
+"It sounds like a coroner's inquest, doesn't it?" he said.
+
+Then, while his eyes roved incessantly from the face of the policeman to
+that of the magistrate, he continued:
+
+"I imagined that Betsy meant to do her sister some harm, so sprang
+forward to meet her. Then I saw that she was minded to attack me, for
+she screamed out: 'You have ruined my life. I'll take care you do not
+ruin Kitty's.'"
+
+The words, of course, were spoken very slowly. They alternated with the
+steady scratching of the pen. Others in the room were pallid now. Even
+the rigid nurse yielded to the excitement of the moment. Her linen
+bands fluttered and her bosom rose and fell with the restraint she
+imposed on her breathing.
+
+George Pickering suddenly became the most composed person present. His
+hearers were face to face with a tragedy. After all, did he mean to tell
+the truth? Ah, it was well that his affianced wife was weeping in an
+adjoining room, that her soul was not pierced by the calm recital which
+would condemn her to prison, perchance to the scaffold.
+
+"Her cry warned me," he went on. "I knew she could not hurt me. I was a
+strong and active man, she a weak, excited woman. She was very near,
+advancing down the path which runs close to the dividing hedge of the
+garden and the stackyard. To draw her away from Kitty, I ran toward this
+hedge and jumped over. It was dark there. I missed my footing and
+stumbled. I felt something run into my left breast. It was the prong of
+a pitchfork."
+
+The pen ceased. A low gasp of relief came from the nurse, for she was a
+woman. The superintendent looked gravely at the floor. But the
+magistrate faltered:
+
+"George--remember--you are a dying man!"
+
+Pickering again lifted his body. His face was convulsed with a spasm of
+pain, but the strong voice cried fearlessly:
+
+"Write what I have said. I'll swear it with my last breath. I'll tell
+the same story to either God or devil. Write, I say, or shall I finish
+it with my own hand?"
+
+They thought that by some superhuman effort he would rise forthwith to
+reach the table. The nurse, the policeman, leaped to restrain him.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe was greatly agitated.
+
+"If I cannot persuade you--" he began.
+
+"Persuade me to do what? To bolster up a lying charge against the woman
+I am going to marry? By the Lord, do you think I'm mad?"
+
+They released him. The set intensity of his face was terrible. It is
+hard to say what awful power could have changed George Pickering's
+purpose in that supreme moment. Yet he clenched his hands in the
+bedclothes, as if he would choke some mocking fiend that grinned at him,
+and his voice was hoarse as he murmured:
+
+"Oh, man, if you have a heart, end your inquisition, or I'll die too
+soon!"
+
+Again the pen resumed its monotonous scrape. It paused at last. The
+fateful words were on record.
+
+"And then what happened?"
+
+The magistrate's question was judicially cold. He held strong
+convictions regarding the deeper mysteries of life; his faculties were
+benumbed by this utter defiance of all that he believed most firmly.
+
+"I said something, swore very likely, and staggered into the moonlight,
+at the same time tearing the fork from my breast. Betsy saw what I was
+doing, and screamed. I managed to get over the hedge again, and she ran
+away in mortal fright, for I had pulled open my waistcoat, and she could
+see the blood on my shirt. She fell as she ran, and cut herself with the
+knife. By that time Kitty had reached the hotel, screaming wildly that
+Betsy was trying to murder me. That is all. Betsy never touched me. The
+wound I am suffering from was inflicted by myself, accidentally. It was
+not caused by the knife, as is shown by the fact that I am dying of
+blood poisoning, while Betsy's cuts are healing and have left her
+unharmed otherwise."
+
+His hearers were greatly perturbed, but they knew that further protest
+would be unavailing. And there was an even greater shock in store.
+
+Pickering turned in the bed and poised his pain-racked frame so as to
+reach the manuscript placed before him for signature. With unwavering
+hand he added the words:
+
+"So help me God!"
+
+Then he wrote his name.
+
+"Now, sign that, all of you, as witnesses," he commanded, and they did
+not gainsay him. It was useless. Why prolong his torture and their own?
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe handed the sheets of paper to Jonas. He seemed
+inclined to leave the room without another spoken word, but humane
+impulse was stronger than dogma; he held out his hand.
+
+"Good-by, George," he said brokenly. "'Judge not,' it is written. Let my
+farewell be a prayer that you may die peacefully and painlessly, if,
+indeed, God in His mercy does not grant your recovery."
+
+"Good-by, squire. You've got two sons. Find 'em plenty of work; they'll
+have less time for mischief. Damn it all, hark to that reaper! It'll
+soon be time to rouse the cubs. I'll miss the next hunt breakfast, eh?
+Well, good luck to you all! I've had my last gallop. Good-by, Jonas! Do
+you remember the fight we had that morning with the poachers? Look here!
+When you meet Rabbit Jack, tell him to go to Stockwell for a sovereign
+and swim in beer for a week. Nurse, where's Betsy? I want her before it
+is dark."
+
+And in a few minutes Betsy, the forlorn, was bending over him and
+whispering:
+
+"I'll do it for your sake, George! But, oh, it will be hard to face
+everybody with a lie in my mouth. The hand that struck you should
+wither. Indeed, indeed, I shall suffer worse than death. If the Lord
+took pity on me, He would let me be the first to go."
+
+He stroked her hair gently, and there were tears in his eyes.
+
+"Never cry about spilt milk, dearie. At best, or worst, the whole thing
+was an accident. Come, now, no more weeping. Sit down there and write
+what I tell you. I can remember every word, and Kitty and you must just
+fit in your stories to suit mine. Stockwell will defend you. He's a
+smart chap, and you need have no fear. Bless your heart, you'll be twice
+married before you know where you are!"
+
+She obeyed him. With careful accuracy he repeated the deposition. He
+rehearsed the evidence she would give. When the nurse came in, he bade
+her angrily to leave them alone, but recalled her in the next breath. He
+wanted Kitty. She, too, must be coached. At his command she had placed
+the fork where it was found. But she must learn her story with
+parrot-like accuracy. There must be no contradiction in the sisters'
+evidence.
+
+Martin was eating his supper when Mrs. Bolland, bustling about the
+kitchen, made a discovery.
+
+"I must be fair wool-gatherin'," she said crossly. "Here's a little pile
+o' handkerchiefs browt by Dr. MacGregor, an' I clean forgot all about
+'em. Martin, it's none ower leaet, an' ye can bide i' bed i' t' mornin'.
+Just run along te t' vicarage wi' these, there's a good lad. They'll
+mebbe be wantin' 'em."
+
+He hailed the errand not the less joyfully that it led him through the
+fair. But he did not loiter. Perhaps he gazed with longing eyes at its
+vanishing glories, for some of the showmen were packing up in disgust,
+but he reached the vicarage quickly. It lay nearer the farm than The
+Elms, and, like that pretentious mansion, was shrouded from the highroad
+by leafy trees and clusters of laurels.
+
+A broad drive led to the front door. The night was drawing in rapidly,
+and the moon would not rise until eleven o'clock. In the curving avenue
+it was pitch-dark, but a cheerful light shone from the drawing-room, and
+through an open French window he could see Elsie bending over a book.
+
+She was not deeply interested, judging by the listless manner in which
+she turned the leaves. She was leaning with her elbows on the table,
+resting one knee on a chair, and the attitude revealed a foot and ankle
+quite as gracefully proportioned as Angele's elegant limbs, though Elsie
+was more robust.
+
+Hearing the boy's firm tread on the graveled approach, she straightened
+herself and ran to the window.
+
+"Who is there?" she said. Martin stepped into the light.
+
+"Oh, it's you!"
+
+"Yes, Miss Herbert. Mother sent me with these."
+
+He held out the parcel of linen.
+
+"What is it?" she asked, extending a hesitating hand.
+
+"It is perfectly harmless, if you stroke it gently."
+
+She could see the mischief dancing in his eyes, and grabbed the package.
+Then she laughed.
+
+"Our handkerchiefs! It was very kind of Mrs. Bolland----"
+
+"I think Dr. MacGregor had them washed."
+
+This puzzled her, but a more personal topic was present in her mind.
+
+"I saw you a little while ago," she said. "You were engaged, or I would
+have asked you if you were recovering all right. Your hands and arms are
+yet bound up, I see. Do they hurt you much?"
+
+"No. Not a bit."
+
+He felt absurdly tongue-tied, but bravely continued:
+
+"I was told to take Miss Saumarez home. That is how you happened to meet
+us together."
+
+"Indeed," she said, drawing back a little. Her tone conveyed that any
+explanation of Miss Saumarez's companionship was unnecessary. No other
+attitude could have set Martin's wits at work more effectually. He, too,
+retreated a pace.
+
+"I'm very sorry if I disturbed you," he said. "I was going to ring for
+one of the servants."
+
+She tittered.
+
+"Then I am glad you didn't. They are both out, and auntie would have
+wondered who our late visitor was. She has just gone to bed."
+
+"But isn't your--isn't Mr. Herbert at home?"
+
+"No; he is at the bazaar. He asked me to sit up until one of the maids
+returns."
+
+Again she approached the window. One foot rested on the threshold.
+
+"I've been reading 'Rokeby,'" ventured Martin.
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"It must be very interesting when you know the place. Just imagine how
+nice it would be if Sir Walter had seen Elmsdale and written about the
+moor, and the river, and the ghylls."
+
+"Do you think he would have found a wildcat in Thor ghyll?"
+
+"I hope not. It might have spoiled the verse; and Thor ghyll is
+beautiful."
+
+"I'll never forget that cat. I can see it yet. How its eyes blazed when
+it sprang at me! Oh, I don't know how you dared seize it in your hands."
+
+She was outside the window now, standing on a strip of turf that ran
+between house and drive.
+
+"I didn't give a second thought to it," said Martin in his offhand way.
+
+"I can never thank you enough for saving me," she murmured.
+
+"Then I'll tell you what," he cried. "To make quite sure you won't
+forget, I'll try and persuade mother to have the skin made into a muff
+for you. One of the men is curing it, with spirits of ammonia and
+saltpeter."
+
+"Do you think I may need to have my memory jogged?"
+
+"People forget things," he said airily. "Besides, I'm going away to
+school. When I come back you'll be a grown-up young lady."
+
+"I'm nearly as tall as you."
+
+"Indeed you are not."
+
+"Well, I'm much taller than Angele Saumarez, at any rate."
+
+"There's no comparison between you in any respect."
+
+And this young spark three short hours ago, behind the woodpile, had
+gazed into Angele's eyes!
+
+"Do you remember--we were talking about her when that creature flew at
+me?"
+
+He laughed. It was odd how Angele's name kept cropping up. The church
+clock struck nine. They listened to the chimes. Neither spoke until the
+tremulous booming of the bell ceased.
+
+"I'm afraid I must be going," said Martin, without budging an inch.
+
+"Did you--did you--find any difficulty--in opening the gate? It is
+rather stiff. And your poor hands must be so sore."
+
+From excessive politeness, or shyness, Elsie's tongue tripped somewhat.
+
+"It was a bit stiff," he admitted. "I had to reach up, you know."
+
+"Then I think I ought to come and open it for you."
+
+"But you will be afraid to return alone."
+
+"Afraid! Of what?"
+
+"I really don't know," he said, "but I thought girls were always scared
+in the dark."
+
+"Then I am an exception."
+
+She cast a backward glance into the room.
+
+"The lamp is quite safe. It will not take me a minute."
+
+They walked together down the short avenue. The gate was standing open.
+
+"Really," laughed Martin, "I had quite forgotten."
+
+"So boys have weak memories, too?"
+
+"Of gates, perhaps."
+
+"Well, now, I must be off. Good-night, and thank you so much."
+
+She held out her hand. He took it in both of his.
+
+"I do hope Mr. Herbert will ask me to another picnic," he said.
+
+A boy on a bicycle rode past slowly. Instinctively, they shrank into the
+shadow of a tree.
+
+"Wasn't that Frank Beckett-Smythe?" whispered Elsie, forgetting to
+withdraw her imprisoned hand, and turning a startled face to Martin.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where can he be going at this time?"
+
+Martin guessed accurately, but sheer chivalry prevented him from saying
+more than:
+
+"To the fair, I suppose."
+
+"At this hour; after nine o'clock?"
+
+"S-s-h. He's coming back."
+
+She drew closer. There was an air of mystery in this nocturnal bicycle
+ride that induced bewilderment. Martin's right hand still inclosed the
+girl's. What more natural than that his left arm should go around her
+waist, merely to emphasize the need for caution, concealment, secrecy?
+Most certainly his knowledge of womankind was striding onward in
+seven-leagued boots.
+
+The trot of a horse sounded sharply on the hard road. It was being
+ridden by someone in a hurry. The young scion of the Hall, who appeared
+to be killing time, inclined his machine to the opposite hedge.
+
+But the rider pulled up with the skill of a practiced horseman. Even in
+the dim light the boy and girl recognized one of Mr. Beckett-Smythe's
+grooms.
+
+"Is that you, Master Frank?" they heard him say.
+
+"Hello, Williams! What's up?"
+
+"What's up, indeed! T' Squire has missed ye. A bonny row there'll be. Ye
+mun skip back lively, let me tell ye."
+
+"Oh, the deuce!"
+
+"Better lose nae mair time, Master Frank. I'll say I found ye yon side
+o' T' Elms."
+
+"What has The Elms got to do with it?"
+
+The man grinned.
+
+"Noo, Master Frank, just mount an' be off in front. T' Squire thinks
+ye're efther that black-eyed lass o' Mrs. Saumarez's. Don't try an'
+humbug him. He telt me te lay my huntin'-crop across yer shoulders, but
+that's none o' my business. Off ye go!"
+
+The heir, sulky and in deep tribulation, obeyed. They heard the horse's
+hoofbeats dying away rapidly.
+
+Elsie, an exceedingly nice-mannered girl, was essentially feminine. The
+episode thrilled her, and pleased her, too, in some indefinable way, for
+her companion was holding her tightly.
+
+"Just fancy that!" she whispered.
+
+"Oh, he will only get a hiding."
+
+"But, surely, he could not expect to meet Angele?"
+
+"It looks like it. But why should we trouble about it?"
+
+"I think it is horrid. But I must be going. Good-night--Martin."
+
+He felt a gentle effort to loosen his clasp.
+
+"Good-night, Elsie."
+
+Their faces were very close. Assuredly, the boy must have been a trifle
+light-headed that day, for he bent and kissed her.
+
+She tore herself from the encircling arm. Her cheeks were burning. At a
+little distance--a few feet--she halted.
+
+"How dare you?" she cried.
+
+He came to her with hands extended.
+
+"Forgive me, Elsie; I couldn't help it."
+
+"You must never, never do such a thing again."
+
+He had nothing to say.
+
+"Promise!" she cried, but her voice was less emphatic than she imagined.
+
+"I won't," he said, and caught her arm.
+
+"You--won't! How can you say such a thing?"
+
+"Because I like you. I have known you for years, though we never spoke
+to each other until yesterday."
+
+"Oh, dear! This is terrible! You frightened me so! I hope I didn't hurt
+your poor arms?"
+
+"The pain was awful," he laughed.
+
+The girl's heart was beating so frantically that she could almost hear
+its pulsations. The white bandages on Martin's wrists and hands aroused
+a tumult of emotion. The scene in the ghyll flashed before her eyes; she
+saw again the wild struggles of the snarling, tearing, biting animal,
+the boy's cool daring and endurance until he crushed the raging thing's
+life out of it and flung it away contemptuously.
+
+An impulse came to her, and it was not to be repelled. She placed both
+hands on his shoulders and kissed him, quite fearlessly, on the lips.
+
+"I think I owed you that," she said, with a little sob, and then ran
+away in good earnest, never turning her head until she was safe within
+the drawing-room.
+
+Martin, his brain in a whirl and his blood on fire, closed the gate for
+himself. When the vicar came, half an hour later, his daughter was busy
+over the same book.
+
+"What, Elsie! None of the maids home yet?" he cried.
+
+"No, father, dear. But Martin Bolland brought these."
+
+"Oh, our handkerchiefs. What did he say?"
+
+"Nothing--of any importance. I understood that Dr. MacGregor caused the
+linen to be washed, but forgot to ask him why."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"Practically all, except that his arms and hands are all bound up, so I
+went with him as far as the gate. It is stiff, you know. And--yes--he
+has been reading 'Rokeby.' He likes it."
+
+The vicar filled his pipe. He had had a trying day.
+
+"Martin is a fine lad," he said. "I hope John Bolland will see fit to
+educate him. Such a youngster should not be allowed to vegetate in a
+village like this."
+
+"Ah!" said Elsie, "that reminds me. He told me he was going away to
+school."
+
+"Capital!" agreed the vicar. "Out of evil comes good. It required an
+earthquake to move a man like Bolland!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE STORM
+
+
+On the morrow rain fell. At first the village regarded the break in the
+weather as a thunderstorm, and harvesters looked to an early resumption
+of work. "A sup o' wet'll do nowt any harm," they said. But a steadily
+declining "glass" and a continuous downpour that lost nothing in volume
+as the day wore caused increasing headshakes, anxious frowns, revilings
+not a few of the fickle elements.
+
+The moorland becks became raging torrents. The gorged river rose until
+all the low-lying land was flooded, hundreds of pounds' worth of corn in
+stook swept away, and all standing crops were damaged to an enormous
+extent. Cattle, sheep, poultry, even a horse or two, were caught by the
+rushing waters and drowned. A bridge became blocked by floating debris
+and crumbled before the flood. Three men were standing on the structure,
+idly watching the articles whirling past in the eddies; one, given a
+second's firm footing, jumped for dear life and saved himself; the
+bodies of the others were found, many days afterwards, jammed against
+stakes placed in the stream a mile lower down to prevent fish poachers
+from netting an open reach.
+
+This deluge, if indeed aught else were needed, wrecked the Feast. Every
+booth was dismantled, each wagon and caravan packed. The van dwellers
+only ceased their labors when all was in readiness for a move to the
+next fair ground; the Elmsdale week, usually a bright spot in their
+migratory calendar, was marked this year with absolute loss. At the
+best, and in few instances, it yielded a bare payment of expenses.
+
+Farmers, of course, toiled early and late to avert further disaster.
+Stock were driven from pastures where danger threatened; cut corn was
+rescued in the hope that the next day's sun might dry it; choked ditches
+were raked with long hoes to permit the water to flow off.
+
+At last, when night fell, and the rain diminished to a thin drizzle,
+though the barometer gave no promise of improvement, men gathered in the
+village street and began comparing notes. Everyone had suffered in some
+degree; even the shopkeepers and private residents complained of ruined
+goods, gardens rooted up, houses invaded by the all-pervading floods.
+
+But the farmers endured the greatest damage. Some had lost their
+half-year's rent, many would be faced with privation and bankruptcy.
+Thrice fortunate now were the men with capital--those who could look
+forward with equanimity to another season when the wanton havoc
+inflicted by this wild raging of the waters should be recouped.
+
+John Bolland, protected by an oilskin coat, crossed the road between the
+stockyard and the White House about eight o'clock.
+
+"Eh, Mr. Bollan', but this is a sad day's wark," said a friend who
+encountered him.
+
+"Ah, it's bad, very bad, an' likely te be worse," replied John, lifting
+his bent head and casting a weather-wise glance over the northerly moor.
+
+"I've lost t' best part o' six acres o' wuts," (oats) growled his
+neighbor. "It's hard to know what spite there was in t' clouds te burst
+i' that way."
+
+"Times an' seasons aren't i' man's hands," was the quiet answer.
+"There'd be ill deed if sunshine an' storm were settled by voates, like
+a county-council election."
+
+"Mebbe, and mebbe nut," cried the other testily. "'Tis easy to leave
+ivvrything te Providence when yer money's mostly i' stock. Mine happens
+te be i' crops."
+
+"An' if mine were i' crops, Mr. Pattison, I sud still thry te desarve
+well o' Providence."
+
+This shrewd thrust evoked no wrath from Pattison, who was not a
+chapel-goer.
+
+"Gosh!" he laughed, "some folks are lucky. They pile up riches both i'
+this wulld an' t' wulld te come. Hooivver, we won't argy. Hev ye heerd
+t' news fra' te t' 'Black Lion'?"
+
+"Aboot poor George Pickerin'? Noa. I've bin ower thrang i' t' cow-byre."
+
+"He's married, an' med his will. Betsy is Mrs. Pickerin' noo. But she'll
+be a widdy afore t' mornin'."
+
+"Is he as bad as all that?"
+
+"Sinkin' fast, they tell me. He kep' up, like the game 'un he allus was,
+until Mr. Croft left him alone wi' his wife. Then he fell away te nowt.
+He's ravin', I hear."
+
+"Croft! I thowt Stockwell looked efther his affairs."
+
+"Right enough! But Stockwell's ya (one) trustee, Mr. Herbert's t' other.
+So Croft had te act."
+
+"Well, I'm rale sorry for t' poor chap. He's coom tiv a bad end."
+
+"Ye'll be t' foreman o' t' jury, most like?"
+
+"Noa. I'll be spared that job. Martin is a witness, more's t' pity.
+Good-night, Mr. Pattison. It'll hu't none if y' are minded te offer up a
+prayer for betther weather."
+
+But the prayers of many just men did not avail to save Elmsdale that
+night. After a brief respite, the storm came on again with gusty
+malevolence. Black despair sat by many a fireside, and in no place was
+its grim visage seen more plainly than in the bedroom where George
+Pickering died.
+
+Dr. MacGregor watched the fitful flickering of the strong man's life,
+until, at last, he led the afflicted wife from the room and consigned
+her to the care of her weeping sister and the hardly less sorrowful
+landlady.
+
+At the foot of the stairs were waiting P. C. Benson and the reporter of
+the _Messenger_.
+
+"It is all over," said the doctor. "He died at a quarter past ten."
+
+"The same hour that he was--wounded," commented the reporter. "What was
+the precise cause of death?"
+
+"Failure of the heart's action. It was a merciful release. Otherwise, he
+might have survived for days and suffered greatly."
+
+The policeman adjusted his cape and lowered his chin-strap.
+
+"I mun start for Nottonby," he said. "T' inquest'll likely be oppenned
+o' Satherday at two o'clock, doctor."
+
+"Yes. By the way, Benson, you can tell Mr. Jonas that the county analyst
+and I are ready with our evidence. There is no need for an adjournment,
+unless the police require it."
+
+The constable saluted and set off on a lonely tramp through the rain. He
+crossed the footbridge over the beck--the water was nearly level with
+the stout planks.
+
+"I haven't seen a wilder night for monny a year," he muttered. "There'll
+be a nice how-d'ye-do if t' brig is gone afore daylight."
+
+He trudged the four miles to Nottonby. Nearing the outskirts of the
+small market town, he was startled by finding the body of a man lying
+face down in the roadway. The pelting gale had extinguished his lamp. He
+managed to turn the prostrate form and raise the man's head. Then, after
+several failures, he induced a match to flare for a second. One glance
+sufficed.
+
+"Rabbit Jack!" he growled. "And blind as a bat! Get up, ye drunken
+swine. 'Twould be sarvin' ye right te lave ye i' the road until ye were
+runned over or caught yer death o' cold."
+
+From the manner of P. C. Benson's language it may be inferred that his
+actions were not characterized by extreme gentleness. He managed to
+shake the poacher into semi-consciousness. Rabbit Jack, wobbling on his
+feet, lurched against the policeman.
+
+"Hello, ole fell', coom along wi' me," he mumbled amiably. "Nivver mind
+t' brass. I've got plenty. Good soart, George Pickerin'. Gimme me a
+sov', 'e did. Fo-or, 'e's a jolly good feller----"
+
+A further shaking was disastrous. He collapsed again. The perplexed
+policeman noted a haymew behind a neighboring gate. He dragged the
+nondescript thither by the scruff of his neck and threw him on the lee
+side of the shelter.
+
+"He'll be sober by mornin'," he thought. "I hev overmuch thrubble aboot
+te tew mysen wi' this varmint."
+
+And so ended the first of the dead man's bequests.
+
+The gathering of a jury in a country village for an important inquest
+like that occasioned by George Pickering's death is a solemn function.
+Care is exercised in empaneling men of repute, and, in the present
+instance, several prominent farmers were debarred from service because
+their children would be called as witnesses.
+
+The inquest was held, by permission, in the National schoolhouse. No
+room in the inn would accommodate a tithe of the people who wished to
+attend. Many journalists put in an appearance, the _Messenger_
+reporter's paragraphs having attracted widespread attention.
+
+It was noteworthy, too, that Superintendent Jonas did not conduct the
+case for the police. He obtained the aid of a solicitor, Mr. Dane, with
+whom the coroner, Dr. Magnus, drove from Nottonby in a closed carriage,
+for the rain had not ceased, save during very brief intervals, since the
+outbreak on Thursday morning.
+
+The jury, having been sworn, elected Mr. Webster, grocer, as their
+foreman, and proceeded to view the body. When they reassembled in the
+schoolroom it was seen that Betsy, now Mrs. Pickering, was seated next
+her sister. With them were two old people whom a few persons present
+recognized as the girls' parents, and by Betsy's side was Mr. Stockwell.
+Among the crowd of witnesses were Martin, Frank and Ernest
+Beckett-Smythe, and Angele.
+
+The mortification, the angry dismay of Mrs. Saumarez when her daughter
+was warned to attend the inquest may well be imagined. The police are no
+respecters of persons, and P. C. Benson, of course, ascertained easily
+the name of the girl concerning whom Martin and young Beckett-Smythe
+fought on the eventful night. She might be an important witness, so her
+mother was told to send her to the court.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez disdained to accompany the girl in person, and Francoise
+was deputed to act as convoy. The Normandy nurse's white linen bands
+offered a quaint contrast to the black robes worn by the other women and
+gave material for a descriptive sentence to every journalist in the
+room.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe, the vicar, Dr. MacGregor, and the county analyst
+occupied chairs beside the Coroner. The latter gentleman described the
+nature of the inquiry with businesslike brevity, committing himself to
+no statements save those that were obvious. When he concluded, Mr. Dane
+rose.
+
+"I appear for the police," he said.
+
+"And I," said Mr. Stockwell, "am here to watch the interests of Mrs.
+Pickering, having received her husband's written instructions to that
+effect."
+
+A deep hush fell on the packed assembly. The curious nature of the
+announcement was a surprise in itself. The reporters' pencils were busy,
+and the Coroner adjusted his spectacles.
+
+"The written instructions of the dead man?" he exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, sir. My friend, my lifelong friend, Mr. George Pickering, was but
+too well aware of the fate that threatened him. I have here a letter,
+written and signed by him on Thursday morning. With your permission, I
+will read it."
+
+"I object," cried Mr. Dane.
+
+"On what grounds?" asked the Coroner.
+
+"Such a letter may have a prejudicial effect on the minds of the jury.
+They are here to determine, with your direction, a verdict to be arrived
+at on certain evidence. This letter cannot be regarded as evidence."
+
+Mr. Stockwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I do not press the point," he said. "I fail to see any harm in showing
+a husband's anxiety that his wife should be cleared of absurd
+imputations."
+
+Mr. Dane reddened.
+
+"I consider that a highly improper remark," he cried.
+
+The other only smiled. He had won the first round. The jury knew what
+the letter contained, and he had placed the case for the police in an
+unfavorable light.
+
+The first witness, Pickering's farm bailiff, gave formal evidence of
+identity.
+
+Then the Coroner read the dead man's deposition, which was attested by
+the local justice of the peace. Dr. Magnus rendered the document
+impressively. Its concluding appeal to the Deity turned all eyes on
+Betsy. She was pale, but composed. Since her husband's death she had
+cried but little. Her mute grief rendered her beautiful. Sorrow had
+given dignity to a pretty face. She was so white, so unmoved outwardly,
+that she resembled a clothed statue. Kitty wept quietly all the time,
+but Betsy sat like one in a dream.
+
+"Catherine Thwaites," said the Coroner's officer, and Kitty was led by
+Mr. Jones to the witness stand. The girl's evidence, punctuated by
+sobs, was practically a resume of Pickering's sworn statement.
+
+From Mr. Dane's attitude it was apparent that he regarded this witness
+as untruthful.
+
+"Of course," he said, with quiet satire in word and look, "as Mr.
+Pickering impaled himself on a fork, you did not see your sister plunge
+a knife into his breast?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Nor did you run down the garden shrieking: 'Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you've
+killed him.' You did not cry 'Murder, murder! Come, someone, for God's
+sake'?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I did."
+
+This unexpected admission puzzled the solicitor. He darted a sharp side
+glance at Stockwell, but the latter was busy scribbling notes. Every
+pulse in court quickened.
+
+"Oh, you did, eh? But why charge your sister with a crime you did not
+see her commit?"
+
+"Because she had a knife in her hand, and I saw Mr. Pickering stagger
+across the garden and fall."
+
+"In what direction did he stagger?"
+
+"Away from the stackyard hedge."
+
+"This is a serious matter. You are on your oath, and there is such a
+thing as being an accessory after----"
+
+Up sprang Stockwell.
+
+"I protest most strongly against this witness being threatened," he
+shouted.
+
+"I think Mr. Dane is entitled to warn the witness against false
+testimony," said the Coroner. "Of course, he knows the grave
+responsibility attached to such insinuations."
+
+Mr. Dane waved an emphatic hand.
+
+"I require no threats," he said. "I have evidence in plenty. Do you
+swear that Mr. Pickering did not lurch forward from beneath the pear
+tree at the foot of the garden after being stabbed by your sister, who
+surprised him in your arms, or you in his arms? It is the same thing."
+
+"I do," was the prompt answer.
+
+The lawyer sat down, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"Any questions to put to the witness, Mr. Stockwell?" said the Coroner.
+
+"No, sir. I regard her evidence as quite clear."
+
+"Will you--er--does your client Mrs. Pickering wish to give evidence?"
+
+"My client--she is not my client of her own volition, but by the
+definite instructions of her dead husband--will certainly give evidence.
+May I express the hope that my learned friend will not deal with her too
+harshly? She is hardly in a fit state to appear here to-day."
+
+Mr. Dane smiled cynically, but made no reply. He declined to help his
+adversary's adroit maneuvers by fiery opposition, though again had Mr.
+Stockwell succeeded in playing a trump card.
+
+Betsy was duly warned by the Coroner that she might be charged with the
+wilful murder of George Pickering, notwithstanding the sworn deposition
+read in court. She could exercise her own judgment as to whether or not
+she would offer testimony, but anything she said would be taken down in
+writing, and might be used as evidence against her.
+
+She never raised her eyes. Not even those terrible words, "wilful
+murder," had power to move her. She stood like an automaton, and seemed
+to await permission to speak.
+
+"Now, Mrs. Pickering," said Dr. Magnus, "tell us, in your own words,
+what happened."
+
+She began her story. No one could fail to perceive that she was reciting
+a narrative learnt by heart. She used no words in the vernacular. All
+was good English, coherent, simple, straightforward. On the Monday
+morning, she said, she received a letter at Hereford from Fred Marshall,
+ostler at the "Black Lion Hotel."
+
+"Have you that letter?" asked the Coroner.
+
+"Yes," interposed Mr. Stockwell. "Here it is."
+
+He handed forward a document. A buzz of whispered comment arose. In
+compliance with Dr. Magnus's request, Betsy identified it listlessly.
+Then it was read aloud. Apart from mistakes in spelling, it ran as
+follows:
+
+     "Dear Miss Thwaites.--This is to let you know that George Pickering
+     is carrying on with your sister Kitty. He has promised to meet her
+     here on Monday. He has engaged a bedroom here. You ought to come
+     and stop it. I inclose P.O. for one pound toward your fare.--Yours
+     truly, Fred Marshall, groom, 'Black Lion,' Elmsdale."
+
+The fact that this meddlesome personage had sent Betsy her railway fare
+became known now for the first time. A hiss writhed through the court.
+
+"Silence!" yelled a police sergeant, glaring around with steely eyes.
+
+"There must be no demonstrations of any sort here," said the Coroner
+sternly. "Well, Mrs. Pickering, you traveled to Elmsdale?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"With what purpose in view?"
+
+"George had promised to marry me. Kitty knew this quite well. I thought
+that my presence would put an end to any courtship that was going on. It
+was very wrong."
+
+"None will dispute that. But I prefer not to question you. Tell us your
+own story."
+
+"I traveled all day," she recommenced, "and reached Elmsdale station by
+the last train. I was very tired. At the door of the inn I met Fred
+Marshall. He was waiting, I suppose. He told me George and Kitty were at
+the bottom of the garden."
+
+A quiver ran through the audience, but the police sergeant was watching,
+and they feared expulsion.
+
+"He said they had been there ten minutes. I ran through the hotel
+kitchen. On a table was lying a long knife near a dish of grouse. I
+picked it up, hardly knowing what I was doing, and went into the garden.
+When I was halfway down Kitty saw me and screamed. George turned round
+and backed away toward the middle hedge. I remember crying
+out--some--things--but I do not--know--what I said."
+
+She swayed slightly, and everyone thought she was about to faint. But
+she clutched the back of a chair and steadied herself. Mr. Jones offered
+her a glass of water, but she refused it.
+
+"I can go on," she said bravely.
+
+And she persevered to the end, substantially repeating her sister's
+evidence.
+
+When Mr. Dane rose to cross-examine, the silence in court was appalling.
+The girl's parents were pallid with fear. Kitty sat spellbound. Mr.
+Stockwell pushed his papers away and gazed fixedly at his client.
+
+"Why did you pick up the knife, Mrs. Pickering?" was the first question.
+
+"I think--I am almost sure--I intended to strike my sister with it."
+
+This was another bombshell. Mr. Dane moved uneasily on his feet.
+
+"Your sister!" he repeated in amazement.
+
+"Yes. She was aware of my circumstances. What right had she to be
+flirting with my promised husband?"
+
+"Hum! You have forgiven her since, no doubt?"
+
+"I forgave her then, when I regained my senses. She was acting
+thoughtlessly. I believe that George and she went into the garden only
+to spite Fred Marshall."
+
+Mr. Dane shook his head.
+
+"So, if we accept your statement, Mrs. Pickering, you harmed no one with
+the knife except yourself?"
+
+"That is so."
+
+He seemed to hesitate a moment, but seemingly made up his mind to leave
+the evidence where it stood.
+
+"I shall not detain you long," said Mr. Stockwell when his legal
+opponent desisted from further cross-examination. "You were married to
+Mr. Pickering on Thursday morning by special license?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He had executed a marriage settlement securing you L400 a year for
+life?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And, after the accident, you remained with him until he died?"
+
+"Yes--God help me!"
+
+"Thank you. That is all."
+
+"Just one moment," interposed the Coroner. "Were you previously
+acquainted with this man, Marshall, the groom?"
+
+"No, sir. I saw him for the first time in my life when he met me at the
+hotel door and asked me if I was Miss Thwaites."
+
+"How did he obtain your Hereford address? It appears to be given in full
+on the envelope."
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+Fred Marshall was the next witness. He was sober and exceedingly
+nervous. He had been made aware during the past week that public opinion
+condemned him utterly. His old cronies refused to drink with him. Mrs.
+Atkinson had dismissed him; he was a pariah, an outcast, in the village.
+
+His evidence consisted of a disconnected series of insinuations against
+Kitty's character, interlarded with protests that he meant no harm. Mr.
+Stockwell showed him scant mercy.
+
+"You say you saw Mrs. Pickering, or Betsy Thwaites, as she was at that
+time, seize a knife from the table?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"What did you think she meant to do with it?"
+
+"What she did do--stick George Pickerin'. I heerd her bawlin' that oot
+both afore an' efther."
+
+The man was desperate. In his own parlance, he might as well be hanged
+for a sheep as a lamb, and he would spare no one.
+
+"Oh, indeed! You knew she intended to commit murder?"
+
+"I thowt so."
+
+"Then why did you not follow her?"
+
+"I was skeered."
+
+"What! Afraid of a weak woman?"
+
+"Well, I didn't give a damn if she did stab him! There, ye hev it
+straight!"
+
+Mr. Stockwell turned to Mr. Dane.
+
+"If you are looking for accessories in this trumped-up case, you have
+one ready to hand," he exclaimed.
+
+"You must be careful what you are saying, Marshall," observed the
+Coroner severely. "And moderate your language, too. This court is not a
+stable."
+
+"He shouldn't badger me," cried the witness in sullen anger.
+
+"I'll treat you with great tenderness," said Mr. Stockwell suavely, and
+a general smile relieved the tension.
+
+"How did you obtain Miss Thwaites's address at Hereford?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Come, now. Where are your wits? Will you accuse me of badgering you, if
+I suggest that you stole a letter from Kitty Thwaites's pocket?"
+
+"I didn't steal it. It was in a frock of hers, hangin' in her bedroom."
+
+"You are most obliging. And the sovereign you sent her? Did you, by any
+chance, borrow it from Mrs. Atkinson?"
+
+"Frae Mrs. Atkinson? Wheae said that?"
+
+"Oh, I mean without her knowledge, of course. From Mrs. Atkinson's till,
+I should have said."
+
+The chance shot went home. The miserable groom growled a denial, but no
+one believed him. Quite satisfied that he had destroyed the man's
+credibility, Mr. Stockwell sat down.
+
+"Martin Court Bolland!" said the Coroner's officer, and a wave of
+renewed interest galvanized the court. Mr. Dane arranged his papers and
+looked around with the air of one who says:
+
+"Now we shall hear the truth of this business."
+
+Martin came forward. It chanced that the first pair of eyes he
+encountered were Angele's. The girl was gazing at him with a spiteful
+intensity he could not understand. He did not know then of the painful
+expose which took place at The Elms when Mrs. Saumarez learnt on the
+preceding day that her daughter was a leading figure among the children
+in the "Black Lion" yard on the night of the tragedy.
+
+Angele blamed Martin for having betrayed her to the authorities. She did
+not know how resolutely he had declined to mention her name; he loomed
+large in her mind, to the exclusion of the others.
+
+She regarded him now with a venomous malice all the more bitter because
+of the ultra-friendly relations she had forced on him.
+
+He looked at her with genuine astonishment. She reminded him of the
+wildcat he choked to death in Thor ghyll. But he had to collect his
+wandering faculties, for the Coroner was speaking.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE UNWRITTEN LAW
+
+
+Martin's evidence was concise. He happened to be in the "Black Lion"
+yard with other children at a quarter past ten on Monday night. He heard
+a woman's scream, followed by a man's loud cry of pain, and both sounds
+seemed to come from the extreme end of the garden.
+
+Kitty Thwaites ran toward the hotel shrieking, "Oh, Betsy, Betsy,
+you've killed him!" She screamed "Murder" and called for someone to
+come, "for God's sake!" She fell exactly opposite the place where he
+was standing. Then he saw Betsy Thwaites--he identified her now as
+Mrs. Pickering--running after her sister and brandishing a knife. She
+appeared to be very excited, and cried out, "I'll swing for him. May
+the Lord deal wi' him as he dealt wi' me!" She called her sister a
+"strumpet," and said it would "serve her right to stick her with the
+same knife." He was quite sure those were the exact words. He was not
+alarmed in any way, only surprised by the sudden uproar, and he saw
+the two women and the knife as plainly as if it were broad daylight.
+
+Mr. Dane concluded the examination-in-chief, which he punctuated with
+expressive glances at the jury, by touching on a point which he expected
+his acute rival to raise.
+
+"What were you doing in the 'Black Lion' yard at that hour, Bolland?"
+
+"I was having a dispute with Master Frank Beckett-Smythe."
+
+"What sort of a dispute?"
+
+"Well, we were fighting."
+
+A grin ran through the court.
+
+"He is an intelligent boy and older than you. Can you suggest any reason
+why he should have failed to see and hear all that you saw and heard?"
+
+Martin paused. He disliked to pose as a vainglorious pugilist, but there
+was no help for it.
+
+"I got the better of him," he said quietly. "One, at least, of his eyes
+were closed, and I had just given him an uppercut on the nose."
+
+"But his brother was there, too?"
+
+"Master Ernest was looking after him."
+
+"How about the other children?"
+
+"They ran away."
+
+"All of them?"
+
+"Well, nearly all. I can only speak for myself, sir. No doubt the others
+will tell you what they saw."
+
+Obviously, Mr. Dane was unprepared for the cool self-possession
+displayed by this farmer's son. He nodded acquiescence with Martin's
+views and sat down.
+
+Mr. Stockwell, watching the boy narrowly, had caught the momentary gleam
+of surprise when his look encountered that of the pretty dark-eyed child
+whose fashionable attire distinguished her from the village urchins
+among whom she was sitting.
+
+"By the way," he began, "why do you call yourself Bolland?"
+
+"That is my name, sir."
+
+"Are you John Bolland's son?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Then whose son are you?"
+
+"I do not know. My father and mother adopted me thirteen years ago."
+
+The lawyer gathered by the expression on the stolid faces of the jury
+that this line of inquiry would be fruitless.
+
+"What was the cause of the fight between you and young Beckett-Smythe?"
+
+This was the signal for an interruption from the jury. Mr. Webster, the
+foreman, did not wish any slight to be placed on Mrs. Saumarez. The
+upshot might be that he would lose a good customer. The Squire dealt at
+the Stores. Let him protect his own children. But Mrs. Saumarez needed a
+champion.
+
+"May I ask, sir," he said to the Coroner, "what a bit of a row atween
+youngsters hez te do wi' t' case?"
+
+"Nothing that I can see," was the answer.
+
+"It has a highly important bearing," put in Mr. Stockwell. "If my
+information is correct, this witness is the only one whose evidence
+connects Mrs. Pickering even remotely with the injuries received by her
+husband. I assume, of course, that Marshall's testimony is not worth a
+straw. I shall endeavor to elicit facts that may tend to prove the boy's
+statements unreliable."
+
+"I cannot interfere with your discretion, Mr. Stockwell," was the
+ruling.
+
+"Now, answer my question," cried the lawyer.
+
+Martin's brown eyes flashed back indignantly.
+
+"We fought because I wished to take a young lady home, and he tried to
+prevent me."
+
+"A young lady! What young lady?"
+
+"I refuse to mention her name. You asked why we fought, and I've told
+you."
+
+"Why this squeamishness, my young squire of dames? Was it not Angele
+Saumarez?"
+
+Martin turned to the Coroner.
+
+"Must I reply, sir?"
+
+"Yes.... I fail still to see the drift of the cross-examination, Mr.
+Stockwell."
+
+"It will become apparent quickly. Yes, or no, Bolland?"
+
+"Yes; it was."
+
+"Was she committed to your care by her mother?"
+
+"No. She came out to see the fair. I promised to look after her."
+
+"Were you better fitted to protect this child than the two sons of Mr.
+Beckett-Smythe?"
+
+"I thought so."
+
+"From what evil influences, then, was it necessary to rescue her?"
+
+"That's not a fair way to put it. It was too late for her to be out."
+
+"When did you discover this undeniable fact?"
+
+"Just then."
+
+"Not when you were taking her through the fair in lordly style?"
+
+"No. There was no harm in the shows, and I realized the time only when
+the clock struck ten."
+
+Every adult listener nodded approval. The adroit lawyer saw that he was
+merely strengthening the jury's good opinion of the boy. He must strike
+hard and unmercifully if he would shake their belief in Martin's good
+faith.
+
+"There were several other children there--a boy named Bates, another
+named Beadlam, Mrs. Atkinson's three girls, and others?"
+
+"Bates was with me. The others were in the yard."
+
+"Ah, yes; they had left you a few minutes earlier. Now, is it not a fact
+that these children, and you with them, had gone to this hiding-place to
+escape being caught by your seniors?"
+
+"No; it is a lie."
+
+"Is that your honest belief? Do you swear it?"
+
+"I shirked nothing. Neither did the others. Hundreds of people saw us.
+As for Miss Saumarez, I think she went there for a lark more than
+anything else."
+
+"A questionable sort of lark. It is amazing to hear of respectable
+children being out at such an hour. Did your parents--did the parents of
+any of the others realize what was going on?"
+
+"I think not. The whole thing was an accident."
+
+"But, surely, there must be some adequate explanation of this fight
+between you and Beckett-Smythe. It was no mere scuffle, but a severe
+set-to. He bears even yet the marks of the encounter."
+
+Master Frank was supremely uncomfortable when the united gaze of the
+court was thus directed to him. His right eye was discolored, as all
+might see, but his nose was normal.
+
+"I have told you the exact truth. I wished her to go home----"
+
+"Did she wish it?"
+
+"She meant to tease me, and said she would remain. Frank Beckett-Smythe
+and I agreed to fight, and settle whether she should go or stay."
+
+"So you ask us to believe that not only did you engage in a bout of
+fisticuffs in order to convoy to her home a girl already hours too late
+abroad, but that you alone, of all these children, can give us a correct
+version of occurrences on the other side of the hedge?"
+
+"I don't remember asking you that, sir," said Martin seriously, and the
+court laughed.
+
+Mr. Stockwell betrayed a little heat.
+
+"You know well what I mean," he said. "You are a clever boy. Are you not
+depending on your imagination for some of your facts?"
+
+"I wish I were, sir," was the sorrowful answer.
+
+Quite unconsciously, Martin looked at Betsy. Some magnetic influence
+caused her to raise her eyes for the first time, and each gazed into the
+soul of the other.
+
+Mr. Stockwell covered his retreat by an assumption of indifference.
+
+"Fortunately, there is a host of witnesses to be heard in regard to
+these particular events," he exclaimed, and Martin's inquisition ceased.
+
+The superintendent whispered something to Mr. Dane, who rose.
+
+"A great deal has been made out of this quarrel about a little girl," he
+said to the boy. "Is it not the fact that you have endeavored
+consistently to keep her name out of the affair altogether?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because Mrs. Saumarez is only a visitor here, and her daughter could
+not know anything of village ways. I was mostly to blame for allowing
+her to be there at all, so I tried to take it onto my shoulders."
+
+It was interesting to note how Angele received this statement. Her black
+eyes became tearful. Her hero was rehabilitated. She worshiped him again
+passionately. Someone else had peached. She brushed away the tears and
+darted a quick look at the Squire's eldest son.
+
+He was the next witness. He saw George Pickering and Kitty go down the
+garden, the man's arm being around Kitty's neck. Then he fought with
+Martin. Afterwards he heard some screaming, but could not tell a word
+that was said--he was too dazed.
+
+"Is it not possible the hubbub was too confused that you should gain any
+intelligible idea of it?" asked Mr. Stockwell.
+
+"Yes, that might be so."
+
+"You are a bigger boy than young Bolland. Surely he could not pummel the
+wits out of you?"
+
+"I don't think he will next time. He caught me a stinger by chance."
+
+A roar of laughter greeted this candid confession of future intentions.
+Even Mr. Beckett-Smythe and the vicar joined in.
+
+"Why did you wish to keep this girl, Angele Saumarez, away from her
+residence?"
+
+"She's a jolly sort of girl, and I think we were all a bit off our
+heads," said Frank ruefully.
+
+"But you had some motive, some design. Remember, you fought to retain
+her."
+
+"I wish I hadn't," said the boy, glancing at his father. His most
+active memory was of a certain painful interview on Wednesday night.
+
+"_You_ were not groggy on your legs," was Mr. Stockwell's first remark
+to Ernest. "What did you hear or see beyond the garden hedge?"
+
+"There was a lot of yelling, and two women ran toward the hotel. The
+woman with a knife was threatening to stick it into somebody, but I
+couldn't tell who."
+
+"Ah. She was running after the other woman. Don't you think she might
+have been threatening her only?"
+
+"It certainly looked like it."
+
+"Can't you help us by being more definite?"
+
+"No. Frank was asking for a pump. I was thinking of that more than of
+the beastly row in the garden."
+
+He was dismissed.
+
+"Angele Saumarez."
+
+The strangers present surveyed the girl with expectant interest. She
+looked a delightfully innocent child. She was attired in the dark dress
+she wore on the Monday evening. Her hat, gloves, and shoes were in
+perfect taste. No personality could be more oddly at variance with a
+village brawl than this delicate, gossamer, fairy-like little mortal.
+
+She gave her evidence without constraint or shyness. Her pretty
+continental accent enhanced the charm of her manners. In no sense
+forward, she won instant approbation, and the general view was that she
+had drifted into an unpleasant predicament by sheer force of
+circumstances. The mere love of fun brought her out to see the fair, and
+her presence in the stackyard was accounted for by a girlish delight in
+setting boys at loggerheads.
+
+But she helped the police contention by declaring that she heard Betsy
+say:
+
+"I'll swing for him."
+
+"I remember," she said sweetly, "wondering what she meant. To swing for
+anybody! That is odd."
+
+"Might it not have been 'for her' and not 'for him'?" suggested Mr.
+Stockwell.
+
+"Oh, yes," agreed Angele. "I wouldn't be sure about that. They talk
+queerly, these people. I am certain about the 'swing'."
+
+Really, there never was a more simple little maid.
+
+"You must never again go out at night to such places," remarked the
+Coroner paternally.
+
+She cast down her eyes.
+
+"Mamma was very angry," she simpered. "I have been kept at home for days
+and days on account of it."
+
+She glanced at Martin. That explanation was intended for him. As a
+matter of fact, Mr. Beckett-Smythe called at The Elms on Thursday
+morning and told Mrs. Saumarez that her child needed more control. He
+had thrashed Frank soundly the previous evening for riding off to a
+rendezvous fixed with Angele for nine o'clock. He whispered this
+information to Mr. Herbert, and the vicar's eyes opened wide.
+
+The other non-professional witnesses, children and adults, did not
+advance the inquiry materially. Many heard Kitty shrieking that her
+sister had murdered George Pickering, but Kitty herself had admitted
+saying so under a misapprehension.
+
+P. C. Benson raised an important point. The pitchfork was first
+mentioned about eleven o'clock, when Mr. Pickering was able to talk
+coherently, after being laid on a bed and drinking some brandy. Neither
+of the two women had spoken of it. And there were footprints that did
+not bear out the movements described in the dead man's deposition.
+
+"But Mr. Pickering's first lucid thought referred to this implement?"
+said Mr. Stockwell.
+
+"Neaebody was holdin' him, sir."
+
+The policeman imagined the lawyer had said "loosened."
+
+"I mean that the first account he ever gave of this accident referred to
+the pitchfork, and his subsequent statements were to the same effect."
+
+"Oah, yes. There's no denyin' that."
+
+"And you found the fork lying exactly where he described its position?"
+
+"Why, yes; but he was a desp'rate lang time i' studdyin' t' matter oot
+afore he's speak."
+
+"Do you suggest that someone placed the fork there by his instructions?"
+
+"Noa, sir. Most like he'd seen it there hissen."
+
+"Then why do you refuse to accept his statement that an accident took
+place?"
+
+"Because I f'und his footprints where he ran across t' garden te t' spot
+where he was picked up."
+
+"Footprints! After a month of fine weather!"
+
+"It was soft mold, sir, an' they were plain enough."
+
+"Were not a dozen men running about this garden at twenty minutes past
+ten?"
+
+"Ay--quite that."
+
+"And you tell us coolly that you could distinguish those of one man?"
+
+"There was on'y one man's track i' that pleaece, sir."
+
+Benson was not to be flurried. Mr. Jonas and a police sergeant
+corroborated his opinion.
+
+Dr. MacGregor followed. He described Pickering's wound, the nature of
+his illness, and the cause of death. The stab itself was not of a fatal
+character. Had it diverged slightly it must have reached the lung. As it
+was, the poison, not the knife, had done the mischief.
+
+The county analyst was scientifically dogmatic. His analyses had been
+conducted with the utmost care. The knife was contaminated, the
+pitchfork was only rusty. The latter was a dangerous implement, but in
+no way responsible for the state of Pickering's blood corpuscles.
+
+Mr. Dane, of course, made the most of these witnesses, but Mr. Stockwell
+wisely forbore from pressing them, and thus hammering the main items
+again into the heads of the jury.
+
+The Coroner glanced at his watch. It was six o'clock. Neither of the
+solicitors was permitted to address the court, and he made up his mind
+to conclude the inquiry forthwith.
+
+"There is one matter which might be cleared up," he said. "Where is
+Marshall, the groom?"
+
+It was discovered that the man had left the court half an hour ago. He
+had not returned. P.C. Benson was sent to find him. The two came back in
+five minutes. Their arrival was heralded by loud shouts and laughter
+outside. When they entered the schoolroom Marshall presented a
+ludicrous spectacle. He was dripping wet, and not from rain, for his
+clothes were covered with slime and mud.
+
+It transpired that he had gone to a public house for a pint of beer.
+Several men and youths who could not gain admittance to the court took
+advantage of the absence of the police and amused themselves by ducking
+him in a convenient horse pond.
+
+The Coroner, having expressed his official annoyance at the incident,
+asked the shivering man if he followed Betsy into the garden.
+
+No; he saw her go out through the back door.
+
+"Then the threats you heard were uttered while she was in the passage of
+the hotel or in the kitchen?"
+
+Yes; that was so.
+
+"It is noteworthy," said the Coroner, "that none of the children heard
+this young woman going toward the couple. She must have run swiftly and
+silently down the path, and the witnesses were so absorbed in the fight
+that she passed them unheard and unseen."
+
+Mr. Stockwell frowned. If this gave any indication of the Coroner's
+summing-up, it was not favorable to his client.
+
+Dr. Magnus showed at once that he meant to cast aside all sentimental
+considerations and adhere solely to the judicial elements. He treated
+George Pickering's deposition with all respect, but pointed out that the
+dying man might be actuated by the desire to make atonement to the woman
+he had wronged. The human mind was capable of strange vagaries. A man
+who would slight, or, at any rate, be indifferent, to one of the
+opposite sex, when far removed from personal contact, was often swayed
+by latent ties of affection when brought face to face with the woman
+herself.
+
+In a word, the Coroner threw all his weight on the side of the police
+and against Betsy. He regarded Fred Marshall and young Bolland as
+truthful witnesses, though inspired by different motives, and deemed the
+medical evidence conclusive.
+
+Betsy sat sphinx-like through this ordeal. Her unhappy parents, and even
+more unhappy sister, were profoundly distressed, and Stockwell watched
+the jury keenly as each damning point against his client was emphasized.
+
+"The law is quite clear in affairs of this kind," concluded Dr. Magnus
+gravely. "Either this unfortunate man was murdered, in which event your
+verdict can only take one form, or he met with an accident. Most
+fortunately, the last word does not rest with this court, or it would be
+impossible to close the inquiry to-day. The deceased himself raised a
+pertinent question: Why did his wife escape blood-poisoning, although he
+became infected? But the solicitors present apparently concur with me
+that this is a matter which must be determined elsewhere----"
+
+"No, no," broke in Mr. Stockwell. "I admit nothing of the sort."
+
+The Coroner bowed.
+
+"You have the benefit of my opinion, gentlemen," he said to the jury.
+"You must retire now and consider your verdict."
+
+The jury filed out into a classroom, an unusual proceeding, but highly
+expedient in an inquiry of such importance. Tongues were loosened
+instantly, and a hum of talk arose, while the witnesses signed their
+recorded statements. Kitty endeavored to arouse her sister from the
+condition of stupor in which she remained, and the girl's mother placed
+an arm around her shoulders. But Betsy paid little heed. Her mind dwelt
+on one object only--a sheet-covered form, lying cold and inanimate in a
+room of the neighboring hotel.
+
+Angele sidled toward Martin when a movement in court permitted.
+Francoise would have restrained her, but the child slid along a bench so
+quickly that the nurse's protest came too late.
+
+"Martin," she whispered, "you behaved beautifully. I was so angry with
+you at first. But it was not you. I know now. Evelyn Atkinson told."
+
+"I wish it had never happened," said the boy bitterly. He hated the
+notion that his evidence was the strongest link in the chain encircling
+the hapless Betsy.
+
+"Oh, I don't find it bad, this court. One is all pins and needles at
+first. But the men are nice."
+
+"I am not thinking of ourselves," he growled.
+
+"Tiens! Of whom, then?"
+
+"Angele, you're awfully selfish. What have we to endure, compared with
+poor Mrs. Pickering?"
+
+"Oh, pouf! That is her affair. Mamma beat me on Thursday. Beat me, look
+you! But I made her stop, oh, so quickly. Miss Walker pretends that
+mamma was ill. I know better, and so do you. I said if she hit me
+again----"
+
+He caught her wrist.
+
+"Shut up!" he said in a firm whisper.
+
+"Don't. You are hurting me. Why are you so horrid? Do you want me to be
+beaten?"
+
+"No; but how can you dare threaten your mother?"
+
+"I would dare anything rather than be kept in the house--away from you."
+
+Frank Beckett-Smythe, sitting near his father, was wondering dully why
+he had been such a fool as to incur severe penalties for the sake of
+this "silly kid," who was now ogling his rival and whispering coyly in
+that rival's ear. Martin was welcome to her, for all he cared. No girl
+was worth the uneasiness of the chair he occupied, for his father's
+hunting-crop had fallen with such emphasis that he felt the bruises yet.
+
+The jury returned. They had been absent half an hour. Mr. Webster was
+flustered--that was perceptible instantly. He, as foreman, had to
+deliver the finding.
+
+"Have you agreed as to your verdict?" said the Coroner.
+
+"We have."
+
+"And it is?"
+
+"Not guilty!"
+
+"What are you talking about? This is not a criminal court. You are asked
+to determine how George Pickering met his death."
+
+"I beg pardon," stammered Mr. Webster. He turned anxiously to his
+colleagues. Some of them prompted him.
+
+"I mean," he went on, "that our verdict is 'Accidental death.' That's
+it, sir. 'Accidental death,' I should hev said. Mr. Pickerin's own
+words----"
+
+The Coroner frowned.
+
+"It is an amazing verdict," he said. "I feel it my bounden duty----"
+
+Mr. Stockwell, pale but determined, sprang to his feet.
+
+"Do hear me for one moment!" he cried.
+
+The Coroner did not answer, so the solicitor took advantage of the tacit
+permission.
+
+"I well recognize that the police cannot let the matter rest here," he
+pleaded. "On your warrant they will arrest my client. Such a proceeding
+is unnecessary. In her present state of health it might be fatal. Surely
+it will suffice if you record your dissent and the inquiry is left to
+other authorities. I am sure that you, that Mr. Dane, will forgive the
+informality of my request. It arises solely from motives of humanity."
+
+The Coroner shook his head.
+
+"I am sorry, Mr. Stockwell, but I must discharge my duty
+conscientiously. The verdict is against the weight of evidence, and the
+ultimate decision rests with me, not with the jury. They have chosen
+deliberately to ignore my directions, and I have no option but to set
+aside their finding. I am compelled to issue a warrant charging your
+client with 'wilful murder.' Protests only render the task more painful,
+and I may point out that, under any circumstances, the date of arrest
+cannot be long deferred."
+
+A howl of vehement indignation came from the packed court. Nearly
+everyone present sympathized with Betsy. They accepted George
+Pickering's dying declaration as final; they regarded the Coroner's
+attitude as outrageous.
+
+For an instant the situation was threatening. It looked as though the
+people would wrest the girl from the hands of the police by main force.
+Old Mrs. Thwaites fainted, Kitty screamed dreadful words at the
+Coroner, and the girl's father sprawled across the table with his face
+in his hands and crying pitifully.
+
+Mr. Beckett-Smythe rose, but none would listen. There was a scene of
+tense excitement. Already men were crowding to the center of the room,
+while an irresistible rush from outside drove a policeman headlong from
+the door.
+
+Mr. Herbert strove to make himself heard, but an overwrought member of
+the jury bellowed:
+
+"Mak' him record oor vardict, parson. What right hez he te go ageaen t'
+opinion o' twelve honest men?"
+
+Solicitors and reporters gathered their papers hastily, fearing an
+instant onslaught on the Coroner, and someone chanced to step on
+Angele's foot as she clung in fright to Martin. The child squealed
+loudly; her toes had been squeezed under a heavy boot.
+
+Francoise, whose broad Norman face depicted every sort of bewilderment
+at the tumult which had sprung up for some cause she in no way
+understood, rose at the child's cry of anguish, and incontinently flung
+two pressmen out of her path. She reached Angele and faced the crowd
+with splendid courage.
+
+The voluble harangue she poured forth in French, her uncommon costume,
+and fierce gesticulations gained her a hearing which would have been
+denied any other person in the room, save, perhaps, Betsy. And Betsy was
+striving to bring her mother back to consciousness, without, however,
+departing in the least particular from her own attitude of stoic
+despair.
+
+The Coroner availed himself of the momentary lull. Francoise paused for
+sheer lack of breath, and Dr. Magnus made his voice heard far out into
+the village street.
+
+"Why all this excitement?" he shouted. "The jury's verdict will be
+recorded, but you cannot force me to agree with it. The police need not
+arrest Mrs. Pickering on my warrant at once. I hope they will not do so.
+Surely, as men of sense, you will not endeavor to defy the law? You are
+injuring this poor woman's cause by an unseemly turmoil. Make way,
+there, at the door, and allow Mrs. Pickering to escort her mother to the
+hotel. You are frightening women and children by your bluster."
+
+Mr. Stockwell joined the superintendent in appealing to the crowd to
+disperse, and the crisis passed. In a few minutes the members of the
+Thwaites family were safe within the portals of the inn, and the
+schoolroom was empty of all save a few officials and busy reporters.
+
+Francoise held fast to Angele, but the girl appealed to Martin to
+accompany her a little way. He yielded, though he turned back before
+reaching the vicarage.
+
+"Mother and I are coming to tea to-morrow," she cried as they parted.
+
+"All right," he replied. "Mind you don't vex her again."
+
+"Not I. She will want to hear all about the inquest. It was as good as a
+play. Wasn't Francoise funny? Oh, I do wish you had understood her. She
+called the men 'sacres cochons d'Anglais!' It is so naughty in English."
+
+On the green, and dotted about the roadway, excited groups discussed the
+lively episode in the schoolroom. They were rancorous against the
+Coroner, and not a few boohed as he entered his carriage with Mr. Dane.
+
+"Ay, they'd hang t' poor lass, t' pair of 'em, if they could," shouted a
+buxom woman.
+
+"Sheaem on ye!" screamed another. "I'll lay owt ye won't sleep soond i'
+yer beds te-night."
+
+But these vaporings broke no bones, and the Coroner drove away, glad
+enough that so far as he was concerned a distasteful experience had
+ended.
+
+The persistent rain soon cleared loiterers from the center of the
+village. John Bolland came to the farm while Martin was eating a belated
+meal.
+
+"A nice deed there was at t' inquest, I hear," he said. "I don't know
+what's come te Elmsdale. It's fair smitten wi' a moral pestilence. One
+reads o' sike doin's i' foreign lands, but I nivver thowt te see 'em i'
+this law-abidin' counthry."
+
+Then Martha flared up.
+
+"Wheae's i' t' fault?" she cried. "Can ye bleaem t' folk for lossin' their
+tempers when a daft Crowner cooms here an' puts hissen up ageaen t' jury?
+If he had a bit o' my tongue, I'd teng (sting) him!"
+
+So Elmsdale declared itself unhesitatingly on Betsy's side. A dead man's
+word carried more weight than all the law in the land.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+UNDERCURRENTS
+
+
+Undoubtedly the Coroner's expedient had prevented a riot in the village.
+The police deferred execution of the warrant, and Mr. Stockwell,
+recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, co-operated with them in
+making arrangements which would serve to allay public excitement.
+
+The dead man was removed unobtrusively to his Nottonby residence on
+Sunday evening. Accompanying the hearse was a closed carriage in which
+rode Mrs. Pickering and Kitty. At the door of Wetherby Lodge, Mr.
+Stockwell met the cortege, and when the coffin was installed in the
+spacious library the solicitor introduced the weeping servants to their
+temporary mistress, since he and Mr. Herbert had decided that she ought
+to reside in the house for a time. Such a fact, when it became known,
+would help to mold public opinion.
+
+An elderly housekeeper was minded to greet Betsy with bitter words. Her
+young master had been dear to her, and she had not scrupled earlier to
+denounce in scathing terms the woman who had encompassed his death.
+
+But the sight of the wan, white face, the sorrow-laden eyes, the
+graceful, shrinking figure of the girl-widow, restrained an imminent
+outburst, and the inevitable reaction carried the housekeeper to the
+other extreme.
+
+"How d'ye do, ma'am," she said brokenly. "'Tis a weary homecomin' ye've
+had. Mebbe ye'll be likin' a cup o' tea."
+
+Betsy murmured that she had no wants, but Yorkshire regards food as a
+panacea for most evils, and the housekeeper bade one of the maids "put a
+kettle on."
+
+So the ice was broken, and Mr. Stockwell breathed freely again, for he
+had feared difficulty in this quarter.
+
+On Monday Pickering was buried, and the whole countryside attended the
+funeral, which was made impressive by the drumming and marching of the
+dead man's company of Territorials. On Tuesday morning a special sitting
+of the county magistrates was held in the local police court. Betsy
+attended with her solicitor, the Coroner's warrant was enforced, she was
+charged by the police with the murder of George Pickering, and remanded
+for a week in custody.
+
+The whole affair was carried out so unostentatiously that Betsy was in
+jail before the public knew that she had appeared at the police court.
+In one short week the unhappy dairymaid had experienced sharp
+transitions. She had become a wife, a widow. She was raised from the
+condition of a wage-earner to the status of an independent lady, and
+taken from a mansion to a prison. Bereft of her husband by her own act
+and separated from friends and relatives by the inexorable decree of the
+law, she was faced by the uncertain issue of a trial by an impartial
+judge and a strange jury. Surely, the Furies were exhausting their spite
+on one frail creature.
+
+On Sunday evening Mrs. Saumarez drove in her car through the rain to tea
+at the White House. She was alone. Her manner was more reserved than
+usual, though she shook hands with Mrs. Bolland with a quiet
+friendliness that more than atoned for the perceptible change in her
+demeanor. Her wonted air of affable condescension had gone. Her face
+held a new seriousness which the other woman was quick to perceive.
+
+"I have come to have a little chat with you," she said. "I am going away
+soon."
+
+The farmer's wife thought she understood.
+
+"I'm rale sorry te hear that, yer leddyship."
+
+"Indeed, I regret the necessity myself. But recent events have opened my
+eyes to the danger of allowing my child to grow up in the untrammeled
+freedom which I have permitted--encouraged, I may say. It breaks my
+heart to be stern toward her. I must send her to the South, where there
+are good schools, where others will fulfil obligations in which I have
+failed."
+
+And, behold! Mrs. Saumarez choked back a sob.
+
+"Eh, ma'am," cried the perturbed Martha, "there's nowt to greet aboot.
+T' lass is young eneuf yet, an' she's a bonny bairn, bless her heart. We
+all hae te part wi' 'em. It'll trouble me sore when Martin goes away,
+but 'twill be for t' lad's good."
+
+"You dear woman, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I have.
+Your fine boy would never dream of rending your soul as Angele has rent
+mine to-day--all because I wished her to read an instructive book
+instead of a French novel."
+
+"Mebbe you were a bit hard wi' her," said the older woman. "To be sure,
+ye wouldn't be suited by this nasty inquest; but is it wise to change
+all at once? Slow an' sure, ma'am, is better'n fast an' feckless. Where
+is t' little 'un now?"
+
+"At home, crying her eyes out because I insisted that she should remain
+there."
+
+"Ay, I reckon she'd be wantin' te see Martin."
+
+"Do you think I may have been too severe with her?"
+
+"It's not for t' likes o' me to advise a leddy like you, but yon bairn
+needs to be treated gently, for all t' wulld like a bit o' delicate
+chiney. Noo, when Martin was younger, I'd gie him a slap ower t' head,
+an' he'd grin t' minnit me back was turned. Your little gell is
+different."
+
+"In my place, would you go back for her now?"
+
+"No, ma'am, I wouldn't. That'd show weak. But I'd mek up for't
+te-morrow. Then she'll think all t' more o' yer kindness."
+
+So the regeneration of Angele commenced. Was it too late? She was only a
+child in years. Surely there was yet time to mold her character in
+better shape. Mrs. Saumarez hoped so. She dried her tears, and, with
+Bolland's appearance, the conversation turned on the lamentable weather.
+She was surprised to hear that August was often an unsettled month,
+though this storm was not only belated but almost unprecedented in its
+severity.
+
+Mr. Herbert went to Nottonby early next day. He attended the funeral,
+heard the will read at Wetherby Grange in the presence of some
+disappointed cousins of the dead man, visited Betsy to say a few
+consoling words, and drove back to the vicarage through the unceasing
+rain.
+
+Tea awaited him in the drawing-room, but his first glance at Elsie
+alarmed him. Her face was flushed, her eyes red. She was a most
+woebegone little maid.
+
+"My dear child," he cried, "what is the matter?"
+
+"I want you--to forgive me--first," she stammered brokenly.
+
+"Forgive you, my darling! Forgive you for what?"
+
+"I've been--reading the paper."
+
+He drew her to his knee.
+
+"What crime is there in reading the paper, sweet one?"
+
+"I mean that horrid inquest, father dear."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+The smiling wonder left his face. Elsie looked up timidly.
+
+"I ought to have asked your permission," she said, "but you were away,
+and auntie has a headache, and Miss Holland (her governess) has gone on
+her holidays, and I was so curious to know what all the bother was
+about."
+
+Yet he did not answer. Hitherto his daughter, his one cherished
+possession, had been kept sedulously from knowledge of the external
+world. But she was shooting up, slender and straight, the image of her
+dead mother. Soon she would be a woman, and it was no part of his theory
+of life that a girl should be plunged into the jungle of adult existence
+without a reasonable consciousness of its snares and pitfalls. So ideal
+were the relations of father and daughter that the vicar had deferred
+the day of enlightenment. It had come sooner than he counted on.
+
+Elsie was frightened now. Her tears ceased and the flush left her
+cheeks.
+
+"Are you very angry?" she whispered. He kissed her.
+
+"No, darling, not angry, but just a little pained. It was an unpleasing
+record for your eyes. There, now. Give me some tea, and we'll talk about
+it. You may have formed some mistaken notions. Tell me what you thought
+of it all. In any case, Elsie, why were you crying?"
+
+"I was so sorry for that poor woman. And why did the Coroner believe she
+killed her husband, when Mr. Pickering said she had not touched him?"
+
+The vicar saw instantly that the girl had missed the more unpleasing
+phases of the tragedy. He smiled again.
+
+"Bring me the paper," he said. "I was present at the inquest. Perhaps
+the story is somewhat garbled."
+
+She obeyed. He cast a critical glance over the leaded columns, for the
+weekly newspaper had given practically a verbatim report of the
+evidence, and there was a vivid description of the scene in the
+schoolroom, with its dramatic close.
+
+"It is by no means certain, from the evidence tendered, that the Coroner
+is right," said Mr. Herbert slowly. "In these matters, however, the
+police are compelled to sift all statements thoroughly, and the only
+legal way is to frame a charge. Although Mrs. Pickering may be tried for
+murder, it does not follow that she will be convicted."
+
+"But," questioned Elsie, "Martin Bolland said he heard her crying out
+that she had killed Mr. Pickering?"
+
+"He may have misunderstood."
+
+"Just imagine him fighting with Frank, and about Angele Saumarez, too."
+
+"You may take it from me that Martin behaved very well indeed. Angele is
+a little vixen, a badly behaved, spoilt child, I fear. Young
+Beckett-Smythe is a booby who encouraged her wilfulness. Martin thrashed
+him. It would have been far better had Martin not been there at all; but
+if he were my son I should still be proud of him."
+
+The girl's face brightened visibly. There was manifest relief in her
+voice.
+
+"I am so glad we've had this talk," she cried. "I--like Martin, and it
+did seem so odd that he should have been fighting about Angele."
+
+"He knew she ought to be at home, and told her so. Frank interfered, and
+got punched for his pains. It served him right."
+
+She helped herself to a large slice of tea-cake.
+
+"I don't know why I was so silly as to cry--but--I really did think Mrs.
+Pickering was in awful trouble."
+
+The vicar laid the paper aside. His innocent-minded daughter had not
+even given a thought to the vital issues of the affair. He breathed
+freely, and told her of the funeral. Nevertheless, he had failed to
+fathom the cause of those red eyes.
+
+A servant clearing the tea-table bethought her of a note which came for
+Mr. Herbert some two hours earlier. She brought it from the study. It
+was from Mrs. Saumarez, inviting him and Elsie to luncheon next day.
+
+"Angele will be delighted," she wrote, "if Elsie will remain longer than
+usual. It is dull for children to be cooped within doors during this
+miserable weather. I am asking Martin Bolland to join us for tea."
+
+Mr. Herbert was a kind-hearted man, yet he wished most emphatically
+that Mrs. Saumarez had not proffered this request. To make an excuse for
+his daughter's non-attendance would convey a distinct slight which could
+only be interpreted in one way, after the publicity given to Angele's
+appearance at the inquest. He shirked the ordeal. Bother Angele!
+
+He glanced covertly at Elsie. All unconscious of the letter's contents,
+the girl was looking out ruefully at the leaden sky. There might be no
+more picnics for weeks.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez has invited us to luncheon," he said.
+
+"When?" she asked unconcernedly.
+
+"To-morrow. She wishes you to spend the afternoon with Angele."
+
+Elsie turned, with quick animation.
+
+"I don't care to go," she said.
+
+"Why not? You know very little about her."
+
+"She seems to me--curious."
+
+"Well, I personally don't regard her as a desirable companion for you.
+But there is no need to give offense, and it will not hurt you to meet
+her for an hour or so. Your friend Martin is coming, too."
+
+"Oh," she cried, "that makes a great difference."
+
+Her father laughed.
+
+"Between you, you will surely manage to keep Angele out of mischief.
+And, now, my pet, what do you say to an hour with La Fontaine, while I
+attend to some correspondence? Where are my pupils?"
+
+"They went for a long walk. Mr. Gregory said they would not be home
+until dinner-time."
+
+Next morning, for a wonder, the clouds broke, and an autumn sun strove
+to cheer the scarred and drowned earth. Mrs. Saumarez met her guests
+with the unobtrusive charm of a skilled hostess. Angele, demure and
+shrinking, extended her hand to Elsie with a shy civility that was an
+exact copy of Elsie's own attitude.
+
+During luncheon she behaved so charmingly and spoke with such sweet
+naturalness when any question was addressed to her that Mr. Herbert
+found himself steadily recasting his unfavorable opinion.
+
+The conversation steered clear of any reference to the inquest. Mrs.
+Saumarez was a widely read and traveled woman, and versed in the art of
+agreeable small talk.
+
+Once, in referring to Angele, she said smilingly:
+
+"I have been somewhat selfish in keeping her with me always. But, now, I
+have decided that she must go to school. I'll winter in Brighton, with
+that object in view."
+
+"Will you like that?" said the vicar to the child.
+
+"I'll not like leaving mamma; but school, yes. I feel I want to learn a
+lot. I suppose Elsie is, oh, so clever?"
+
+She peeped at the other girl under her long eyelashes, and made pretense
+of being awe-stricken by such eminent scholastic attainments in one of
+her own age.
+
+"Elsie has learnt a good deal from books, but you have seen much more of
+the world. If you work hard, you will soon make up the lost ground."
+
+"I'll try. I have been trying--all day yesterday! Eh, mamma?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez sighed.
+
+"I ought to have engaged a governess," she said. "I cannot teach. I have
+no patience."
+
+Mr. Herbert did not know that Angele's educational efforts of the
+preceding day consisted in a smug decorum that irritated her mother
+exceedingly. This luncheon party had been devised as a relief from
+Angele's burlesque. She termed it "jouer le bon enfant."
+
+After the meal they strolled into the garden. The storm had played havoc
+with shrubs and flowers, but the graveled paths were dry, and the lawn
+was firm, if somewhat damp. Mrs. Saumarez had caused a fine swing to be
+erected beneath a spreading oak. It held two cushioned seats, and two
+propelling ropes were attached to a crossbar. It made swinging a luxury,
+not an exercise.
+
+"By the way," cried Mrs. Saumarez to the vicar, "do you smoke?"
+
+He pleaded guilty to a pipe.
+
+"Then you can smoke a cigar. Francoise packed a box among my
+belongings--the remnants of some forgotten festivity in the Savoy. Do
+try one. If you like it, may I send you the others?"
+
+The vicar discovered that the gift would be costly--nearly forty Villar
+y Villars, of exquisite flavor.
+
+"Do you know that you are giving me five pounds?" he laughed.
+
+"I never learn the price of these things. I am so glad they are good.
+You will enjoy them."
+
+"It tickles a poor country vicar to hear you talk so easily of Lucullian
+feasts, Mrs. Saumarez. What must the banquet have been, when the cigars
+cost a half-crown each!"
+
+"Oh, I am not hard up. Colonel Saumarez had only his army pay, but my
+estates lie near Hamburg, and you know how that port has grown of
+recent years."
+
+"Do you never reside there?"
+
+Mrs. Saumarez inclined a pink-lined parasol so that its reflected tint
+mingled with the rush of color which suffused her face. Had the worthy
+vicar given a moment's thought to the matter, he would have known that
+his companion wished she had bitten her tongue before it wagged so
+freely.
+
+"I prefer English society to German," she answered, after a slight
+pause.
+
+Oddly enough, this statement was literally true, but she dared not
+qualify it by the explanation that an autocratic government exacted
+heavy terms for permitting her to draw a large revenue from her Hamburg
+property.
+
+Blissfully unaware of treading on anyone's toes, Mr. Herbert pursued the
+theme.
+
+"In my spare hours I take an interest in law," he said. "Your marriage
+made you a British subject. Does German law raise no difficulty as to
+alien ownership of land and houses?"
+
+"My family, the von Edelsteins, have great influence."
+
+This time the vicar awoke to the fact that he might be deemed unduly
+inquisitive. He knew better than to apologize, or even change the
+subject abruptly.
+
+"Land tenure is a complex business in old-established countries," he
+went on. "Take this village, for example. You may have noticed how every
+garth runs up the hillside in a long, narrow strip. Ownership of land
+bordering the moor carries the right of free grazing for a certain
+number of sheep, so every freeholder contrives to touch the heather at
+some point."
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Saumarez, promptly interested, "that explains the
+peculiar shape of the Bolland land at the back of the White House. An
+admirable couple, are they not? And so medieval in their notions. I
+attended what they call a 'love feast' the other evening. John Bolland
+introduced me as 'Sister Saumarez.' When he became wrapped up in the
+service he reminded me, or, rather, filled my ideal, of a high priest in
+Israel."
+
+"Was Eli Todd there?"
+
+"The preacher? Yes."
+
+"He is a fine fellow. Given to use a spiritual sledge-hammer, perhaps,
+but the implements of the Lord are many and varied. Far be it from me to
+gainsay the good work done by the dissenting congregations. If there
+were more chapels, there would be more churches in the land, Mrs.
+Saumarez."
+
+They had strolled away from the girls, and little did the vicar dream
+what deeps they had skirted in their talk.
+
+Angele led Elsie to the swing.
+
+"Try this," she said. "It's just lovely to feel the air sizzing past
+your ears."
+
+"I have a swing," said Elsie, "but not like this one. It is a single
+rope, with a little crossbar, which I hold in my hands and propel with
+my feet. It is hard work, I assure you."
+
+"Grand Dieu! So I should think."
+
+"Oh!" cried Elsie, "you shouldn't say that."
+
+"Vous me faites rire! You speak French?"
+
+"Yes--a little."
+
+"How stupid of me not to guess. I can say what I like before Martin
+Bolland. He is a nice boy--Martin."
+
+"Yes," agreed Elsie shortly.
+
+She blushed. They were in the swing now, and swooping to and fro in long
+rushes. Angele's black eyes were searching Elsie's blue ones. She
+tittered unpleasantly.
+
+"What makes you so red when I speak of Martin?" she demanded.
+
+"I am not red--that is, I have no reason to be."
+
+"You know him well?"
+
+"Do you mean Martin?"
+
+"Sapristi!--I beg your pardon--who else?"
+
+"I--I have only met him twice, to speak to. I have known him by sight
+for years."
+
+"Twice? The first time when he killed that thing--the cat. When was the
+second?"
+
+Angele was tugging her rope with greater energy than might be credited
+to one of her slight frame. The swing was traveling at a great pace. Her
+fierce gaze disquieted Elsie, to whom this inquisition was irksome.
+
+"Let us stop now," she said.
+
+"No, no. Tell me when next you saw Martin. I _must_ know."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Because he became different in his manner all at once. One day he
+kissed me----"
+
+"Oh, you _are_ horrid."
+
+"I swear it. He kissed me last Wednesday afternoon. I did not see him
+again until Saturday. Then he was cold. He saw you after Wednesday."
+
+By this time Elsie's blood was boiling.
+
+"Yes," she said, and the blue in her eyes held a hard glint. "He saw me
+on Wednesday night. We happened to be standing at our gate. Frank
+Beckett-Smythe passed on his bicycle. He was chased by a groom--sent
+home to be horsewhipped--because he was coming to meet you."
+
+"O la la!" shrilled Angele. "That was nine o'clock. Does papa know?"
+
+Poor Elsie crimsoned to the nape of her neck. She wanted to cry--to slap
+this tormentor's face. Yet she returned Angele's fiery scrutiny with
+interest.
+
+"Yes," she said with real heat. "I told him Martin came to our house,
+but I said nothing about Frank--and you. It was too disgraceful."
+
+She jerked viciously at her rope to counteract the pull given by Angele.
+The opposing strains snapped the crossbar. Both ropes fell, and with
+them the two pieces of wood. One piece tapped Angele somewhat sharply on
+the shoulder, and she uttered an involuntary cry.
+
+The vicar and Mrs. Saumarez hurried up, but the swing stopped gradually.
+Obviously, neither of the girls was injured.
+
+"You must have been using great force to break that stout bar," said Mr.
+Herbert, helping Angele to alight.
+
+"Yes. Elsie and I were pulling against each other. But we had a lovely
+time, didn't we, Elsie?"
+
+"I think I enjoyed it even more than you," retorted Elsie. The elders
+attributed her excited demeanor to the accident.
+
+"If the ropes were tied to the crossbeam, they would be safer, and
+almost as effective," said the vicar. "Ah! Here comes Martin. Perhaps
+he can put matters right."
+
+"I don't want to swing any more," vowed Elsie.
+
+"But Martin will," laughed Angele. "We can swop partners. That will be
+jolly, won't it?"
+
+Blissfully unaware of the thorns awaiting him, the boy advanced. To be
+candid, he was somewhat awkward in manner. He did not know whether to
+shake hands all round or simply doff his cap to the entire company.
+Moreover, he noted Elsie's presence with mixed feelings, for Mrs.
+Saumarez's note had merely invited him to tea. There was no mention of
+other visitors. He was delighted, yet suspicious. Elsie and Angele were
+flint and steel. There might be sparks.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez rescued him from one horn of the dilemma. She extended a
+hand and asked if Mr. Bolland were not pleased that the rain had ceased.
+
+"Now, Martin," said the vicar briskly, "shin up the pole and tie the
+ropes to the center-piece. These strong-armed giantesses have smashed a
+chunk of timber as thick as your wrist. Don't allow either of them to
+hit you. They'll pulverize you at a stroke."
+
+"I fear it was I who broke it," admitted Elsie.
+
+"Then it is you he must beware of."
+
+The vicar, in the midst of this chaff, gave Martin a "leg-up" the pole,
+and repairs were effected.
+
+When the swing was in order he slid to the ground. Mr. Herbert resumed
+the stroll with Mrs. Saumarez. There was an awkward pause before Martin
+said:
+
+"You girls get in. I'll start you."
+
+He spoke collectively, but addressed Elsie. He wondered why her air was
+so distant.
+
+"No, thank you," she said. "I've done damage enough already."
+
+"Martin," murmured Angele, "she is furious because I said you kissed
+me."
+
+This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly
+unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy's real
+strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great
+difficulties--he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material
+of greatness. He felt at once that he must now choose irrevocably
+between the two girls, with a most unpromising chance of ever again
+recovering lost ground with one of them. He did not hesitate an instant.
+
+"Did you say that?" he demanded sternly.
+
+"Ma foi! Isn't it true?"
+
+"The truth may be an insult. You had no right to thrust your schemes
+into Elsie's knowledge."
+
+"My schemes, you--you pig. I spit at you. Isn't it true?"
+
+"Yes--unfortunately. I shall regret it always."
+
+Angele nearly flew at him with her nails. But she contrived to laugh
+airily.
+
+"Eh bien, mon cher Martin! There will come another time. I shall
+remember."
+
+"There will come no other time. You dared me to it. I was stupid enough
+to forget--for a moment."
+
+"Forget what?"
+
+"That there was a girl in Elmsdale worth fifty of you--an English girl,
+not a mongrel!"
+
+It was a boyish retort, feeble, unfair, but the most cutting thing he
+could think of. The words were spoken in heat; he would have recalled
+them at once if that were possible, but Angele seized the opening with
+glee.
+
+"That's you!" she cried, stabbing her rival with a finger. "Parbleu! I'm
+a mixture, half English, half German, but really bad French!"
+
+"Please don't drag me into your interesting conversation," said Elsie
+with bitter politeness.
+
+"I am sorry I said that," put in the boy. "I might have had two friends.
+Now I have lost both."
+
+He turned. His intent was to quit the place forthwith. Elsie caught his
+arm with an alarmed cry.
+
+"Martin," she almost screamed, "look at your left hand. It is covered
+with blood!"
+
+Surprised as she, he raised his hand. Blood was streaming down the
+fingers.
+
+"It's nothing," he said coolly. "I must have opened a deep cut by
+climbing the swing."
+
+"Quelle horreur!" exclaimed Angele. "I hate blood!"
+
+"I'm awfully sorry--" began Martin.
+
+"Nonsense! Come at once to the kitchen and have it bound up," said
+Elsie.
+
+They hurried off together. Angele did not offer to accompany them.
+Martin glanced at Elsie through the corner of his eye. Her set mouth had
+relaxed somewhat. Anger was yielding to sympathy.
+
+"I was fighting another wildcat, so was sure to get scratched," he
+whispered.
+
+"You needn't have kissed it, anyhow," she snapped.
+
+"That, certainly, was a mistake," he admitted.
+
+She made no reply. Once within the house she removed the stained bandage
+without flinching from the ugly sight of half-healed scars, one of which
+was bleeding profusely. Cold water soon stopped the outflow, and one of
+the maids procured some strips of linen, with which Elsie bound the
+wound tightly.
+
+They had a moment to themselves in recrossing the hall. Martin ventured
+to touch the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Look here, Elsie," he said boldly, "do you forgive me?"
+
+Something in his voice told her that mere verbal fencing would be
+useless.
+
+"Yes," she murmured with a wistful smile. "I'll forgive, but I can't
+forget--for a long time."
+
+On the lawn they encountered Mrs. Saumarez. Learning from Angele why the
+trio had dispersed so suddenly, she was coming to attend to Martin
+herself.
+
+The vicar joined them.
+
+"Really," he said, "some sort of ill luck is attached to that swing
+to-day."
+
+And then Francoise appeared, to tell them that tea was ready.
+
+"What curious French she talks," commented the smiling Elsie.
+
+"Yes," cried Angele tartly. "Bad French, eh? And I know heaps and heaps
+of it."
+
+She caught Mr. Herbert's eye, and added an excuse:
+
+"I'm going to change all that. People think I'm naughty when I speak
+like a domestic. And I really don't mean anything wrong."
+
+"We all use too much slang," said the tolerant-minded vicar. "It is
+sheer indolence. We refuse to bother our brains for the right word."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+TWO MOORLAND EPISODES
+
+
+Though all hands were needed on the farm in strenuous endeavor to repair
+the storm's havoc, Dr. MacGregor forbade Martin to work when he examined
+the reopened cut. Thus, the boy was free to guide Fritz, the chauffeur,
+on the morning the man came to look at Bolland's herd.
+
+Fritz Bauer--that was the name he gave--had improved his English
+pronunciation marvelously within a fortnight. He no longer confused
+"d's" and "t's." He had conquered the sibilant sound of the "s." He was
+even wrestling with the elusive "th," substituting "d" for "z."
+
+"I learnt from a book," he explained, when Martin complimented him on
+his mastery of English. "Dat is goot--no, good--but one trains de ear
+only in de country where de people spik--speak--de language all de
+time."
+
+The sharp-witted boy soon came to the conclusion that his German friend
+was more interested in the money value of the cattle as pedigreed stock
+than in the "points"--such as weight, color, bone, level back, and
+milking qualities--which commended them to the experienced eye. Bauer
+asked where he could obtain a show catalogue, and jotted down the
+printer's address. When they happened on a team of Cleveland bays,
+however, Fritz was thoroughly at home, and gratified his hearer by
+displaying a horseman's knowledge of a truly superb animal.
+
+"Dey are light, yet strong," he said, his eyes roving from high-set
+withers to shapely hocks and clean-cut fetlocks. "Each could pull a ton
+on a bad road--yes?"
+
+Martin laughed. He was blind to the cynical smile called forth by his
+amusement.
+
+"A ton? Two tons. Why, one day last winter, when a pair of Belgians
+couldn't move a loaded lorry in the deep snow, my father had the man
+take out both of 'em, and Prince walked away with the lot."
+
+"So?" cried the German admiringly.
+
+"But you understand horses," went on Martin. "Yet I've read that men who
+drive motors don't care for anything else, as a rule."
+
+"Ah, dat reminds me," said the other. "It is a fine day. Come wid me in
+de machine."
+
+"That'll be grand," said Martin elatedly. "Can you take it out?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Any time I--dat is, I'll ask Mrs. Saumarez, and she will
+permit--yes."
+
+Quarter of an hour later the chauffeur was explaining, in German, that
+he was going into the country for a long spin, and Mrs. Saumarez was
+listening, not consenting.
+
+"Going alone?" she inquired languidly.
+
+"No, madam," he answered. "Martin Bolland will come with me."
+
+"Why not take Miss Angele?"
+
+The man smiled.
+
+"I want the boy to talk," he explained.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez nodded. She treated the matter with indifference. Not so
+Angele, who heard the car purring down the drive, and inquired Fritz's
+errand. She was furious when her mother blurted out the news that Martin
+would accompany Bauer.
+
+"Ce cochon d'Allemand!" she stormed, her long lashes wet with vexed
+tears. "He has done that purposely. He knew I wanted to go. But I'll get
+even with him! See if I don't."
+
+"Angele!" and Mrs. Saumarez reddened with annoyance; "if ever you say a
+word about such matters to Fritz I'll pack you off to school within the
+hour. I mean it, so believe me."
+
+Angele stamped a rebellious foot, but curbed her tongue and vanished.
+She ran all the way to the village and was just in time to see the
+Mercedes bowling smoothly out of sight, with Martin seated beside the
+chauffeur. She was so angry that she stamped again in rage, and Evelyn
+Atkinson came from the inn to inquire the cause. But Angele snubbed her,
+bought some chocolates from Mr. Webster, and never offered the other
+girl a taste.
+
+It happened that Martin, for his part, had suggested a call at the
+vicarage. Fritz vetoed the motion promptly.
+
+"Impossible!" he grinned. "I had to dodge de odder one, yes."
+
+Evidently Fritz had kept both eyes and ears open.
+
+They headed for the moors. Wise Martin had counseled a slow speed in the
+village to allay Mrs. Bolland's dread of a new-fangled device which she
+"couldn't abide"; but once on the open road the car breasted a steep
+hill at a rate which the boy thought neck-breaking.
+
+"Dat is nodding," said Fritz nonchalantly. "Twenty--twenty-five. Wait
+till we are on de level. Den I show you fifty."
+
+Within six minutes Martin flew past Mrs. Summersgill's moor-edge farm.
+Never before had he reached that point in less than half an hour. The
+stout party was in the porch, peeling potatoes for the midday meal. She
+lifted her hands in astonishment as her young friend sped by. Martin
+waved a greeting. He could almost hear her say:
+
+"That lad o' Bolland's must ha' gone clean daft. I'm surprised at Martha
+te let him ride i' such a conthraption."
+
+On the hedgeless road of the undulating moor, even after the ravages of
+the gale, fifty miles an hour was practicable for long stretches. Fritz
+was a skilled driver. He seemed to have a sixth sense which warned him
+of rain-gullies, and slowed up to avoid straining the car. He began
+explaining the mechanism, and halted on the highest point of a far-flung
+tableland to lift the bonnet and show the delighted boy the operations
+of the Otto cycle. In those days the self-starter was unknown, but
+Martin found he could start the heated engine without any difficulty.
+Fritz permitted him to drive slowly, and taught him the use of the
+brakes. Finally, this most agreeable Teuton produced a packet of
+sandwiches. He was in no hurry to return.
+
+"Dese farms," he said, pointing to a low-built house with tiled roof,
+and a cluster of stables and haymows, "dey do not raise stock, eh? Only
+little sheep?"
+
+"They all keep milk-cows, and bring butter to the market, so they often
+have calves and yearlings," was the ready answer.
+
+"And horses?"
+
+"Always a couple, and a nag for counting the sheep."
+
+"How many sheep?"
+
+"Never less than a hundred. Some flocks run to three or four hundred."
+
+"Ah. Where are dey?"
+
+Martin, proud of his knowledge, indicated the position and approximate
+distance of the hollows, invisible for the most part, in which lay the
+larger holdings.
+
+"Do you understand a map?" inquired Fritz.
+
+"Yes. I love maps. They tell you everything, when you can read them
+properly."
+
+"Not everyding," and the man smiled. "Some day I want to visit one of
+dose big farms. Can you mark a few?"
+
+He spread an Ordnance map--a clean sheet--and gave his guide a pencil.
+Soon Martin had dotted the paper with accurate information, such as none
+but one reared in that wild country could have supplied. He was eager to
+prove his familiarity with a map, and followed each bend and twist of
+the prehistoric glacier beds, where the lowland becks had their origin.
+He was not "showing off" before a foreigner. He loved this brown moor
+and was only too pleased to have found a sympathetic listener.
+
+"The heather is losing its color now," he said, pausing for a moment in
+his task. "You ought to see it early in August, when it is all one mass
+of purple flowers, with here and there a bunch of golden gorse--'whin,'
+we call it. Our moor is almost free from bog-holes, so you can walk or
+ride anywhere with safety. I have often thought what a fine place it
+would be for an army."
+
+"Wass ist das?" cried Fritz sharply. He corrected the slip with a laugh.
+"An army?" he went on, though his newly acquired accent escaped him.
+"Vot woot an army pe toing here?"
+
+"Oh, just a camp, you know. We hold maneuvers every year in England."
+
+"Yez. You coot pud all your leedle army on dis grount. Bud dere iss von
+grade tefecd. Dere iss no water. A vell, in eej farm, yez; bud nod
+enough for a hundret dousand men, und de horses of four divisions."
+
+This point of view was novel to the boy. He knit his brows.
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," he confessed. "But, wait a bit. There's far
+more water here than you would imagine. Stocks have to be watered, you
+know. Some of the farmers dam the becks. Why, in the Dickenson place
+over there," and out went a hand, "they have quite a large reservoir,
+with trout in it. You'd never guess it existed, if you weren't told."
+
+Fritz nodded. He had turned against the breeze to shield a match for a
+cigarette, and his face was hidden.
+
+"You surprise me," he murmured, speaking slowly and with care again.
+"And dere are odders, you say?"
+
+"Five that I know of. Mrs. Walker, at the Broad Ings, rears hundreds of
+ducks on her pond."
+
+Fritz took the map and pencil.
+
+"You show me," he chuckled. "I write an essay on Yorkshire moor farms,
+and perhaps earn a new suit of clo'es, yes? Our Cherman magazines print
+dose tings."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That same afternoon a party of guns on a Scottish moor had been shooting
+driven grouse flying low and fast over the butts before a strong wind.
+The sportsmen, five in number, were all experts. Around each shelter,
+with its solitary marksman and his attendant loader, lay a deep crescent
+of game, every bird shot cleanly.
+
+The last drive of the day was the most successful. One man, whose
+bronzed skin and military bearing told his profession, handed the empty
+12-bore to the gillie when the line of beaters came over the crest of
+the hill, and betook himself, filling his pipe the while, to a group of
+ponies waiting on the moorland road in the valley beneath.
+
+He joined another, the earliest arrival.
+
+"Capital ground, this," he said. "I don't know whose lot is the more
+enviable, Heronsdale--yours, who have the pains as well as the pleasure
+of ownership, or that of wandering vagabonds like myself whom you make
+your guests."
+
+Lord Heronsdale smiled.
+
+"You may call yourself a wandering vagabond, Grant--the envy rests with
+me," he said. "It's all very well to have large estates, but I feel like
+degenerating into a sort of head gamekeeper and farm bailiff combined.
+Of course, I'm proud of Cairn-corrie, yet I pine sometimes for the
+excitement of a life that does not travel in grooves."
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+"Don't tempt fate," he said. "My life has been spent among the outer
+beasts. It isn't worth it. For a few years of a man's youth,
+yes--perhaps. But I am forty, and I live in a club. There, you have my
+career in a nutshell."
+
+"There is a fine kernel within. By Gad! Grant, why don't you pretend I
+meant that pun? I didn't, but I'll claim it at dinner. Gad, it's fine!"
+
+Colonel Grant laughed. His mirth had a pleasant, wholesome ring.
+
+"If you bribe me with as good a berth to-morrow," he said, "I'll give
+you the chance of throwing it off spontaneously during the first lull in
+the conversation. The best impromptus are always prepared beforehand,
+you know."
+
+Others came up. The shooters mounted, and the wise ponies picked their
+way with cautious celerity over an uneven track. Colonel Grant again
+found himself riding beside his host.
+
+"Tell you what," said Lord Heronsdale suddenly, "you're a bit of an
+enigma, Grant."
+
+"I have often been told that."
+
+"Gad, I don't doubt it. A chap like you, with five thousand a year, to
+chuck the Guards for the Indian Staff Corps, exchange town for the
+Northwest frontier, go in for potting Afghans instead of running a drag
+to Sandown; and, to crown all, remain a bachelor. I don't understand
+it."
+
+"Yet, ten minutes ago you were growling about the monotony of existence
+at Cairn-corrie and half a dozen other places."
+
+"Not even a _tu quoque_ like that explains the mystery."
+
+"Some day I'll tell you all about it. When the time comes I must ask
+Lady Heronsdale to find me a nice wife, with a warranty."
+
+"Gad, that's the job for Mollie. _She'll_ put the future Mrs. Grant
+through her paces. You're not flying off to India again, then?"
+
+"No. I heard last week that a post is to be found for me in the
+Intelligence Department."
+
+"Capital! You'll soon have a K. before the C. B."
+
+"Possibly. Some fellows wear themselves to the bone in trying for those
+things. My scheming for years has been to avoid the humdrum of
+cantonment life. And, behold! I am spotted for promotion. I don't know
+how the deuce they ever heard of me in Pall Mall."
+
+"Gad! Don't you read the papers?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"My dear fellow, they were full of you last year. That march through the
+snow, pulling those guns through the pass, the final relief of the
+fort--Gad, Molly has the cuttings. She'll show 'em to you after dinner."
+
+"I sincerely hope Lady Heronsdale will do no such thing. Why on earth
+does she keep such screeds?"
+
+His lordship dropped his bantering air.
+
+"Do you really imagine, Grant," he said seriously, "that either she or I
+will ever forget what you did for Arthur at Peshawar?"
+
+The other man reddened.
+
+"A mere schoolboy episode," he growled.
+
+"Yes, in a sense. Yet Arthur told me that he had a revolver in his
+pocket when you met him that night at the mess and persuaded him to
+leave the business in your hands. You saved our boy, Grant. Gad, ask
+Mollie what she thinks!"
+
+"Has he been steady since?"
+
+"A rock, my dear chap--adamant where women are concerned. His mother is
+beginning to worry about him; he wouldn't look at Helen Forbes, and
+Madge Bolingbrooke does her skirt-dances in vain. Both deuced nice
+girls, too."
+
+Colonel Grant had navigated the talk into a safe channel, and kept it
+there. He never spoke of the past.
+
+At dinner a man asked him if he was reading the Elmsdale sensation. He
+had not even heard of it, so the tale of Betsy and George Pickering, of
+Martin Bolland and Angele Saumarez was poured into his ears.
+
+"I am interested," said his neighbor, "because I knew poor Pickering. He
+hunted regularly with the York and Ainsty."
+
+"Saumarez!" murmured Colonel Grant. "I once met a man of that name. He
+was shot on the Modder River."
+
+"This girl may be his daughter. The paper describes her mother as a lady
+of independent means, visiting the moors for her health."
+
+"Poor Saumarez! From what I remember of his character, the child must be
+a chip of the same block--he was an irresponsible daredevil, a terror
+among women. But he died gallantly."
+
+"There's a lot about her in the local paper, which reached me this
+morning. Would you care to see it?"
+
+"Newspapers are so inaccurate. They never know the facts."
+
+Yet the colonel, not caring to play bridge, asked later for the loan of
+the journal named by his informant, and read therein the story of the
+village tragedy. As fate willed it, the writer was the reporter of the
+_Messenger_, and his account was replete with local knowledge.
+
+Yes, Mrs. Saumarez was the widow of Colonel Saumarez, late of the
+Hussars. But--what was this?
+
+     "Martin Court Bolland, a bright-faced boy, of an intelligence far
+     greater than one looks for in rustic youth, has himself a somewhat
+     romantic history. He is the adopted son of the sturdy yeoman whose
+     name he bears. Mr. and Mrs. Bolland were called to London thirteen
+     years ago to attend the funeral of the farmer's brother. One
+     evening while seeing the sights of the great metropolis they found
+     themselves in Ludgate Hill. They were passing the end of St.
+     Martin's Court, when a young woman named Martineau----"
+
+The colonel laid aside his cigar and twisted his body sideways, so that
+the light of the billiard-room lamps should fall clearly on the paper
+yet leave his face in the shade.
+
+     "--a young woman named Martineau threw herself, with a baby in her
+     arms, from the fourth story of a house in the court, and was killed
+     by the fall. The baby's frock was caught by a projecting sign, and
+     the child hung perilously in air. John Bolland, whose strong, stern
+     face reveals a character difficult to surprise, impossible to
+     daunt, jumped forward and caught the tiny mite as it dropped a
+     second time. Mrs. Bolland still treasures a letter written by the
+     infant's unhappy mother, and prizes to the utmost the fine boy
+     whom she and her husband adopted from that hour. The old couple are
+     childless, though with Martin calling them 'father' and 'mother,'
+     they would scoff at the statement. This, then, is the well-knit,
+     fearless youngster who fought the squire's son on that eventful
+     night, and whose evidence is of the utmost importance in the police
+     theory of crime, as opposed to accident."
+
+Colonel Grant went steadily through the neat sentences on which the
+_Messenger_ correspondent prided himself. He was a man of bronze; he
+showed no more emotion than a statue, though the facts staring from the
+printed page might well have produced external signs of the tempest
+which sprang into instant being in his soul.
+
+He read each line of descriptive matter and report. For the sorrows of
+Betsy, the final daring of George Pickering, he had no eyes. It was the
+boy he sought in the living record: the boy who fought young
+Beckett-Smythe to rescue the thoughtless child--for so Angele figured in
+the text; the boy who repudiated with scorn the solicitor's suggestion
+that he formed part and parcel of the crowd of urchins gathered in the
+hotel yard; the farmer's adopted son, who spoke so fearlessly and bore
+himself so well that the newspaper noted his intelligence, his bright
+looks.
+
+At last Colonel Grant laid down the sheet and lighted a fresh cigar. He
+smoked for a few minutes, watching the pool players, and declining an
+invitation to join in the game. He seemed to be planning some line of
+action; soon he went to the library and unrolled a large scale map of
+England. He found Nottonby--Elmsdale was too small a place to be
+denoted--and, after consulting a railway timetable, wrote a long
+telegram.
+
+These things accomplished, he seized an opportunity to tell Lord
+Heronsdale that business of the utmost importance would take him away by
+the first train next morning.
+
+Of course, his host was voluble in protestations, so the soldier
+explained matters.
+
+"You asked me to-day," he said, "why I turned my back on town thirteen
+years ago. I meant telling you at a more convenient season. Will it
+suffice now to say that a kindred reason tears me away from your moor?"
+
+"Gad, I hope there is nothing wrong. Can I help?"
+
+"Yes; by letting me go. You will be here until October. May I return?"
+
+"My dear Grant----"
+
+So they settled it that way.
+
+About three o'clock on the second day after the colonel's departure from
+Cairn-corrie he and an elderly man of unmistakably legal appearance
+walked from Elmsdale station to the village. The station master,
+forewarned, had procured a dogcart from the "Black Lion," but the
+visitors preferred dispatching their portmanteaux in the vehicle, and
+they followed on foot.
+
+Thus it happened--as odd things do happen in life--that the two men met
+a boy walking rapidly from the village, and some trick of expression in
+his face caused the colonel to halt him with a question:
+
+"Can you tell me where the 'Black Lion' inn is?"
+
+"Yes, sir. On the left, just beyond the bend in the road."
+
+"And the White House Farm?"
+
+The village youth looked at the speaker with interest.
+
+"On the right, sir; after you cross the green."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The two men stood and stared at Martin, who was dressed in a neat blue
+serge suit, obtained by post from York, the wildcat having ruined its
+predecessor. The older man, who reminded the boy of Mr. Stockwell, owing
+to the searching clearness of his gaze, said not a word; but the tall,
+sparsely-built soldier continued--for Martin civilly awaited his
+pleasure--
+
+"Is your name, by any chance, Martin Court Bolland?"
+
+The boy smiled.
+
+"It is, sir," he said.
+
+"Are you--can you--that is, if you are not busy, you might show us the
+inn--and the farm?"
+
+The gentleman seemed to have a slight difficulty in speaking, and his
+eyes dwelt on Martin with a queer look in them: but the answer came
+instantly:
+
+"I'm sorry, sir; but I am going to the vicarage to tea, and you cannot
+possibly miss either place. The inn has a signpost by the side of the
+road, and the White House stands by itself on a small bank about a
+hundred and fifty yards farther down the village."
+
+The older gentleman broke in:
+
+"That will be our best course, Colonel. We can easily find our
+way--alone."
+
+The hint in the words was intended for the ears that understood. Colonel
+Grant nodded, yet was loath to go.
+
+"Is the vicar a friend of yours?" he said to Martin.
+
+"Yes, sir. I like him very much."
+
+"Does a Mrs. Saumarez live here?"
+
+"Oh, yes. She is at the vicarage now, I expect."
+
+"Indeed. You might tell her you met a Colonel Grant, who knew her
+husband in South Africa. You will not forget the name, eh--Grant?"
+
+"Of course not, sir."
+
+Martin surveyed the stranger with redoubled attention. A live colonel is
+a rare sight in a secluded village. The man, seizing any pretext to
+prolong the conversation, drew out a pocketbook.
+
+"Here is my card," he said. "You need not give it to Mrs. Saumarez. She
+will probably recognize my name."
+
+The boy glanced at the pasteboard. It read:
+
+     Lieut.-Col. Reginald Grant,
+       "Indian Staff Corps."
+
+Now, it chanced that among Martin's most valued belongings was a certain
+monthly publication entitled "Recent British Battles," and he had read
+that identical name in the July number. As was his way, he remembered
+exactly the heroic deeds with which a gallant officer was credited, so
+he asked somewhat shyly:
+
+"Are you Colonel Grant of Aliwal, sir?"
+
+He pronounced the Indian word wrongly, with a short "a" instead of a
+long one, but never did misplaced accent convey sweeter sound to man's
+ears. The soldier was positively startled.
+
+"My dear boy," he cried, "how can you possibly know me?"
+
+"Everyone knows your name, sir. No fear of me forgetting it now."
+
+The honest admiration in those brown eyes was a new form of flattery;
+for the first time in his life Colonel Grant hungered for more.
+
+"You have astonished me more than I can tell," he said. "What have you
+read of the Aliwal campaign? All right, Dobson. We are in no hurry."
+This to his companion, who ventured on a mild remonstrance.
+
+"I have a book, sir, which tells you all about Aliwal"--this time Martin
+pronounced the word correctly; no wonder the newspaper commented on his
+intelligence--"and it has pictures, too. There is a grand picture of
+you, riding through the gate of the fort, sword in hand. Do you mind me
+saying, sir, that I am very pleased to have met you?"
+
+The man averted his eyes. He dared not look at Martin. He made pretense
+to bite the end off a cigar. He was compelled to do something to keep
+his lips from trembling.
+
+"I hope we shall meet often again, Martin," he said slowly. "I'll tell
+you more than the book does, though I have not read it. Run off to your
+friends at the vicarage. Good-by!"
+
+He held out his hand, which the boy shook diffidently. There was no
+doubt whatever in Martin's mind that Colonel Grant was an
+extraordinarily nice gentleman.
+
+"My God, Dobson!" cried the soldier, turning again to look after the
+alert figure of the boy; "I have seen him, spoken to him--my own son! I
+would know him among a million."
+
+"He certainly bears a marked resemblance to your own photograph at the
+same age," admitted the cautious solicitor.
+
+"And what a fine youngster! By Jove, did you twig the way he caught on
+to the pronunciation of Aliwal? Bless that book! It shall be bound in
+the rarest leather, though I never rode through that gate--I ran, for
+dear life! I--I tell you what, Dobson, I'd sooner do it now than face
+these people, the Bollands, and explain my errand. I suppose they
+worship him."
+
+"The position differs from my expectations," said the solicitor. "The
+boy does not talk like a farmer's son. And he is going to tea at the
+vicarage with a lady of good social position. Can the Bollands be of
+higher grade than we are led to believe?"
+
+"The newspaper is my only authority. Ah, here is the 'Black Lion.'"
+
+Mrs. Atkinson bustled forward to assure the gentlemen that she could
+accommodate them. Colonel Grant was allotted the room in which George
+Pickering died! It was the best in the hotel. He glanced for a moment
+through the window and took in the scene of the tragedy.
+
+"That must be where the two young imps fought," he murmured, with a
+smile, as he looked into the yard. "Gad! as Heronsdale says, I'd like to
+have seen the battle. And my boy whipped the other chap, who was bigger
+and older, the paper said."
+
+Soon the two men were climbing the slight acclivity on which stood the
+White House. The door stood hospitably open, as was ever the case about
+tea-time in fine weather. In the front kitchen was Martha, alone.
+
+The colonel advanced.
+
+"Is Mr. Bolland at home?" he asked, raising his hat.
+
+"Noa, sir; he isn't. But he's on'y i' t' cow-byre. If it's owt
+important----"
+
+He followed her meaning sufficiently.
+
+"Will you oblige me by sending for him? And--er--is Mrs. Bolland here?"
+
+"I'm Mrs. Bolland, sir."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course, I did not know you."
+
+He thought he would find a much younger woman. Martha, in the
+close-fitting sunbonnet, with its wide flaps, her sleeves rolled up, and
+her outer skirt pinned behind to keep it clear of the dirt during
+unceasing visits to dairy and hen-roosts, looked even older than she
+was, her real age being fifty-five.
+
+"Will you kindly be seated, gentlemen?" she said. She was sure they were
+county folk come about the stock. Her husband's growing reputation as a
+breeder of prize cattle brought such visitors occasionally. She wondered
+why the taller stranger asked for her, but he said no more, taking a
+chair in silence.
+
+She dispatched a maid to summon the master.
+
+"Hev ye coom far?" she asked bluntly.
+
+Colonel Grant looked around. His eyes were searching the roomy kitchen
+for tokens of its occupants' ways.
+
+"We traveled from Darlington to Elmsdale," he said, "and walked here
+from the station."
+
+"My goodness, ye'll be fair famished. Hev summat te eat. There's plenty
+o' tea an' cakes; an' if ye'd fancy some ham an' eggs----"
+
+"Pray do not trouble, Mrs. Bolland," said the colonel when he had
+grasped the full extent of the invitation. "We wish to have a brief talk
+with you and your husband. Afterwards, if you ask us, we shall be most
+pleased to accept your hospitality."
+
+He spoke so genially, with such utter absence of affectation, that
+Martha rather liked him. Yet, what could she have to do with the
+business in hand? Anyhow, here came John, crossing the road with heavy
+strides.
+
+The farmer paused just within the threshold. His huge frame filled the
+doorway. He wore spectacles for reading only, and his deep-sunken eyes
+rested steadily, first on Colonel Grant, then on the solicitor. Then
+they went back to the colonel and did not leave him again.
+
+"Good day, gentlemen," he said. "What can I deae for ye?"
+
+The man who stormed forts on horseback--in pictures--quailed at the task
+before him. He nodded to the solicitor.
+
+"Dobson," he said, "you know all the circumstances. Oblige me by stating
+them fully."
+
+The solicitor, who seemed to expect this request, produced a bulky
+packet of papers and photographs. He prefaced his explanation by giving
+his companion's name and rank, and introduced himself as a member of the
+firm of Dobson, Son and Smith, Solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+
+"Fifteen years ago," he went on, "Colonel Grant was a subaltern, a
+junior officer, in the Guards, stationed in London. A slight accident
+one day outside a railway station led him to make the acquaintance of a
+young lady. She was hurrying to catch a train, when she was knocked down
+by a frightened horse, and might have been injured seriously were it not
+for Lieutenant Grant's prompt assistance. He escorted her to her
+lodgings, and discovered that she was what is known in London as a daily
+governess--in other words, a poor, well-educated woman striving to earn
+a respectable living. The horse had trampled on her foot, and she
+required proper attention and rest; a brief interview with her landlady
+enabled Mr. Grant to make the requisite arrangements, unknown to the
+young lady herself. He called a week later and found that she was quite
+recovered. She was a very beautiful girl, of a lively disposition, only
+twenty years of age, and working hard in her spare time to perfect
+herself as a musician. She had no idea of the social rank of her new
+friend, or perhaps matters might have turned out differently. As it was,
+they met frequently, became engaged, and were married. I have here a
+copy of the marriage certificate."
+
+He selected a long, narrow strip of blue paper from the documents he had
+placed before him on the kitchen table. He opened it and offered it to
+Bolland, as though he wished the farmer to examine it. John did not
+move. He was still looking intently at Colonel Grant.
+
+Martha, all a-flutter, with an indefinite anxiety wrinkling the corners
+of her eyes, said quickly:
+
+"What might t' young leddy's neaem be, sir?"
+
+"Margaret Ingram. She was of a Gloucestershire family, but her parents
+were dead, and she had no near relatives."
+
+Martha cried, somewhat tartly:
+
+"An' what hez all this te deae wi' us, sir?"
+
+"Let be, wife. Bide i' patience. T' gentleman will tell us, neae doot."
+
+John's voice was hard, almost dissonant. The solicitor gave him a rapid
+glance. That harsh tone boded ill for the smooth accomplishment of his
+mission. Martha wondered why her husband gazed so fixedly at the other
+man who spoke not. But she toyed nervously with her apron and held her
+peace. Mr. Dobson resumed:
+
+"The young couple could not start housekeeping openly. Lieutenant Grant
+depended solely on the allowance made to him by his father, whose ideas
+of family pride were so extreme that such a marriage must unquestionably
+have led to a rupture. Moreover, a campaign in northern India was then
+threatening. It broke out exactly a year and two months after the
+marriage. Mr. Grant's regiment was ordered to the front, and when he
+sailed from Southampton he left his young wife and an infant, a boy,
+four months old, installed in a comfortable flat in Clarges Street,
+Piccadilly. It is important that the exact position of family affairs at
+this moment should be realized. General Grant, father of the young
+officer, had suffered from an apopletic stroke soon after his son's
+marriage, and to acquaint him with it now meant risking his life. Young
+Grant's action was known to and approved by several trustworthy friends.
+He and his wife were very happy, and Mrs. Grant was correspondingly
+depressed when the exigencies of the national service took her husband
+away from her. The parting between the young couple was a bitter trial,
+rendered all the more heartrending by reason of the concealment they had
+practiced. However, as matters had been allowed to drift thus far, no
+one will pretend that there was any special need to worry General Grant
+at the moment of his son's departure for a campaign. Lieutenant Grant
+hoped to return with a step in rank. Then, whatever the consequences,
+there must be a full explanation. He had not a great deal of money, but
+sufficient for his wife's needs. He left her two hundred pounds in notes
+and gold, and his bankers were empowered to pay her fifty pounds
+monthly. His own allowance from General Grant was seventy-five pounds a
+month, and it was with great difficulty that he maintained his position
+in such an expensive regiment as the Guards. The campaign eased the
+pressure, or he could not have kept it up for long."
+
+"Are all these details quite necessary, Dobson?" said the colonel, for
+the steady glare of the farmer, the growing pallor of poor Martha,
+around whose heart an icy hand was taking sure grip, were exceedingly
+irksome.
+
+"They are if I am to do you justice," replied the lawyer.
+
+"Never mind me. Tell them of Margaret--and the boy."
+
+"I will pass over the verification of my statement," went on Mr. Dobson,
+bending over the folded papers. "Seven months passed. Mrs. Grant
+expected soon to be delivered of another child. She heard regularly from
+her husband. His regiment was in the Khyber Pass, when one evening she
+was robbed of her small store of jewelry and a considerable sum of money
+by a trusted servant. The theft was reported in the papers, and General
+Grant read of his son's wife being a resident in Clarges Street. He went
+to the flat next day, saw the poor girl, behaved in a way that can only
+be ascribed to the folly of an old man broken by disease, and cut off
+supplies at once. Within a week Mrs. Grant found herself in poverty, and
+her husband at least a month's post distant. She did not lose her wits.
+She sold her furniture and raised money enough to support herself and
+her baby boy for some time. Of course, she was very much distressed, as
+General Grant wrote to her, called her an adventuress, and stated that
+he had disinherited his son on her account. This was only partly true.
+He tore up one will, but made no other, and forgot that there was a
+second copy in possession of my firm. Mrs. Grant then did a foolish
+thing. She concealed her troubles from her husband's friends, who would
+have helped her. She took cheap lodgings in another part of London, and
+changed her name. This seems to be accounted for by the fact that
+General Grant, in his insane suspicions, set private detectives to watch
+her. Moreover, the bankers wrote her a curt letter which added to her
+miseries. She rented rooms in St. Martin's Court, Ludgate Hill, and gave
+her name as Mrs. Martineau."
+
+Martha sprang at the solicitor with an eerie screech:
+
+"Hev ye coom to steal oor bairn, the bonny lad we've reared i' infancy
+an' childhood? Leave this house! John--husband--will ye let 'em drive me
+mad?"
+
+John took her in his arms.
+
+"Martha," he said, with a break in his voice that shook his hearers and
+stilled his wife's cries; "dinnat mak' oor burthen harder te bear. A
+man's heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps!"
+
+Servants, men and women, came running at their mistress's scream of
+terror. They stood, abashed, in the kitchen passage. None paid heed to
+them.
+
+Colonel Grant rose and approached the trembling woman cowering at her
+husband's side. Her old eyes were streaming now; she gazed at him with
+the pitiful anguish of a stricken animal. He took her wrinkled hand and
+bent low before her.
+
+"Madam," he said, "God forbid that my son should lose his mother a
+second time!"
+
+He could say no other word. Even in her agony, Martha felt hot tears
+falling on her bare arm, and they were not her own.
+
+"Eh, but it's a sad errand ye're on," she sobbed.
+
+"Wife, wife!" cried John huskily, "if thou faint in the day of adversity
+thy strength is small. Colonel Grant is a true man. It's in his feaece.
+He weaen't rive Martin frae yer arms, an' no man can tak' him frae yer
+heart."
+
+Colonel Grant drew himself up. He caught Bolland's shoulder.
+
+"Bear with me," he said. "I have suffered much. I lost my wife and two
+children, one unborn. They were torn from me as though by a destroying
+tempest. One is given back, after thirteen long years of mourning. Can
+you not spare me a place in his affections?"
+
+"Ay, ay," growled John. "We're nobbut owd folk at t' best, an' t' lad
+was leavin' oor roof for school in a little while. We can sattle things
+like sensible people, if on'y Martha here will gie ower greetin'. It
+troubles me sair to hear her lamentin'. We've had no sike deed i'
+thirty-fower years o' married life."
+
+The man was covering his own distress by solicitude in his wife's
+behalf. She knew it. She wiped her eyes defiantly with her apron and
+made pretense to smile, though she had received a shock she would
+remember to her dying day. Some outlet was necessary for her surcharged
+feelings. She whisked around on the crowd of amazed domestics,
+dairymaids and farmhands, pressing on each other's heels in the passage.
+
+"What are ye gapin' at?" she cried shrilly. "Is there nowt te deae? If
+tea's overed, git on wi' yer work, an' be sharp aboot it, or I'll side
+ye quick!"
+
+The stampede that followed relieved the situation. The servants faded
+away under her fiery glance. Colonel Grant smiled.
+
+"I am glad to see," he said, "that you maintain discipline in your
+regiment."
+
+"They're all ears an' neae brains," she said. "My, but I'm that upset I
+hardly ken what I'm sayin'. Mebbe ye'll finish yer tale, sir. I'm
+grieved I med sike a dash at ye, but I couldn't bide----"
+
+"There, there," said John, with his gruff soothing, "sit ye doon an'
+listen quietly. I guessed their business t' first minnit I set eyes on
+t' colonel. Why, Martha, look at him. He hez Martin's eyes and Martin's
+mouth. Noo, ye'd hev dark-brown hair, I reckon, when ye were a lad,
+sir?"
+
+For answer, Colonel Grant stooped to the lawyer's papers and took from
+them a framed miniature.
+
+"That is my portrait at the age of twelve," he said, placing it before
+them.
+
+"Eh, but that caps owt!" cried Martha. "It's Martin hissel! Oh, my
+honey, how little did I think what was coomin' when I set yer shirt an'
+collar ready, an' med ye tidy te gan te tea wi' t' fine folk at t'
+vicarage. An' noo ye're a better bred 'un than ony of 'em. The Lord love
+ye! Here ye are, smilin' at me. They may mak' ye a colonel or a gin'ral,
+for owt I care: ye'll nivver forgit yer poor old muther, will ye, my
+bairn!"
+
+She kissed the miniature as if it were Martin's own presentment. The men
+left her to sob again in silence. Soon she calmed herself sufficiently
+to ask:
+
+"But why i' t' wulld did that poor lass throw herself an' her little 'un
+inte t' street?"
+
+Mr. Dobson took up his story once more:
+
+"She explained her action in a pathetic letter to her husband. She was
+ill, lonely, and poverty-stricken. She brooded for days on General
+Grant's cruel words and still more cruel letter. They led her to believe
+that she was the unwitting cause of her husband's ruin. She resolved to
+free him absolutely and at the same time preserve his name from
+notoriety. Therefore she wrote him a full account of her change of name,
+and told him that her children would die with her."
+
+"That was a mad thing te deae."
+
+"Exactly. The doctor who knew her best told her husband six months later
+that Mrs. Grant was, in his opinion, suffering from an unrecognized
+attack of puerperal fever. It was latent in her system, and developed
+with the trouble so suddenly brought upon her."
+
+"Yon was a wicked owd man----"
+
+"The general was called to account by a higher power. Mrs. Grant wrote
+him also a statement of her intentions. Next morning he read of her
+death, and a second attack of apoplexy proved fatal. Her letter did not
+reach her husband until after a battle in which he was wounded. He
+cabled to us, and we made every inquiry, but it was remarkable how
+chance baffled our efforts. In the first instance, the policeman whom
+you encountered in Ludgate Hill and who knew you had adopted the child,
+had left the force and emigrated, owing to some unfortunate love
+affair. In the second, several newspapers reported the child as dead,
+though the records of the inquest soon corrected that error. Thirdly,
+someone named Bolland died in the hotel where you stayed and was buried
+at Highgate----"
+
+"My brother," put in John.
+
+"Yes; we know now. But conceive the barrier thus placed in our path when
+the dates of the two events were compared long afterwards."
+
+The farmer looked puzzled. The solicitor went on:
+
+"Of course, you wonder why there should have been any delay, but the
+Coroner's notes were lost in a fire. Nevertheless, we advertised in
+dozens of newspapers."
+
+"We hardly ever see a paper, sir," said Martha.
+
+"Yet, the wonder is that some of your friends did not see it and tell
+you. Finally, a sharp-witted clerk of ours solved the Highgate Cemetery
+mystery, and the advertisements were repeated. Colonel Grant was back in
+India by that time trying hard to leave his bones there, by all
+accounts, and perhaps we did not spend as much money on this second
+quest as if he were at home to authorize the expenditure."
+
+"When was that, sir--t' second lot o' advertisements, I mean?" asked
+John.
+
+"Quite a year after Mrs. Grant's death."
+
+Bolland stroked his chin thoughtfully.
+
+"I remember," he said, "a man at Malton fair sayin' summat aboot an
+inquiry for me. But yan o' t' hands rode twenty miles across counthry te
+tell me that Martin had gotten t' measles, an' I kem yam that neet."
+
+"Naturally, I can give you every proof of my statements," said Mr.
+Dobson. "They are all here----"
+
+"Mebbe ye'll know this writin'," interrupted Martha, laying down the
+miniature for the first time. She unlocked a drawer, took out a small
+tin box, and from its depths produced, among other articles, a crumbling
+sheet of note paper. On it was written:
+
+     "My name is not Martineau. I have killed myself and my boy. If he
+     dies with his unhappy mother he will never know the miseries of
+     this life."
+
+It was unsigned, undated, a hurried scrawl in faded ink.
+
+"Margaret's handwriting," said Colonel Grant, looking at the pathetic
+message with sorrow-laden eyes.
+
+"It was found on t' poor leddy's dressin'-table, fastened wi' a hatpin.
+An' these are t' clothes Martin wore when he fell into John's arms. Nay,
+sir," she added, as Colonel Grant began examining the little frock, "she
+took good care, poor thing, that neaebody should find oot wheae she was.
+Ivvery mark hez bin picked off."
+
+"Martin is his feyther's son, or I ken nowt aboot stock," cried John
+Bolland, making a fine effort to dispel the depression which again
+possessed the little gathering at sight of these mournful mementoes of
+the dead past. "Coom, gentlemen, sit ye doon an' hev some tea. Ye'll not
+be for takkin' Martin away by t' next train. Martha, what's t' matter
+wi' ye? I've nivver known folk be so lang i' t' hoose afore an' not be
+asked if they had a mooth."
+
+"Ye're on t' wrang gait this time, John," she retorted. "I axed 'em
+afore ye kem in. By this time, sure-ly, ye'll be wantin' soom ham an'
+eggs?" she added to the visitors.
+
+"By Jove! I believe I could eat some," laughed the colonel.
+
+Martha smiled once more. She liked Martin's father. Each moment the
+first favorable impression was deepening. She was on the point of
+bustling away to the back kitchen, when they all heard the patter of
+feet, in desperate haste, approaching the front door. Elsie Herbert
+dashed in. She was hatless. Her long brown hair was floating in
+confusion over her shoulders and down her back. She was crying in great
+gulps and gasping for breath.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Bolland!" she wailed. "Oh, Mrs. Bolland!--what shall I say?
+Martin is hurt. He fell off the swing. Angele did it! I'll kill her!
+I'll tear her face with my hands! Oh, come, someone, and help father. He
+is trying to bring back Martin's senses. What shall I do?--it was all on
+my account. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
+
+And she sank fainting to the floor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE SEVEN FULL YEARS
+
+
+But Martin was not dead, nor even seriously injured. At first, the
+affair looked so ugly--its main features were so incomprehensible--that
+Mr. Herbert was startled into somewhat panic-stricken action. Here was
+Martin lying unconscious on the ground, with Elsie kneeling by his side,
+passionately beseeching him in one breath to speak to her, and in the
+next accusing Angele Saumarez of murder.
+
+The vicar was not blameworthy, in that he failed to grasp either the
+nature of the accusation or its seeming unreasonableness.
+
+The single rope of the gymnastic swing erected in the garden for Elsie's
+benefit had been cut deliberately with a sharp knife a few inches above
+the small bar on which the user's weight was supported by both hands. Of
+the cutting there could be no manner of doubt. The jagged edges of the
+few strands left by a devilish ingenuity--so that the swing must need be
+in violent motion before the rope snapped--were clearly visible at the
+point of severance. But who had done this thing, and with what deadly
+object in view? And why did Elsie pitch on Angele Saumarez so readily,
+glaring at her with such eyes of vengeance that the vicar was
+constrained to order, with the utmost sternness of which he was
+capable, that the torrent of words should cease. Indeed, he dispatched
+her to acquaint the Bollands with tidings of the disaster as a haphazard
+pretext to get her out of the way. Apart from sensing the accident's
+inexplicable motive, its history was simple enough.
+
+Before tea was served, Martin and Elsie were using the swing
+alternately, vying with each other in the effort to touch with their
+toes the leaves of a tree nearly twenty feet distant from the vertical
+line of the rope. Angele, of course, took no part in this contest; she
+contented herself with a sarcastic incredulity when Elsie vowed that she
+had accomplished the feat twice already.
+
+Martin, stronger, but less skilled in the trick of the swing than the
+girl, strove hard to excel her. Yet he, too, fell short by a few inches
+time after time. At last, Elsie vowed that when she was rested after tea
+she would prove her words, and threw a pebble at the branch which she
+claimed to have reached a week ago.
+
+Neither Mrs. Saumarez nor the vicar attached any weight to the somewhat
+emphatic argument between the two girls. It was a splendid contest
+between Martin and Elsie. It interested the elders for conflicting
+reasons.
+
+To see the graceful girl propelling herself through the air in a curve
+of nearly forty feet at each pendulum stroke of the swing was a pleasing
+sight to her father, but it caused Mrs. Saumarez to regret again that
+her daughter had not been taught to think more of athletic exercises and
+less of dress.
+
+While the young people were following their seniors to the drawing-room,
+Angele said to Elsie:
+
+"I think I could do that myself with a little practice."
+
+"You are not tall enough," was the uncompromising answer, for Elsie's
+temper was ruffled by the simpering unbelief with which the other
+treated her assurances.
+
+"Not so tall, no; but I can bend back like this, and you cannot."
+
+Without a second's hesitation Angele twisted her head and shoulders
+around until her chin was in a line with her heels. Then she dropped
+lightly so that her hands rested on the grass of the lawn, straightening
+herself with equal ease. The contortion was performed so quickly that
+neither Mr. Herbert nor Mrs. Saumarez was aware of it. It was a display
+not suited to the conditions of ordinary costume, and it necessarily
+exhibited portions of the attire not usually in evidence.
+
+Martin had eyes only for the girl's acrobatic agility, but Elsie
+blushed.
+
+"I don't like that," she said.
+
+"I can stand on my head and walk on my hands," cried Angele instantly.
+"Martin, some day I'll show you."
+
+Conscious though she was that these things were said to annoy her, Elsie
+remembered that Angele was a guest.
+
+"How did you learn?" she asked. "Were you taught in school?"
+
+"School! Me! I have never been to school. Education is the curse of
+children's lives. I never leave mamma. One day in Nice I saw a circus
+girl doing tricks of that sort. I practiced in my bedroom."
+
+"Does your mother wish that?"
+
+"She doesn't know."
+
+"I wonder you haven't broken your neck," said the practical Martin, who
+felt his bones creaking at the mere notion of such twisting.
+
+Angele laughed.
+
+"It is quite easy, when you are slim and elegant."
+
+Her vanity amused the boy.
+
+"You speak as though Elsie were as stiff as a board," he said. "If you
+had watched her carefully, Angele, you would have seen that she is quite
+as supple as you, only in a different way. And she is strong, too. I
+dare say she could swing with one hand and carry you in the other, if
+she had a mind to try."
+
+This ready advocacy of a new-found divinity angered Angele beyond
+measure. Possibly she meant no greater harm than the disconcerting of a
+rival; but she slipped out of the room when Mr. Herbert sent Elsie to
+the library to bring a portfolio of old prints which he wished to show
+Mrs. Saumarez. Although it was never definitely proved against Angele,
+someone tampered with the rope before a move was made to the garden
+after tea. The cause, the effect, were equally clear; the human agent
+remained unknown.
+
+"Now, I'll prove my words," cried Elsie, darting across the lawn in
+front of the others.
+
+"Here, it's my turn," shouted the boy gleefully. "I'll race you."
+
+"Martin! Martin! I want you!" shrieked Angele, running after him.
+
+He paid no heed to her cries. Outstripping both girls in the race, he
+sprang at the swing, and was carried almost to the debated limit of the
+tree by the impetus of the rush. When he felt himself stopping he threw
+up his feet in a wild effort to touch the leaves so tantalizingly out
+of reach, and in that instant the rope broke.
+
+He turned completely over and fell with a heavy thud on the back of his
+bent head. The screaming of the girls brought the vicar from his prints
+in great alarm, and his agitation increased when he discovered that the
+boy could neither move nor speak.
+
+Elsie was halfway to the White House before Martin regained his breath.
+Once vitality returned, however, he was quickly on his feet again.
+
+"What happened?" he asked, craning his head awkwardly. "I thought
+someone fired a gun!"
+
+"You frightened us nearly out of our wits," cried the vicar. "And I was
+stupid enough to send Elsie flying to your people. Goodness knows what
+she will have said to them!"
+
+Promptly the boy shook himself and tried to break into a run.
+
+"I must--follow her," he gasped. But not yet was the masterful spirit
+able to control relaxed muscles; he collapsed again.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez cried aloud in a new fear, but the vicar, accustomed to
+the minor accidents of the cricket field and gymnasium, was cooler now.
+
+"He's all right--only needs a drink of water and a few minutes' rest,"
+he explained.
+
+He bade one of the maids go as quickly as possible to the Bollands' farm
+and say that the mischief to Martin was a mere nothing, and then busied
+himself in more scientific fashion with restoring his patient's
+animation.
+
+Unfastening the boy's collar and the neckband of his shirt, Mr. Herbert
+satisfied himself that the clavicle was uninjured. There was a slight
+abrasion of the scalp, which was sore to the touch. In a minute, or
+less, Martin was again protesting that there was little the matter with
+him. He would not be satisfied until the vicar allowed him to start once
+more for the village, though at a more sedate pace.
+
+Then Mrs. Saumarez, in a voice of deep distress, asked Mr. Herbert if
+the rope had really been cut.
+
+"Yes," he said. "You can see yourself that there is no doubt about it."
+
+"But your daughter charged Angele with this--this crime. My child denies
+it. She has no knife or implement of any sort in her pocket. I assure
+you I have satisfied myself on that point."
+
+"The affair is a mystery, Mrs. Saumarez. It must be cleared up. Thank
+God, Martin escaped! He might be lying here dead at this moment."
+
+"Are you sure it was not an accident?"
+
+"What am I to say? Here is a stout hempen cord with nearly all its
+strands severed as if with a razor, and the other torn asunder. And,
+from what I can gather, it was Elsie, and not Martin, for whose benefit
+this diabolical outrage was planned."
+
+The vicar spoke warmly, but the significance of the incident was dawning
+slowly on his perplexed mind. Providence alone had ordained that neither
+the boy nor the girl had been gravely, perhaps fatally, injured.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez was haggard. She seemed to have aged in those few minutes.
+
+"Angele!" she cried.
+
+The girl, who was sobbing, came to her.
+
+"Can it be possible," said the distracted mother, "that you interfered
+with the swing? Why did you leave the drawing-room during tea?"
+
+"I only went to stroke a cat, mamma. Indeed, I never touched the swing.
+Why should I? And I could not cut it with my fingers."
+
+"On second thoughts," said the vicar coldly, "I think that the matter
+may be allowed to rest where it is. Of course, one of my servants may be
+the culprit, or a mischievous village youth who had been watching the
+children at play. But the two girls do not seem to get on well together,
+Mrs. Saumarez. I fear they are endowed with widely different
+temperaments."
+
+The hint could not be ignored. The lady smiled bitterly.
+
+"It is well that I should have decided already to leave Elmsdale," she
+said. "It is a charming place, but my visit has not been altogether
+fortunate."
+
+Mr. Herbert remembered the curious phrase in after years. He understood
+it then. At the moment he was candidly relieved when Mrs. Saumarez and
+Angele took their departure. He jammed on a hat and hastened to the
+White House to learn what sort of sensation Elsie had created.
+
+A week later he made a discovery. He had a curious hobby--he was his own
+bootmaker, and Elsie's, having taught himself to be a craftsman in an
+art which might well claim higher rank than it holds. When next he
+rummaged among his implements for a shoemaker's knife it was missing. It
+was found in the garden next spring, jammed to the top of the hilt into
+the soft mold beneath a rhododendron. The tools were kept on a bench in
+the conservatory; so Angele might have accomplished her impish desire in
+a few seconds.
+
+On reaching the White House he was mildly surprised at finding Martin
+propped against the knee of a tall, soldierly stranger, who was
+consoling the boy with a reminiscence of a far worse toss at polo, by
+which a hard _sola topi_ was flattened on the iron surface of an Indian
+_maidan_. Elsie, white, but much interested, was sipping a glass of
+milk.
+
+"Eh, Vicar," cried Mrs. Bolland, in whose face Mr. Herbert saw signs of
+recent excitement, "your lass gev us a rare start. She landed here like
+a mad thing, screamed oot that Martin was dead, an' dropped te t' flure
+half dead herself."
+
+"The fault was mine, Mrs. Bolland. There was an accident. At first I
+thought Martin was badly hurt. I am, indeed, very sorry if Elsie alarmed
+you."
+
+His words were meant to reassure the others, but his eyes were fixed on
+the girl's pallid face. John Bolland laughed in his dry way.
+
+"Nay, Passon, dinnat fret aboot Elsie. She's none t' warse for a sudden
+stop. She was ower-excited. Where's yon lass o' Mrs. Saumarez's?"
+
+"Gone home with her mother. I hear they are leaving Elmsdale."
+
+"A good riddance!" said John heartily. He turned to Martin. "Ye'll be
+winded again, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, I left my ash stick i' t' low yard. Mebbe you an' t' young leddy
+will fetch it. There's noa need te hurry."
+
+This was an oblique instruction to the boy to make himself scarce for
+half an hour. With Elsie as a companion he needed no urging. They set
+off, happy as grigs.
+
+"Noo, afore ye start te fill t' vicar wi' wunnerment," cried Martha, "I
+want te ax t' colonel a question."
+
+"What is it, Mrs. Bolland?"
+
+Colonel Grant was smiling at the vicar's puzzled air. These good people
+knew naught of formal introductions.
+
+"How old is t' lad?"
+
+"He was fourteen years old on the sixth of last June."
+
+"Eh, but that's grand." She clapped her hands delightedly. "I guessed
+him tiv a week or two. We reckoned his birthday as a twel'month afore we
+found him, and that was June the eighteenth. And what's his right neaem?"
+
+"He was christened after me and after his mother's family. His name is
+Reginald Ingram Grant."
+
+"May I ask who in the world you are talking about?" interposed the
+perplexed vicar.
+
+"Wheae? Why, oor Martin!" cried Martha. "He's a gentleman born, God bless
+him!"
+
+"And, what is much more important, Mrs. Bolland, he is a gentleman
+bred," said the colonel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The scene in the kitchen of the White House had been too dramatic that
+some hint of it should not reach the village that night. Soon all
+Elmsdale knew that the mystery of Martin's parentage had been solved,
+and great was the awe of the boy's playmates when they heard that his
+father was a "real live colonel i' t' army." A garbled version of the
+story came to Mr. Beckett-Smythe's ears, and he called on Colonel Grant
+at the "Black Lion" next day.
+
+He arrived in state, in a new Mercedes car, handled by a chauffeur
+replica of Fritz Bauer. Beckett-Smythe had hardly mastered his surprise
+at the colonel's confirmation of that which he had regarded as "an
+incredible yarn" when Mrs. Saumarez drove up. She, too, recalling the
+message brought by Martin from her husband's comrade-in-arms, came to
+verify the strange tale told by the Misses Walker. Angele accompanied
+her, and the girl's eyes shot lightning at Martin, who was on the point
+of guiding his father to the moor when Mr. Beckett-Smythe put in an
+appearance.
+
+The lawyer had departed for London by the morning train; the three older
+people and the two youngsters gathered in the room thus set at liberty,
+Mrs. Atkinson having remodeled it into a sitting-room for the colonel's
+use.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez hailed the stranger effusively.
+
+"It is delightful to run across anyone who knew my husband," she said.
+"In this remote part of Yorkshire none seems to have ever heard of him.
+Believe me, Colonel Grant, it is positively a relief to meet a man who
+recognizes my name."
+
+She may have intended this for an oblique thrust at Beckett-Smythe,
+relations between the Hall and The Elms having been somewhat strained
+since the inquest. The Squire, a good fellow, who had no inkling of
+Angele's latest escapade, hastened to make amends.
+
+"You two must want to chat over old times," he said breezily. "Why not
+come and dine with me to-night? I have only one other guest--an
+Admiralty man. He's prowling about the coast trying to select a
+suitable site for a wireless station."
+
+Now, Mrs. Saumarez would have declined the invitation had Beckett-Smythe
+stopped short at the first sentence. As it was, she accepted instantly.
+
+"Do come, Colonel Grant," she urged. "What between the Navy and the
+Intelligence Department it should be an interesting evening.... Oh,
+don't look so surprised," she went on, with an engaging smile. "I still
+read the _Gazette_, you know."
+
+"And what of the kiddies?" said Beckett-Smythe. "They know my boys. Your
+chauffeur can bring them home at nine. By the way, the meal will be
+quite informal--come as you are."
+
+"What do you say, Martin?" said the colonel.
+
+"I shall be very pleased, sir; but may I--ask--my mother first?"
+
+The boy reddened. His new place in the world was only twenty-four hours
+old, and his ideas were not yet adjusted to an order of things so
+astounding that he thought every minute he would wake up and find he had
+been dreaming.
+
+"Oh, certainly," and a kindly hand fell on his shoulder. "I am glad you
+spoke of it. Mrs. Bolland is worthy of all the respect due to the best
+of mothers."
+
+"I'll go with you, Martin," announced Angele suddenly.
+
+Martin hesitated. He was doubtful of the reception Mrs. Bolland might
+give the minx who had nearly caused him to break his neck, and, for his
+own part, he wanted to avoid Angele altogether. She was a disturbing
+influence. He feared her not at all as a spitfire. It was when she
+displayed her most engaging qualities that she was really dangerous, and
+he knew from experience that her mood had changed within the past five
+minutes. On alighting from the car she would like to have scratched his
+face. Now he would not be surprised if she elected to walk with him hand
+in hand through the village street.
+
+His father came to the rescue.
+
+"Let us all go and see Mrs. Bolland," he said. "It is only a few yards."
+
+They went out into the roadway. Then Beckett-Smythe was struck by an
+afterthought.
+
+"If you'll excuse me, I'll run along to the vicarage and ask Herbert and
+his daughter to join us," he said.
+
+Mrs. Saumarez bit her lip.
+
+"I think I'll leave Angele at home," she said in a low tone. "The child
+is delicate. During the past week I have insisted that she goes to bed
+at eight every evening."
+
+Colonel Grant understood why the lady did not want the two girls to
+meet, but it was borne in on him that she herself was determined not to
+miss that impromptu dinner party. In a vague way he wondered what her
+motive could be.
+
+"Ah, that's a pity," he heard Beckett-Smythe say. "She can be well
+wrapped up, and the weather is mild."
+
+He moved a little ahead of the two. Martin, determined not to be left
+alone with Angele, hastened to greet his friend, Fritz. The two
+chauffeurs were conversing in German. Apparently, they were examining
+the engine of the new car.
+
+"Martin," murmured Angele, "don't bother about Fritz. He'll snap your
+head off. He's furious because he lost a map the other day."
+
+But Martin pressed on. No longer could Angele deceive him--"twiddle him
+around her little finger," as she would put it.
+
+"Hello, Fritz!" he cried. "What map did you lose? Not the one I marked
+for you?"
+
+Fritz turned. The new chauffeur closed the bonnet of the engine.
+
+"No," he said, speaking slowly, and looking at Angele. "It was a small
+road map. You haf not seen it, I dink."
+
+"Was it made of linen, with a red cover?"
+
+"Yez," and the man's face became curiously stern.
+
+"Oh, I saw you studying it one day at The Elms, but you didn't have it
+on the moor."
+
+Fritz's scowl changed to an expression of disappointment.
+
+"I haf mislaid it," he grunted, and again his glance dwelt on Angele,
+who met his gaze with a bland indifference that seemed to gall him.
+
+Colonel Grant drew near. He had been eyeing the two spick-and-span
+chauffeurs.
+
+"Who is your friend, Martin?" he said. He was interested in everything
+the boy did and in everyone whom he knew.
+
+"Oh, this is Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's chauffeur.... Fritz, this is
+Colonel Grant, of the Indian Army."
+
+Instantly the two young Germans straightened as though some mechanism
+had stiffened their spines and thrown back their heads. The newcomer's
+heels clicked and his right hand was raised in a salute. Fritz, better
+schooled than his comrade by longer residence in England, barely
+prevented his heels from clicking, and managed to convert the salute
+into a raising of his cap. There could be no doubt that he was
+flustered, because he said not a word, and the open-air tan of his
+cheeks assumed a deeper tint.
+
+Apparently, Colonel Grant saw nothing of this, or, if he noticed the
+man's confusion, attributed it to nervousness.
+
+"Two Mercedes cars in one small village!" he exclaimed laughingly. "You
+Germans are certainly conquering England by peaceful penetration."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez elected, after all, not to visit the White House that
+afternoon, so Angele, having said good-by to the colonel and Martin in
+her prettiest manner, was whisked off in the car.
+
+"By the way, Martin," said his father as the two walked to the farm.
+"Mrs. Saumarez is German by birth. Have you ever heard anything about
+her family?"
+
+Martin had a good memory.
+
+"Yes, sir," he said. "She is a baroness--the Baroness Irma von
+Edelstein."
+
+The colonel was surprised at this glib answer.
+
+"Who told you?" he inquired.
+
+"Angele, sir. But Mrs. Saumarez did not wish people to use her title.
+She was vexed with Angele for even mentioning it."
+
+Mrs. Saumarez sent her car to bring Colonel Grant and his son to the
+Hall. She was slightly ruffled when Fritz told her that they had gone
+already, Mr. Beckett-Smythe having collected his guests from both the
+inn and the vicarage.
+
+She might have been positively indignant if she had overheard Grant's
+comments to the Admiralty official while the two strolled on the lawn
+before dinner.
+
+"A couple of Prussian officers, if ever I saw the genuine article," said
+the colonel. "Real junkers--smart-looking fellows, too. Mrs. Saumarez is
+the widow of a British officer--a fine chap, but poor as a church
+mouse--and she belongs to a wealthy German family. _Verbum sap._"
+
+"Nuff said," grinned the sailor. "But what is one to do? No sooner is
+this outfit erected but it'll be added to the display of local picture
+postcards, and the next German bigwig who visits this part of the
+country will be invited to amuse himself by ringing up Bremen."
+
+At any rate, Mrs. Saumarez was told that night that the Yorkshire coast
+was too highly magnetized to suit a wireless station. The sailor thought
+an inland town like York would provide an ideal site.
+
+"You see," he explained politely, "when the German High Seas Fleet
+defeats the British Navy it can shell our coast towns all to
+smithereens."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"You fighting men invariably talk of war with Germany as an assured
+thing," she said. "Yet I, who know Germany, and have relatives there, am
+convinced that the notion is absurd."
+
+"The Emperor has been twenty years on the throne and has never drawn
+sword except on parade," put in the vicar. "There may have been danger
+once or twice in his hot youth, but he has grown to like England, and I
+cannot conceive him plunging a great and thriving country into the
+morass of a doubtful campaign."
+
+"Ninety-nine per cent of Englishmen like to think that way," said the
+Admiralty man. "In a multitude of counselors there is wisdom, so let's
+hope they're right."
+
+When the young folk got together on the terrace, Frank Beckett-Smythe
+asked Martin why his neck was stiff.
+
+"I took a toss off Elsie's swing yesterday," was the airy answer. Not a
+word did he or Elsie say as to Angele, and the Beckett-Smythes knew
+better than to introduce her name.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Saumarez left for the South rather hurriedly. She paid no farewell
+visits. She and Angele traveled in the car; Francoise followed with the
+baggage. The Misses Walker were consoled for the loss of a valued lodger
+by receiving a less exacting one in the person of Martin's father.
+
+The boy himself, when his mental poise was adjusted to the phenomenal
+change in his life, soon grew accustomed to a new environment. Mr.
+Herbert undertook to direct his studies in preparation for a public
+school, and Martha Bolland became reconciled gradually to seeing him
+once or twice daily, instead of all day, for he, too, lived at The Elms.
+
+Officially, as it were, he adopted his new name, but to the small world
+of Elmsdale he would ever be "Martin." Even his father fell into the
+habit.
+
+The colonel drove him to the adjourned petty sessions at Nottonby when
+Betsy's case came on for hearing. Mr. Stockwell abandoned his critical
+attitude and concurred with the police that there was no need to bring
+Angele Saumarez from London to attend the trial. Mrs. Saumarez gave no
+thought to the fact that the girl might be needed to give evidence, but
+the authorities decided that there were witnesses in plenty as to the
+outcry raised in the garden after Pickering was wounded.
+
+It was November before Betsy appeared at the county assizes. When she
+entered the dock, those who knew her were astonished by the improvement
+in her appearance. It was probable that the enforced rest, the regular
+exercise, the judicious diet of the prison had exercised a beneficial
+effect on her health.
+
+Her demeanor was calm as ever, and the able barrister who defended her
+did not scruple to suggest that it would create a better effect with the
+jury if she adopted a less unemotional attitude.
+
+Her reply silenced him.
+
+"Do you think," she said, "that I will be permitted to atone for my
+wrongdoing by punishment? No. I live because my husband wished me to
+live. I will be called to account, but not by an earthly judge or jury."
+
+She was right. The assize judge held the scales of justice impartially
+between the sworn testimony of George Pickering and Betsy's witnesses,
+on the one hand, and the evidence of Martin and the groom, backed by the
+scientists, on the other.
+
+The jury gave her the benefit of the doubt and acquitted her, but it was
+noticed by many that his lordship contented himself with ordering her
+discharge from custody. He passed no opinion on the verdict.
+
+So Betsy was installed as mistress of Wetherby Lodge, the trustees
+having decided that she was well fitted to manage the estate.
+
+Tongues wagged in Elmsdale when Mr. Stockwell drove thither one day and
+solemnly handed over to Martin the sword and the double-barreled gun,
+and to John Bolland the pedigree cow bequeathed by George Pickering.
+
+The farmer eyed the animal grimly.
+
+"'Tis an unfortunate beast," he said. "Mebbe if I hadn't sold her te
+poor George he might nivver hae coom te Elmsdale just then."
+
+"Do not think that," the solicitor assured him. "Pickering would most
+certainly have visited the fair. I know, as a matter of fact, that he
+wished to purchase one of your brood mares."
+
+"Ay, ay. She went te Jarmany. Well, if I'm spared, I'll send a good calf
+to Wetherby."
+
+The lawyer and he shook hands on the compact. Yet Pickering's odd
+bequest was destined to work out in a way that would have amazed the
+donor, could he but know it.
+
+Martin was at Winchester--his father's old school--when he received a
+letter in Bolland's laborious handwriting. It read:
+
+     "MY DEAR LAD--Yours to hand, and this leaves your mother and self
+     in good health. We were glad to hear that the box arrived all right
+     and that your mates think well of Yorkshire cakes. You may learn a
+     lot of useful things at school, but you will not often meet with a
+     better cook than your mother. She is sore upset just now about a
+     mishap we have had on the farm. I turned out nearly all my
+     shorthorns to graze on the low pastures. The ground was a bit damp,
+     and a strange cow broke in at night to join them. I don't rightly
+     know what to blame, but next day they showed signs of rinderpest. I
+     sent for the vet, and they had to be slaughtered--all but one
+     two-year-old bull, Bainesse Boy IV., and Mr. Pickering's cow, which
+     were not with them in the meadow. It is a great loss, but I don't
+     repine, now that you are provided for, and it is not quite like
+     starting all over again, as I have my land and my Cleveland bays,
+     and I am in no debt. In such matters I turn to the Lord for
+     consolation. I have just read this verse to Martha: 'I have been
+     young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken,
+     nor his seed begging bread.' If you are minded to look it up, you
+     will find it in the Thirty-seventh Psalm.
+
+     "I don't want to pretend that the blow has not been a hard one,
+     but, God willing, there will be a hamper for you at Christmas, if
+     Colonel Grant is too busy to bring you North. Your mother joins in
+     much love.
+
+                         "Your affect.,
+                              "JOHN BOLLAND."
+
+     "P. S.--Maybe you will not have forgotten that Mrs. Saumarez said
+     the land needed draining. She was a clever woman in some ways."
+
+The boy's eyes filled with tears. He understood only too well the
+far-reaching misfortune which had befallen the farmer. The total value
+of the herd was L5,000, and he remembered that experts valued the young
+surviving bull at L300 as a yearling. In all, twenty-three animals had
+been slaughtered by the law's decree, and the compensation payable to
+Bolland would not cover a twentieth part of the actual loss.
+
+Martin not only wrote a letter of warm sympathy to his adopted parents
+but sent Bolland's letter to his father, with an added commentary of his
+own. Colonel Grant obtained short leave and traveled to Elmsdale next
+day. It took some trouble to bring John round to his point of view, but
+the argument that the farm should be restocked in Martin's interests
+prevailed, and negotiations were opened with prominent breeders
+elsewhere which resulted in the purchase of a notable bull and eight
+heifers, for which Bolland and the colonel each found half the money.
+The farmer would listen to no other arrangement, though he promised that
+if he experienced any tightness for money he would not hesitate to apply
+for further help.
+
+The need never made itself felt. The first animal to produce successful
+progeny was George Pickering's cow! No man in the North Riding was more
+pleased than John that day. Throughout the whole of his life the only
+person who ever brought a charge of unfair dealing against him was
+Pickering. The memory rankled, and its sting was none the less bitter
+because of a secret dread that he had perhaps been guilty of a piece of
+sharp practice. Now his character was cleared.
+
+Pattison, his old crony, asked him, by way of a joke, how much "he'd
+tak' for t' cauf."
+
+John blazed into unexpected anger.
+
+"At what figger de you reckon yer own good neaem, Mr. Pattison?"
+
+"I don't knoae as I'd care te sell it at onny price, Mr. Bollan'."
+
+"Then ye'll think as I do aboot yon cauf. Neyther it nor any other of
+its dam's produce will ivver leave my farm if I can help it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+OUT OF THE MISTS
+
+
+This record of a Yorkshire village--a true chronicle of life among the
+canny folk who dwell on the "moor edge"--might well be left at the point
+it reached when one of its chief characters saw before him the smooth
+and sunlit road of a notable career.
+
+But history, though romantic, is not writ as romance, and the story of
+Elmsdale is fact, not fiction. After eight years of somnolence the
+village awoke again. It was roused from sleep by the tumult of a world
+at war; mayhap the present generation shall pass away before the hamlet
+relapses into its humdrum ways.
+
+Martin was twenty-two when his father and he journeyed north to attend
+the annual sale of the Elmsdale herd, which was fixed for the two
+opening days of July, 1914. Each year Colonel Grant brought his son to
+the village for six weeks prior to the twelfth of August; this year
+there was a well-founded rumor in the little community that the colonel
+meant to buy The Elms.
+
+The announcement of Bolland's sale brought foreign agents from abroad
+and well-known stock-raisers from all parts of the Kingdom. No less than
+forty animals entered the auction ring. One bull, Bainesse Boy IV.,
+realized L800. Bainesse Boy IV. held a species of levee in a special
+stall. He had grown into a wonder. On a table, over which Sergeant
+Benson mounted guard, were displayed five championship cups he had
+carried off, while fifteen cards, arranged in horseshoe pattern on the
+wall, each bore the magic words, "First Prize," awarded at Islington,
+Birmingham, the Royal, and wherever else in Britain shorthorns and their
+admirers most do congregate.
+
+The village hummed with life; around the sale ring gathered a multitude
+of men arrayed in Melton cloth and leather leggings, whose general
+appearance betokened the wisdom of Dr. Johnson's sarcastic dictum: "Who
+drives fat oxen should himself be fat."
+
+Martha and a cohort of maids boiled hams by the dozen and baked cakes in
+fabulous quantities. John graced the occasion by donning a new suit and
+new boots, in which the crooked giant was singularly ill at ease.
+
+Mrs. Pickering drove over from Nottonby--Kitty was married two years
+before to a well-to-do farmer at Northallerton--and someone rallied her
+on "bein' ower good-lookin' te remain a widow all her days."
+
+She laughed pleasantly.
+
+"I'm far too busy at Wetherby to think of adding a husband to my cares,"
+she said; but those who knew her best could have told that she had
+refused at least two excellent offers of matrimony and meant to remain
+Mrs. Pickering during the rest of her days.
+
+At the close of the second day's sale, when the crowd was thinned by the
+departure of a fleet of cars and a local train at five o'clock, the
+White House was thronged by its habitues, who came to make a meal of the
+"high tea."
+
+Colonel Grant and John had just concluded an amicable wrangle whereby it
+was decided that they should jointly provide the considerable sum needed
+to acquire The Elms and some adjoining land. The house and grounds were
+to be remodeled and the property would be deeded to Martin forthwith.
+
+The young gentleman himself, as tall as his father now, and wearing
+riding breeches and boots, was standing at the front door, turning
+impatient eyes from a smart cob, held by a groom, to the bend in the
+road where it curved beyond the "Black Lion."
+
+A smartly-dressed young lady passed, and although Martin lifted his hat
+with a ready smile his glance wandered from her along the road again.
+Evelyn Atkinson wondered who it was that thus distracted his attention.
+
+A few yards farther on, Elsie Herbert, mounted on a steady old hunter,
+passed at a sharp trot. Evelyn's pretty face frowned slightly.
+
+"If _she_ is home again, of course, he has eyes for nobody else," she
+said to herself.
+
+And, indeed, it was true. Elsie had been to Dresden for two years. She
+had returned to Elmsdale the previous day, and a scribbled note told
+Martin to look for her after tea.
+
+The two set off together through the village, bound for the moor. Many a
+critical look followed them.
+
+"Eh, but they're a bonny pair," cried Mrs. Summersgill, who became
+stouter each year. "Martin allus framed to be a fine man, but I nivver
+thowt yon gawky lass o' t' vicar's 'ud grow into a beauty."
+
+"This moor air is wonderful. Look at the effect it has on you, Mrs.
+Summersgill," said Colonel Grant with a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"Oh, go on wi' ye, Colonel, pokin' fun at a poor owd body like me. But I
+deaen't ho'd wi' skinny 'uns. Martha, what's become o' Mrs. Saumarez an'
+that flighty gell o' hers. What did they call her--Angel? My word!--a
+nice angel--not that she wasn't as thin as a sperrit."
+
+"Miss Walker told me, last Christmas twel'month, they were i' France,"
+said Martha.
+
+"France? Ay, maist like; it's a God-forsaken place, I'll be boun'."
+
+"Nay," interposed Bolland, "that's an unchristian description of onny
+counthry, ma'am. Ye'll find t' Lord ivverywhere i' t' wide wulld, if ye
+seek Him. There's bin times when He might easy be i' France, for He
+seemed, iv His wisdom, to be far away frae Elmsdale."
+
+Mrs. Summersgill snorted contempt for all "furriners," but Martha
+created a diversion.
+
+"Goodness me!" she cried, "yer cup's empty. I nivver did see sike a
+woman. Ye talk an' eat nowt."
+
+Martin, now in his third year at Oxford, was somewhat mystified by the
+change brought about in Elsie by two years of "languages and music"
+passed in the most attractive of German cities. Though not flippant, her
+manner nonplussed him. She was distinctly "smart," both in speech and
+style. She treated a young gentleman who had already taken his degree
+and was reading for honors in history with an easy nonchalance that was
+highly disconcerting. The last time they parted they had kissed each
+other, she with tears, and he with a lump in his throat. Now he dared
+no more offer a cousinly, or brotherly, or any other sort of salute in
+which kissing was essential, than if she were a royal princess.
+
+"You've altered, old girl," he said by way of a conversational opening
+when their horses were content to walk, after a sharp canter along a
+moorland track.
+
+"I should hope so, indeed," came the airy retort. "Surely, you didn't
+expect to find the Elmsdale label on me after two years of _kultur_?"
+
+"Whatever the label, the vintage looks good," he said.
+
+"You mean that as a compliment," she laughed. "And, now that I look at
+you carefully, I see signs of improvement. Of course, the Oxford swank
+is an abomination, but you'll lose it in time. Father told me last night
+that you were going in for the law and politics. Is that correct?"
+
+Martin, masterful as ever, was not minded to endure such supercilious
+treatment at Elsie's hands. He had looked forward to this meeting with a
+longing that had almost interfered with his work; it was more than
+irritating to find his divinity modeling her behavior on the lines of
+the Girton "set" at the University.
+
+They had reached a point of the high moor which overlooked Thor ghyll.
+Martin pulled up his cob and dismounted.
+
+"Let's give the nags a breather here," he said. "Shall I help you?"
+
+"No, thanks."
+
+Elsie was out of the saddle promptly. She rode astride. In a
+well-fitting habit, with divided skirt and patent-leather boots, she
+looked wonderfully alluring, but her air of aloofness was carried
+almost to the verge of indifference.
+
+She showed some surprise when Martin took her horse's reins and threw
+them over his left arm.
+
+"Are you going to lecture me?" she said, arching her eyebrows. "It would
+be just like a fledgling B. A., who is doubtless a member of the
+Officers' Training Corps, to tell me that my German riding-master taught
+me to sit too stiffly."
+
+"He did," said Martin, meeting the sarcastic blue eyes without
+flinching. "But a few days with the York and Ainsty and Lord Middleton's
+pack will put that right. You'll come a purler at your first stone wall
+if you ride with such long stirrup leathers. However, I want you to jump
+another variety of obstacle to-day. You asked me just now, Elsie, if I
+was going in for the law. Yes. But I'm going in for you first. You know
+I love you, dear. You know I have been your very humble but loyal knight
+ever since I won your recognition down there in the valley, when I was
+only a farmer's son and you were a girl of a higher social order. I have
+never forgotten that you didn't seem to heed class distinctions then,
+Elsie, and it hurts now to have you treat me with coldness."
+
+Elsie, trying valiantly to appear partly indignant and even more amused
+at this direct attack, failed most lamentably. First she flushed; then
+she paled.
+
+She faced Martin's gaze confidently enough at the outset, but her eyes
+dropped and her lips quivered when she heard the words which no woman
+can hear without a thrill. Still, she made a brave attempt to rally her
+forces.
+
+"I didn't--quite mean--what you say," she faltered, which was a
+schoolgirl form of protest for one who had achieved distinction in a
+course of English literature.
+
+Martin took her by the shoulders. The two horses nosed each other. They,
+perforce, were dumb, but their wise eye's seemed to exchange the caustic
+comment: "What fools these mortals be! Why don't they hug, and settle
+the business?"
+
+"I must know what you do mean," said Martin, almost fiercely. "I love
+you, Elsie. Will you marry me?"
+
+She lifted her face. The blue eyes were dim with tears, but the adorable
+mouth trembled in a smile.
+
+"Yes, dear," she murmured. "But what did you expect? Did you--think I
+would--throw my arms around you--in the village street?"
+
+After that Martin had no reason to accuse Elsie of being either stiff or
+cold. When the vicar heard the news that night--for Martin and the
+colonel dined at the Vicarage--he stormed into mock dissent.
+
+"God bless my soul," he cried, "my little girl has been away two whole
+years, and you come and steal her away from me before she has been home
+twenty-four hours!"
+
+Then he produced a handkerchief and yielded, apparently, to a violent
+attack of hay fever. Yet it was a joyous company which gathered around
+the dinner table, for Elsie herself, casting off the veneer of Dresden,
+drove posthaste to summon the Bollands to the feast.
+
+John was specially deputed by Colonel Grant to make a significant
+announcement.
+
+"We're all main pleased you two hev sattled matters so soon," he said,
+peering alternately at Martin's attentive face and Elsie's blushing one.
+"Yer father an' me hev bowt The Elms, an' a tidy bit o' land besides, so
+ye'll hev a stake i' t' county if ivver ye're minded te run for
+Parlyment. The Miss Walkers (John pronounced the name "Wahker") are
+goin' te live in a small hoos i' Nottonby. They've gotten a fine lot o'
+Spanish mahogany an' owd oak which they're willin' te sell by
+vallyation; so the pair of ye can gan there i' t' mornin' an' pick an'
+choose what ye want."
+
+Elsie looked at her father, but neither could utter a word. Martha
+Bolland put an arm around the girl's neck.
+
+"Lord luv' ye, honey!" she said brokenly, "it'll be just like crossin'
+the road. May I be spared te see you happy and comfortable in yer new
+home, for you'll surely be one of the finest ladies i' Yorkshire."
+
+No shadow darkened their joy in that cheerful hour. Even next day, when
+a grim specter flitted through Elmsdale, the ominous vision evoked only
+a passing notice. Colonel Grant and the vicar, each an expert in old
+furniture, accompanied the young people to The Elms and examined its
+antique dressers, sideboards, tables, and the rest. Many of the bedroom
+chests were of solid mahogany. The Misses Walker had cleared the drawers
+of the lumber of years, so that the prospective purchasers could note
+the interior finish.
+
+Miss Emmy, not so tactful as her elder sister, brought in a name which
+the others present wished to forget.
+
+"Mrs. Saumarez used this room as a dressing-room," she said, "and while
+turning out rubbish from a set of drawers I came across this."
+
+She displayed a small red-covered folding road-map, such as cyclists and
+motorists use. Martin thought he recognized it.
+
+"I believe that is the very map lost by Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's
+chauffeur," he said.
+
+"Probably, sir. He made a rare row with Miss Angele about it. I was half
+afraid he meant to shake her. No one knew what had become of it, but
+either Miss Angele or her mother must have hidden it. Why, I can't
+guess."
+
+Elsie helped to smooth over an awkward incident. She took the map and
+began to open it.
+
+"It couldn't have been such an important matter," she said. Then she
+shook apart the folded sheet, and they all saw that it bore a number of
+entries and signs in faded ink, black and red. The written words were in
+German, and Elsie scanned a few lines hurriedly. She looked puzzled,
+even a trifle perturbed, but recovered her smiling self-possession
+instantly.
+
+"The poor man, being a foreigner, jotted down some notes for his
+guidance," she said. "May I have it?"
+
+"With pleasure, miss," said the old lady.
+
+It was not until the party had returned to the vicarage that Elsie
+explained her request. She spread the map on a table, and her smooth
+forehead wrinkled in doubt.
+
+"This is serious," she said. "I have lived in Germany long enough to
+understand that one cannot mix with German girls in the intimacy of
+school and at their homes without knowing that an attack on England is
+simply an obsession of their menfolk, and even of the women. They regard
+it as a certainty in the near future, pretending that if they don't
+strike first England will crush them."
+
+"I wish to Heaven she would!" broke in Colonel Grant emphatically. "In
+existing conditions this country resembles an unarmed policeman waiting
+for a burglar to fire at him out of the darkness."
+
+Mr. Herbert, man of peace that he was, might have voiced a mild
+disclaimer, had not Elsie stayed him.
+
+"Listen, father," she said seriously. "Here is proof positive. That
+chauffeur was a military spy. See what is written across the top of the
+map: 'Gutes Wasser; Futter in Fuelle; Ueberfluss von Vieh, Schafen und
+Pferden. Einzelheiten auf genauen Ortlichkeiten angegeben.' That means
+'Good water; abundance of fodder; plenty of cattle, sheep, and horses.
+Details given on exact localities.' And, just look at the details! Could
+a child fail to interpret their meaning?"
+
+Elsie's simile was not far-fetched, yet gray-headed statesmen, though
+they may have both known and understood, refused to believe. That little
+road-map, on a scale of one mile to an inch, contained all the
+information needed by the staff of an invading army.
+
+The moor bore the legend:
+
+     "Platz fuer Lager, leicht verschanzt; beherrscht Hauptstrassen von
+     Whitby und Pickering nach York. Rote Kreise kennzeichnen
+     reichlichen Wasservorrat fuer Kavallerie und Artillerie." (Site for
+     camp, easily entrenched. Commands main roads from Whitby and
+     Pickering to York. Red circles show ample water supply for cavalry
+     and artillery.)
+
+Every road bore its classification for the use of troops, showing the
+width, quality of surface, and gradients. Each bridge was described as
+"stone" or "iron." Even cross-country trails were indicated when
+fordable streams rendered such passage not too difficult.
+
+The little group gazed spellbound at the extraordinarily accurate
+synopsis of the facilities offered by the placid country of Yorkshire
+for the devilish purposes of war. Martin, in particular, devoured the
+entries relating to the moor. On Metcalf's farm he saw: "Six hundred
+sheep here," and at the Broad Ings, "Four hundred sheep, three horses,
+four cows." Well he knew who had given the spy those facts. His glowing
+eyes wandered to the village. A long entry distinguished the White
+House, and though he knew a good deal of German he was beaten by the
+opening technical word.
+
+"What is that, Elsie?" he said, and even his father wondered at the hot
+anger in his utterance.
+
+The girl read:
+
+    "Stammbaum Vieh hier; drei Stiere, achtzehn Kuehe und Faersen, nicht
+    zum Schlachten, sehr wertvoll. Neben bei sechs Stuten, besten Types
+    zur Zucht."
+
+Then she translated:
+
+    "Pedigree cattle here; three bulls, eighteen cows and heifers, not
+    to be slaughtered; very valuable. Also six brood mares of best type
+    for stud."
+
+"The infernal scoundrel!" blazed out Martin. "So the Bolland stock must
+be taken to the Fatherland, and not eaten or drafted into service! And
+to think that I gave him nearly all that information!"
+
+"You, Martin?" cried Elsie.
+
+"Yes. He pumped me dry. I even showed him the site of every pond on the
+moor."
+
+"Don't blame the man," put in Colonel Grant. "I knew him as a Prussian
+officer at the first glance. But he was simply doing his duty. Blame our
+criminal carelessness. We cannot stop foreigners from prowling about the
+country, but we can and should make it impossible for any enemy to
+utilize such data as are contained in this map."
+
+"But, consider," put in the perturbed vicar. "This evil work was done
+eight years ago, and what has all the talk of German preparation come
+to? Isn't it the bombast of militarism gone mad?"
+
+"It comes to this," said the colonel. "We are just eight years nearer
+war. I am convinced that the break must occur before 1916--and for two
+reasons: Germany's financial state is dangerous, and in 1916 Russia will
+have completed on her western frontier certain strategic lines which
+will expedite mobilization. Germany won't wait till her prospective foes
+are ready. France knows it. That is why she has adopted the three years'
+service scheme."
+
+"Then why won't you let me join the army, dad?" demanded Martin bluntly.
+
+Colonel Grant spread his hands with the weary gesture of a man who would
+willingly shirk a vital decision.
+
+"In peace the army is a poor career," he said. "The law and politics
+offer you a wider field. But not you only--every young man in the
+country should be trained to arms. As matters stand, we have neither the
+men nor the rifles. Our artillery, excellent of its type, is about
+sufficient for an army corps, and we have a fortnight's supply of
+ammunition. I am not an alarmist. We have enough regiments to repel a
+raid, supposing the enemy's transports dodged the fleet; but Heaven help
+us if we dream of sending an expeditionary force to France or Egypt, or
+any single one of a score of vulnerable points outside the British
+Isles!"
+
+"Beckett-Smythe retained one of those German chauffeurs in his service
+for a whole year," said the vicar, on whom a new light had dawned with
+the discovery of the telltale map.
+
+"Are there many of the brood in the district now?" inquired the colonel.
+
+"I fancy not."
+
+"There is no need, they have done their work," said Elsie. "Last winter
+I met a young officer in Dresden, and he told me he had taken a walking
+tour through this part of Yorkshire during the summer. He knew Elmsdale
+quite well. He remembered the vicarage, The Elms, and the White House.
+Yet he said he was here only a day!"
+
+"Fritz Bauer's maps are the best of guides," commented Colonel Grant
+bitterly.
+
+The vicar was literally awe-stricken. He stooped over the map.
+
+"Is this sort of thing going on all over the country?" he gasped.
+
+"More or less. Naturally, the east coast has been the chief hunting
+ground, as that must provide the terrain of any attack. Of course, so
+long as the political sky remains fairly clear, as it is at this moment,
+there is always a chance that humanity will escape Armageddon for
+another generation. The world is growing more rational and its interests
+are becoming ever more identical. Even the Junkers are feeling the
+pressure of public opinion, and the great masses of the people demand
+peace. That is why I want Martin to learn the power of voice and pen
+rather than of the sword. I have been a soldier all my life, and I hate
+war!"
+
+The man who had so often faced death in his country's cause spoke with
+real feeling. He longed to make war impossible by making victory
+impossible for an aggressor. He claimed no rights for Britain that he
+would deny Germany or any other country in the comity of nations.
+
+Suddenly he took the map off the table and folded it.
+
+"I'll send this curio to Whitehall," he said with a smile. "It will form
+part of a queer collection. Now, let's talk of something else....
+Martin, after the valuer has inspected that furniture, you might see to
+it that the whole lot is stored in the east bedrooms. The architect will
+not disturb that part of the house."
+
+"Oh, when can we look at the plans?" chimed in Elsie.
+
+These four people, who in their way fairly represented the forty
+millions of Great Britain, discussed the spy's map in the drawing-room
+of Elmsdale vicarage on July 6th, 1914. On the sixth of August, exactly
+one month later, two German army corps, with full artillery and
+commissariat trains, were loaded into transports and brought to the
+mouth of the Elbe. They hoped to avoid the British fleet, and their
+objective was the Yorkshire coast between Whitby and Filey. Once ashore,
+they meant entrenching a camp on the Elmsdale moor. Obviously, they did
+not dream of conquering England by one daring foray. Their purpose was
+to keep the small army of Britain fully occupied until France was
+humbled to the dust. They would lose the whole hundred thousand men. But
+what of that? German soldiers are regarded as cannon fodder by their
+rulers, and the price in human lives would not be too costly if it
+retained British troops at home.
+
+It was an audacious scheme, and audacity is the first principle of
+successful war. Its very spine and marrow was the knowledge of the North
+and East Ridings gained in time of peace by the officers who would lead
+the invading host. That it failed was due to England's sailors, the men
+who broke Napoleon, and were destined, by God's good grace, to break the
+robber empire of Germany.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE RIGOR OF THE GAME
+
+
+Elmsdale at war is very like Elmsdale in peace. At least, that was
+Martin's first impression when he and General Grant motored to the
+village from York on a day in September, 1915. Father and son had passed
+unscathed through the hellfire of Loos, General Grant in command of a
+brigade, and Martin a captain in a Kitchener battalion. They were in
+England on leave now, the middle-aged general for five days, and the
+youthful captain for ten, and the purpose of this joint home-coming was
+Martin's marriage.
+
+When it became evident that the world struggle would last years rather
+than months, General Grant and the vicar put their heads together,
+metaphorically speaking, since the connecting link was the field
+post-office, and arranged a war wedding. Why should the young people
+wait? they argued. Every consideration pointed the other way. With
+Martin wedded to Elsie, legal formalities as to Bolland's and the
+general's estate could be completed, and if Heaven blessed the union
+with children the continuity of two old families would be assured.
+
+So, to Martin's intense surprise, he was called to the telephone one
+Saturday morning in the trenches and told that he had better hand over
+his company to the senior subaltern as speedily as might be, since his
+ten days' leave began on the Monday, such being the amiable device by
+which commanding officers permit juniors to reach Blighty before an
+all-too-brief respite from the business of killing Germans begins
+officially.
+
+He met his father at Boulogne, and there learnt that which he had only
+suspected hitherto: he and Elsie were booked for an immediate honeymoon
+on a Scottish moor--at Cairn-corrie, to be exact. By chance the two
+travelers ran into Frank Beckett-Smythe, a gunner lieutenant in London,
+and he undertook to rush north that night to act as "best man." Father
+and son caught a train early on Sunday and hired a car at York, Elmsdale
+having no railway facilities on the day of rest.
+
+They arrived in time to attend the evening service at the parish church,
+to which, _mirabile dictu_, John and Martha Bolland accompanied them.
+The war has broken down many barriers, but few things have crumbled to
+ruin more speedily than the walls of prejudice and sectarian futilities
+which separated the many phases of religious thought in Britain.
+
+The church, with its small graveyard, stood in the center of the
+village, and the Grants had to wring scores of friendly hands before
+they and the others walked to the vicarage for supper. Martin and Elsie
+contrived to extricate themselves from the crowd slightly in advance of
+the older people. They felt absurdly shy. They were wandering in
+dreamland.
+
+Early next morning Martin strolled into the village. He wanted to stir
+the sluggish current of enlistment, for England was then making a final
+effort to maintain her army on a voluntary basis. Elmsdale was so
+unchanged outwardly that he marveled. He hardly realized that it could
+not well be otherwise. He had seen so many French hamlets torn by war
+that the snug content of this sheltered nook in rural Yorkshire was
+almost uncanny by contrast. The very familiarity of the scene formed its
+strangest element. Its sights, its sounds, its homely voices, were novel
+to the senses of one whose normal surroundings were the abominations of
+war. Here were trim houses and well-filled stockyards, smiling orchards
+and cattle grazing in green pastures. Everywhere was peace. He was the
+only man in uniform, until Sergeant Benson appeared in the doorway of a
+cottage and saluted. The village had its own liveries--the corduroys of
+the carpenter, redolent of oil and turpentine, the tied-up trouser legs
+of the laborer, the blacksmith's leather apron, ragged and burnt, a true
+Vulcan's robe, the shoemaker's, shiny with the stropping of knives and
+seamed with cobbler's wax. The panoply of Mars looked singularly out of
+place in this Sleepy Hollow.
+
+But, by degrees, he began to miss things. There were no young men in the
+fields. All the horses had gone, save the yearlings and those too old
+for the hard work of artillery and transport. He questioned Benson and
+found that little Elmsdale had not escaped the levy laid on the rest of
+Europe. Jim Bates was in the Yorkshire Regiment. Tommy Beadlam's white
+head was resting forever in a destroyed trench at Ypres. Tom Chandler
+had fallen at Gallipoli. Evelyn Atkinson was a nurse, and her two
+sisters were "in munitions" at Leeds. Yes, there were some shirkers, but
+not many. For the most part, they were hidden in the moorland farms. "T'
+captain" would remember Georgie Jackson? Well, he was one of the
+stand-backs--wouldn't go till he was fetched. The village girls made
+his life a misery, so he "hired" at the Broad Ings, miles away in the
+depths of the moor. One night about a month ago one of those "d--d
+Zeppelines" dropped a bomb on the heather, which caught fire. A second,
+following a murder trail to Newcastle, saw the resultant blaze and
+dropped twelve bombs. A third, believing that real damage was being
+done, flung out its whole cargo of twenty-nine bombs.
+
+"So, now, sir," grinned Benson, "there's a fine lot o' pot-holes i' t'
+moor. Georgie was badly scairt. He saw the three Zepps, an' t' bombs
+fell all over t' farm. Next mornin' he f'und three sheep banged te bits.
+An' what d'ye think? He went straight te Whitby an' 'listed. He hez a
+bunch o' singed wool in his pocket, an' sweers he'll mak' some Jarman
+eat it."
+
+So Martin only recruited a wife that day, and evidently secured a
+sensible one, for Elsie, taking thought, on hearing certain vivid
+descriptions of trench life on the Sunday evening, vetoed the wedding
+trip to Scotland, and persuaded her husband to "go the limit" in London,
+where plenty of society and a round of theaters acted as a wholesome
+tonic after the monotony of high-explosive existence in a dugout.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In February, 1917, Martin was "in billets" at Armentieres. He had been
+promoted to the staff, and had fairly earned this coveted recognition by
+a series of daring excursions into "No Man's Land" every night for a
+week, which enabled him to plan an attack on the German lines at
+Chapelle d'Armentieres. Never thinking of any personal gain, he drew up
+a memorandum, which he submitted to his colonel. The latter sent the
+document to Divisional Headquarters; the scheme was approved. Fritz was
+pushed forcibly half a mile nearer Lille, and "Captain Reginald Ingram
+Grant" was informed, in the dry language of the _Gazette_, that in
+future he would wear a red band around his field service cap and little
+red tabs on the shoulders of his tunic.
+
+That was a great day for him, but his elation was as nothing
+compared with the joy of Elmsdale when the _Messenger_ reprinted the
+announcement. Elsie, of course, imagined that her husband was now
+comparatively safe for the rest of the war, and he has never undeceived
+her. As a matter of fact, his first real "job" was to carry out a fresh
+series of observations at a point south of Armentieres along the road to
+Arras. This might involve another six days of lurking in dugouts at the
+front and six nights of crawling through and under German barbed wire.
+
+His companion was a sapper sergeant named Mason. They suspected that the
+German position was heavily mined in anticipation of an attack at that
+very point, and it was part of their business at the outset to ascertain
+whether or not this was the case.
+
+The enemy's lines were about one hundred and fifty yards away, and all
+observers agree that the chief difficulty experienced in the pitch-black
+darkness of a cloudy, moonless night is to estimate the distance
+covered. Crawling over shell-torn ground, slow work at the best, is
+rendered slower by the frequent waits necessary while rockets flare
+overhead and Verrey lights describe brilliant parabolas in unexpected
+directions. Martin, up to every trick and dodge of the "listening
+post," surveyed the field of operations through a periscope, and noticed
+that one of the ditches which mark boundaries in northern France ran
+almost in a straight line from the British trenches to the German, and
+had at one time been reinforced by posts and rails. The fence was
+destroyed, but many of the posts remained, some intact, others mere
+jagged stumps. He estimated that the nineteenth was not more than a
+couple of yards from the enemy's wire, and knew of old that it was in
+just such an irregular hollow he might expect to find a weak place in
+the entanglement.
+
+Mason agreed with him.
+
+"We can save a lot of time by following that trail, sir," he said.
+"There's only one drawback----"
+
+"That Fritz may have hit on the same scheme," laughed Martin. "Possible;
+but we must chance it."
+
+Mason and he were old associates. They had perfected a code of signals,
+by touch, that enabled them to work in absolute silence. Thus, a slight
+hold meant "Halt"; a slight push, "Advance"; a slight pull, "Retire."
+Each carried a trench knife and a revolver, the latter for use as a last
+resource only. They were not going out for fighting but for observation.
+If enemy patrols were encountered, they must be avoided. Germans are not
+phlegmatic, but, on the contrary, highly nervous. Continuous raids by
+British bombing parties had put sentries "on the jump," and the least
+noise which was not explained by a whispered password attracted a heavy
+spray of machine-gun fire. Especially was this the case during the hour
+before dawn. By hurrying out immediately after darkness set in, the two
+counted on nearing the German front-line trench at a time when reliefs
+were being posted and fatigue parties were plodding to the "dump" for
+the next day's rations.
+
+"What time will you be back?" inquired the subaltern in charge of the
+platoon holding that part of the British trench. It was his duty to warn
+sentries to be on the lookout for the return of scouting parties.
+
+Martin glanced at the luminous watch on his wrist. It was then seven
+o'clock, and the night promised to be dark and quiet. The evening
+"strafe" had just ended, and the German guns would reopen fire on the
+trenches about five in the morning. During the intervening hours the
+artillery would indulge in groups of long shots, hoping to catch the
+commissariat or a regiment marching on the _pave_ in column of fours.
+
+"About twelve," said Martin.
+
+"Well, so long, sir! I'll have some coffee ready."
+
+"So long!" And Martin led the way up a trench ladder.
+
+No man wishes another "Good luck!" in these enterprises. By a curious
+inversion of meaning, "Good luck!" implies a ninety per cent chance of
+getting killed!
+
+The two advanced rapidly for the first hundred yards. Then they
+separated, each crawling out into the open for about twenty yards to
+right and left. Snuggling into a convenient shell hole, they would
+listen intently, with an ear to the ground, their object being to detect
+the rhythmic beat of a pick, if a mining party was busy. Each remained
+exactly ten minutes. Then they met and compared notes, always by signal.
+If necessary, they would visit a suspected locality together and
+endeavor to locate the line of the tunnel.
+
+It was essential that the British side of "No Man's Land" should not be
+too quiet. Every few minutes a rocket or a Verrey light would soar over
+that torn Golgotha. But there was method in the seeming madness. The
+first and second glare would illuminate an area well removed from
+Martin's territory. The third might be right over him or Mason, but they
+were then so well hidden that the sharpest eye could not discern their
+presence.
+
+By nine o'clock they had covered more than a hundred yards of the
+enemy's front, skirting his trip-wire throughout the whole distance.
+They had heard no fewer than six mining parties. Each had advanced some
+thirty yards. In effect, if the German trench was to be taken at all,
+the attack must be made next day, and the artillery preparation should
+commence at dawn. Instead of returning to the subaltern's dugout at
+midnight, Martin wanted to reach the telephone not later than ten, and
+hurry back to headquarters. The staff would have another sleepless
+night, but a British battalion would not be blown up while its
+successive "waves" were crossing "No Man's Land."
+
+Mason and he crept like lizards to the sunk fence. All they needed now
+was a close scrutiny of the German parapet in that section. It was a
+likely site for a machine-gun emplacement and, in that case, would
+receive special attention from a battery of 4.7's.
+
+They reached the ditch shortly before a rocket was due overhead. Making
+assurance doubly sure, they flattened against the outer slope of a shell
+hole, took off their caps, and each sought a tuft of grass through
+which to peer.
+
+Simultaneously, by two short taps, both conveyed a warning. They had
+heard a slight rustling directly in front. A Verrey light, and not a
+rocket, flamed through the darkness. Its brilliancy was intense. But the
+Verrey light has a peculiar property: far more effective than the rocket
+when it reveals troops in motion, it is rendered practically useless if
+men remain still. Working parties and scouts counteract its vivid beams
+by absolute rigidity. The uplifted pick or hammer, the advanced foot,
+the raised arm, must be kept in statuesque repose, and the reward is
+complete safety. A rocket, on the other hand, though not half so deadly
+in exposing an attack, demands that every man within its periphery shall
+endeavor forthwith to blend with the earth, or he will surely be seen
+and shot at.
+
+The two Britons, looking through stalks of withered herbage, found
+themselves gazing into the eyes of a couple of Germans crouching on
+the level barely six feet away. It seemed literally impossible that
+the enemy observers should not see them. But strange things happen
+in war. The Germans were scanning all the visible ground; the Englishmen
+happened to be on the alert for a recognized danger in that identical
+spot. So the one party, watching space, saw nothing; the other, prepared
+for a specific discovery, made it. What was more, when the light failed,
+the Germans were assured of comparative safety, while their opponents
+had measured the extent of an instant peril and got ready to face it.
+
+They knew, too, that the Germans must be killed or captured. One
+was a major, the other a noncommissioned officer, and men of such
+rank were seldom deputed by the enemy to roam at large through the
+strip of debated land which British endeavor, drawn by its sporting
+uncertainties, had rendered most unhealthy for human "game" of the
+Hun species.
+
+A dark night in that part of French Flanders becomes palpably black
+during a few seconds after a flare. The Englishmen squatted back on
+their heels. Neither drew his revolver, but each right hand clutched
+a trench knife, a peculiarly murderous-looking implement with an oval
+handle, and shaped like a corkscrew, except that the screw is replaced
+by a short, flat, dagger-pointed blade. No signal was needed. Each knew
+exactly what to do. The accident of position allotted the major to
+Martin.
+
+The Germans came on stealthily. They had noted the shell-hole, and sat
+on its crumbling edge, meaning to slide down and creep out on the other
+side. Martin's left hand gripped a stout boot by the ankle. In the fifth
+of a second he had a heavy body twisted violently and flung face down
+in the loose earth at the bottom of the hole. A knee was planted in the
+small of the prisoner's back, the point of the knife was under his right
+ear, and Martin was saying, in quite understandable German:
+
+"If you move or speak, I'll cut your throat!"
+
+The words have a brutal sound, but it does not pay to be squeamish on
+such occasions, and the German language adapts itself naturally to
+phrases of the kind.
+
+Sergeant Mason had to solve his own problem by a different method. The
+quarry chanced to be leaning forward at the moment a vicious tug
+accelerated his progress. As a result, he fell on top of the hunter, and
+there was nothing for it but the knife. A ghastly squeal was barely
+stifled by the Englishman's hand over the victim's mouth. At thirty
+yards, or thereabouts, and coming from a deep hole, the noise might have
+been a grunt. Nevertheless, it reached the German trench.
+
+"Wer da?" hissed a voice, and Martin heard the click of a machine-gun as
+it swung on its tripod.
+
+He did not fear the gun, which only meant a period of waiting while its
+bullets cracked overhead. What he did dread was a search party, as
+German majors are valuable birds, and must be safeguarded. The situation
+called for the desperate measure he took. The point of the knife entered
+his captive's neck, and he whispered:
+
+"Tell your men they must keep quiet, or you die now!"
+
+He allowed the almost choking man to raise his head. The German knew
+that his life was forfeit if he did not obey the order. A certain
+gurgling, ever growing weaker, showed that his companion would soon be a
+corpse.
+
+"Shut up, sheep's head!" he growled.
+
+It sufficed. That is the way German majors talk to their inferiors.
+
+The engineer sergeant wriggled nearer.
+
+"Couldn't help it, sir," he breathed. "I had to give him one!"
+
+"Go through him for papers and bring me his belt."
+
+Within a minute the officer's hands were fastened behind his back. Then
+he was permitted to rise and, after being duly warned, told to
+accompany Mason. Martin followed, and the three began the return
+journey. A German rocket bothered them once, but the German was quick as
+they to fall flat. Evidently he was not minded to offer a target for
+marksmen on either side.
+
+Soon Mason was sent forward to warn the sentries. Quarter of an hour
+after the episode in the shell hole Martin, having come from the
+telephone, was examining his prisoner by the light of an electric torch
+in a dugout.
+
+"What is your name?" he inquired.
+
+"Freiherr Georg von Struben, major of artillery," was the somewhat
+grandiloquent answer.
+
+"Do you speak English?"
+
+"Nod mooch."
+
+Some long dormant chord of memory vibrated in Martin's brain. He held
+the torch closer. Von Struben was a tall, well-built Prussian. He
+smiled, meaning probably to make the best of a bad business. His face
+was soiled with clay and perspiration. A streak of blood had run from a
+slight cut over an eyebrow. But the white scar of an old saber wound,
+the outcome of a duelling bout in some university _burschenschaft_,
+creased down its center when he smiled. Then Martin knew.
+
+"Fritz Bauer!" he cried.
+
+The German started, though he recovered his self-control promptly.
+
+"You haf nod unterstant," he said. "I dell you my nem----"
+
+"That's all right, Fritz," laughed Martin. "You spoke good English when
+you were in Elmsdale. You could fool me then into giving you valuable
+information for your precious scheme of invading England. Now it's my
+turn! Have you forgotten Martin Bolland?"
+
+Blank incredulity yielded to evident fear in the other man's eyes. With
+obvious effort, he stiffened.
+
+"I was acting under orders, Captain Bolland," he said.
+
+"Not Bolland, but Grant," laughed Martin. "I, too, have changed my name,
+but for a more honorable reason."
+
+The words seemed to irritate von Struben.
+
+"I did noding dishonorable," he protested. "I was dere by command. If it
+wasn't for your d--d fleet, I would have lodged once more in de Elms
+eighdeen monds ago."
+
+"I know," said Martin. "We found your map, the map which Angele stole
+because you wouldn't take her in the car the day we went on the moor."
+
+In all likelihood the prisoner's nerves were on edge. He had gone
+through a good deal since being hauled into the shell hole, and was by
+no means prepared for this display of intimate knowledge of his past
+career by the youthful looking Briton who had manhandled him so
+effectually. Be that as it may, he was so disconcerted by the mere
+allusion to Angele that a fantastic notion gripped Martin. He pursued it
+at once.
+
+"We English are not quite such idiots as you like to imagine us, major,"
+he went on, and so ready was his speech that the pause was hardly
+perceptible. "Mrs. Saumarez--or, describing her by her other name, the
+Baroness von Edelstein--was a far more dangerous person than you. It
+took time to run her to earth--you know what that means? when a fox is
+chased to a burrow by hounds--but our Intelligence Department sized her
+up correctly at last."
+
+Now this was nothing more than the wildest guessing, a product of many a
+long talk with Elsie, the vicar, and General Grant during the early days
+of the war. But von Struben was manifestly so ill at ease that he had to
+cover his discomfiture under a frown.
+
+"I have not seen de lady for ten years," he said.
+
+This disclaimer was needless. He had been wiser to have cursed Angele
+for purloining his map.
+
+"Perhaps not. She avoided Berlin. But you have heard of her."
+
+Again was the former spy guilty of stupidity. He set his lips like a
+steel trap. Doubtful what to say, he said nothing.
+
+Martin nodded to Sergeant Mason.
+
+"Just go through the major's pockets," he said. "You know what we want."
+
+Mason's knowledge was precise. He left the prisoner his money, watch,
+pipe, and handkerchief. The remainder of his belongings were made up
+into a bundle. Highly valuable treasure-trove was contained therein, the
+major having in his possession a detailed list of all arms in the
+Fifty-seventh Brandenburg Division and a sketch of the trench system
+which it occupied. A glance showed Martin that the Fifty-seventh
+Division lay directly in front.
+
+He turned to the subaltern whose dugout he was using and who had
+witnessed the foregoing scene in silence.
+
+"Can you send a corporal's guard to D.H.Q. in charge of the prisoner?"
+he asked.
+
+"Certainly," said the other. "By the way, come outside and have a
+cigarette."
+
+Cigarettes are not lighted in front-line communication trenches after
+nightfall--not by officers, at any rate--nor do second lieutenants
+address staff captains so flippantly. Martin read something more into
+the invitation than appeared on the surface. He was right.
+
+"About this Mrs. Saumarez you spoke of just now," said the subaltern
+when they were beyond the closed door of the dugout. "Is she the widow
+of one of our fellows, a Hussar colonel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know she is living in Paris?"
+
+"Well, I heard some few years since that she was residing there."
+
+"She's there now. She runs a sort of hostel for youngsters on short
+leave. She's supposed to charge a small fee, but doesn't. And there's
+drinks galore for all comers. She's extraordinarily popular, of course,
+but I--er--well, one hates saying it. Still, you made me sit up and take
+notice when you mentioned the Intelligence Department. Mrs. Saumarez has
+a wonderful acquaintance with the British front. She tells you
+things--don't you know--and one is led on to talk--sort of reciprocity,
+eh?"
+
+Martin drew a deep breath. He almost dreaded putting the inevitable
+question.
+
+"Is her daughter with her--a girl of twenty-one, named Angele?"
+
+"No. Never heard Mrs. Saumarez so much as mention her."
+
+"Thanks. We've done a good night's work, I fancy. And--this for
+yourself only--there may be a scrap to-morrow afternoon."
+
+"Fine! I want to stretch my legs. Been in this bally hole nine days.
+Well, here's your corporal. Good-night, sir."
+
+"Good-night!"
+
+And Martin trudged through the mud with Sergeant Mason behind von
+Struben and the escort.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+NEARING THE END
+
+
+Sixty hours elapsed before Martin was able to unwrap the puttees from
+off his stiff legs and cut the laces of boots so caked with mud that he
+was too weary to untie them. In that time, as the official report put
+it, "enemy trenches extending from Rue du Bois to Houplines, over a
+front of nearly three miles, were occupied to an average depth of one
+thousand yards, and our troops are now consolidating the new territory."
+
+A bald announcement, indeed! Martin was one of the few who knew what it
+really meant. He had helped to organize the victory; he could sum up its
+costs. But this record is not a history of the war, nor even of one
+young soldier's share in it. Martin himself has developed a literary
+style noteworthy for its simple directness. Some day, if he survives, he
+may tell his own story.
+
+When the last of twelve hundred prisoners had been mustered in the
+Grande Place of Armentieres, when the attacking battalions had been
+relieved and the reserve artillery was shelling Fritz's hastily formed
+gun positions, when the last ambulance wagon of the "special" division
+had sped over the _pave_ to the base hospital at Bailleul, Martin
+thought he was free to go to bed.
+
+As a matter of fact, he was not. Utterly spent, he had thrown himself on
+a cot and had slept the sleep of complete exhaustion for half an hour,
+when a brigade major discovered that "Captain Grant" was at liberty, and
+detailed him for an immediate inquiry. The facts were set forth on Army
+Form 122: "On the night of the 10th inst. a barrel of rum, delivered at
+Brigade Dump No. 35, was stolen or mislaid. It was last seen in trench
+77. For investigation and report to D.A.Q.M.G. 50th Div." That barrel
+of rum will never be seen again, though it was destined to roll through
+reams of variously numbered army forms during many a week.
+
+But it did not disturb Martin's slumbers. A brigadier general happened
+to hear his name given to an orderly.
+
+"Who's that?" he inquired sharply. "Grant, did you say?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the brigade major.
+
+"Don't be such a Heaven-condemned idiot!" said the general, or, rather,
+he used words to that effect. "Grant was all through that push. Find
+some other fellow."
+
+Brigade majors are necessarily inhuman. It is nothing to them what a man
+may have done--they think only of the next job. They are steeled alike
+to pity and reproach. This one was no exception among the tribe. He
+merely thumbed a list and said to the orderly:
+
+"Give that chit to Mr. Fortescue."
+
+So a subaltern began the chase. He smelt the rum through a whole company
+of Gordons, but the barrel lies hid a fathom deep in the mud of
+Flanders.
+
+That same afternoon Martin woke up, refreshed in mind and body. He
+secured a hot bath, "dolled up" in clean clothes, and strolled out to
+buy some socks from "Madame," the famous Frenchwoman who has kept her
+shop open in Armentieres throughout three years of shell fire.
+
+A Yorkshire battalion was "standing at ease" in the street while their
+officers and color sergeants engaged in a wrangle about billets. The
+regiment had taken part in the "push" and bore the outward and visible
+signs of that inward grace which had carried them beyond the third line
+German trench. A lance corporal was playing "Tipperary" on a
+mouth-organ.
+
+Someone shouted: "Give us 'Home Fires,' Jim"--and "Jim" ran a
+preliminary flourish before Martin recognized the musician.
+
+"Why, if it isn't Jim Bates!" he cried, advancing with outstretched
+hand.
+
+The lance corporal drew himself up and saluted. His brown skin reddened
+as he shook hands, for it is not every day that a staff captain greets
+one of the rank and file in such democratic fashion.
+
+"I'm main glad te see you, sir," he said. "I read of your promotion in
+t' _Messenger_, an' we boys of t' owd spot were real pleased. We were,
+an' all."
+
+"You're keeping fit, I see," and Martin's eye fell to a _pickelhaube_
+tied to the sling of Bates's rifle.
+
+"Pretty well, sir," grinned Bates. "I nearly had a relapse yesterday
+when that mine went up. Did ye hear of it?"
+
+"If you mean the one they touched off at L'Epinette Farm, I saw it,"
+said Martin. "I was at the crossroads at the moment."
+
+"Well, fancy that, sir! I couldn't ha' bin twenty yards from you."
+
+"Queer things happen in war. Do you remember Mrs. Saumarez's German
+chauffeur, a man named Fritz Bauer?"
+
+"Quite well, sir."
+
+"We caught him in 'No Man's Land' three nights ago. He is a major now."
+
+Jim was so astonished that his mouth opened, just as it would have done
+ten years earlier.
+
+"By gum!" he cried. "That takes it! An' it's hardly a month since I saw
+Miss Angele in Amiens."
+
+Martin's pulse quickened. The mouth-organ in Bates's hand brought him
+back at a bound to the night when he had forbidden Jim to play for
+Angele's dancing. And with that memory came another thought. Mrs.
+Saumarez in Paris--her daughter in Amiens--why this devotion to such
+nerve centers of the war?
+
+"Are you sure?" he said. "You would hardly recognize her. She is ten
+years older--a woman, not a child."
+
+Bates laughed. He dropped his voice.
+
+"She was always a bit owd-fashioned, sir. I'm not mistakken. It kem
+about this way. It was her, right enough. Our colonel's shover fell
+sick, so I took on the car for a week. One day I was waitin' outside the
+Hotel dew Nord at Amiens when a French Red Cross auto drove up, an' out
+stepped Miss Angele. I twigged her at once. I'd know them eyes of hers
+anywheres. She hopped into the hotel, walkin' like a ballet-dancer.
+Hooiver, I goes up to her shover an' sez: 'Pardonnay moy, but ain't that
+Mees Angele Saumarez?' He talked a lot--these Frenchies always do--but I
+med out he didn't understand. So I parlay-vooed some more, and soon I
+got the hang of things. She's married now, an' I have her new name an'
+address in my kit-bag. But I remember 'em, all right. I can't pronounce
+'em, but I can spell 'em."
+
+And Lance Corporal Bates spelled: "La Comtesse Barthelemi de Saint-Ivoy,
+2 bis, Impasse Fautet, Rue Blanche, Paris."
+
+"It looks funny," went on Jim anxiously, "but it's just as her shover
+wrote it."
+
+Martin affected to treat this information lightly.
+
+"I'm exceedingly glad I came across you," he said. "How would you like
+to be a sergeant, Jim?"
+
+Bates grinned widely.
+
+"It's a lot more work, but it does mean better grub, sir," he confided.
+
+"Very well. Don't mention it to anyone, and I'll see what can be done.
+It shouldn't be difficult, since you've earned the first stripe
+already."
+
+Martin found his brigadier at the mess. A few minutes' conversation with
+the great man led him to a greater in the person of the divisional
+general. Yet a few more minutes of earnest talk, and he was in a car,
+bound for General Grant's headquarters, which he reached late that
+night. It was long after midnight when the two retired, and the son's
+face was almost as worn and care-lined as the father's ere the
+discussion ended.
+
+Few problems have been so baffling and none more dangerous to the Allied
+armies in France than the German spy system. It was so perfect before
+the war, every possible combination of circumstances had been foreseen
+and provided against so fully, that the most thorough hunting out
+and ruthless punishment of enemy agents has failed to crush the
+organization. The snake has been scotched, but not killed. Its venom is
+still potent. Every officer on the staff and many senior regimental
+officers have been astounded time and again by the completeness and
+up-to-date nature of the information possessed by the Germans. Surprise
+attacks planned with the utmost secrecy have found enemy trenches held
+by packed reserves and swarming with additional machine-guns. Newly
+established ammunition depots, carefully screened, have been bombed next
+day by aeroplanes and subjected to high-angle fire. Troop movements by
+rail over long distances have become known, and their effect discounted.
+Flanders, in particular, is a plague-spot of espionage which has cost
+Britain an untold sacrifice of life and an almost immeasurable waste of
+effort.
+
+Small wonder, then, that Martin's forehead should be seamed with
+foreboding. If his suspicions, which his father shared, were justified,
+the French Intelligence Department would quickly determine the truth,
+and no power on earth could save Angele and her mother from a firing
+party. France knows her peril and stamps it out unflinchingly. Of late,
+too, the British authorities adopt the same rigorous measures. The spy,
+man or woman, is shown no mercy.
+
+And now the whirligig of events had placed in Martin's hands the
+question of life or death for Mrs. Saumarez and Angele. It was a
+loathsome burden. He rebelled against it. During the long run to Paris
+his very soul writhed at the thought that fate was making him their
+executioner. He tried to steel his resolution by dwelling on the
+mischief they might have caused by thinking rather of the gallant
+comrades laid forever in the soil of France because of their murderous
+duplicity than of the woman who was once his friend, of the girl whose
+kisses had once thrilled him to the core. Worst of all, both General
+Grant and he himself felt some measure of responsibility for their
+failure to institute a searching inquiry as to Mrs. Saumarez's
+whereabouts when war broke out.
+
+But he was distraught and miserable. He had a notion--a well-founded
+one, as it transpired--that an approving general had recommended him for
+the Military Cross; but from all appearance he might have expected a
+letter from the War Office announcing his dismissal from the service.
+
+At last, after a struggle which left him so broken that at a cordon near
+Paris he was detained several minutes while a _sous-officier_ who did
+not like his looks communicated with a superior potentate, he made up
+his mind. Whate'er befell, he would give Angele and her mother one
+chance. If they decided to take it, well and good. If not, they must
+face the cold-eyed inquisition of the Quai d'Orsay.
+
+Luckily, as matters turned out, he elected to call on Mrs. Saumarez
+first. For one thing, her house in the Rue Henri was not far from a
+hotel on the Champs Elysees where he was known to the management; for
+another, he wished to run no risk of being outwitted by Angele. If she
+and her mother were guilty of the ineffable infamy of betraying both the
+country of their nationality and that which sheltered them they must be
+trapped so effectually as to leave no room for doubt.
+
+He was also fortunate in the fact that his soldier chauffeur, when given
+the choice, decided to wait and drive him to the Rue Henri. The man was
+candid as to his own plans for the evening.
+
+"When I put the car up I'll have a hot bath and go to bed, sir," he
+said. "I've not had five hours' sleep straight on end during the past
+three weeks, an' I know wot'll happen if I start hittin' it up around
+these bullyvards. Me for the feathers at nine o'clock! So, if you don't
+mind, sir----"
+
+Martin knew what the man meant. He wanted to be kept busy. One hour of
+enforced liberty implied the risk of meeting some hilarious comrades.
+Even in Paris, strict as the police regulations may be, Britons from the
+front are able to sit up late, and the parties are seldom "dry."
+
+So officer and man removed some of the marks of a long journey, ate a
+good meal, and about eight o'clock arrived at Mrs. Saumarez's house.
+Life might be convivial enough inside, but the place looked deserted,
+almost forbidding, externally.
+
+Indeed, Martin hesitated before pressing an electric bell and consulted
+a notebook to verify the street and number given him by the subaltern on
+the night von Struben was captured. But he had not erred. His memory
+never failed. There could be no doubt but that his special gift in this
+direction had been responsible for a rapid promotion, since military
+training, on the mental side, depends largely on a letter-perfect
+accuracy of recollection.
+
+When he rang, however, the door opened at once. A bareheaded man in
+civilian attire, but looking most unlike a domestic, held aside a pair
+of heavy curtains which shut out the least ray of light from the hall.
+
+"_Entrez, monsieur_," he said in reply to Martin, after a sharp glance
+at the car and its driver.
+
+Martin heard a latch click behind him. He passed on, to find himself
+before a sergeant of police seated at a table. Three policemen stood
+near.
+
+"Your name and rank, monsieur?" said this official.
+
+Martin, though surprised, almost startled, by these preliminaries,
+answered promptly. The sergeant nodded to one of his aides.
+
+"Take this gentleman upstairs," he said.
+
+"Is there any mistake?" inquired Martin. "I have come here to visit Mrs.
+Saumarez."
+
+"No mistake," said the sergeant. "Follow that man, monsieur."
+
+Assured now that some dramatic and wholly unexpected development had
+taken place, Martin tried to gather his wits as he mounted to the
+first floor. There, in a shuttered drawing-room, he confronted a
+shrewd-looking man in mufti, to whom his guide handed a written slip
+sent by the sergeant. Evidently, this was an official of some
+importance.
+
+"Shall I speak English, Captain Grant?" he said, thrusting aside a pile
+of documents and clearing a space on the table at which he was busy.
+
+"Well," said Martin, smiling, "I imagine that your English is better
+than my French."
+
+He sat on a chair indicated by the Frenchman. He put no questions. He
+guessed he was in the presence of a tragedy.
+
+"Is Mrs. Saumarez a friend of yours?" began the stranger.
+
+"Yes, in a sense."
+
+"Have you seen her recently?"
+
+"Not for ten years."
+
+Obviously, this answer was disconcerting. It was evident, too, that
+Martin's name was not on a typed list which the other man had scanned
+with a quick eye. Martin determined to clear up an involved situation.
+
+"I take it that you are connected with the police department?" he said.
+"Well, I have come from the British front at Armentieres to inquire into
+the uses to which this house has been put. A number of British officers
+have been entertained here. Our people want to know why."
+
+He left it at that for the time being, but the Frenchman's manner became
+perceptibly more friendly.
+
+"May I examine your papers?" he said.
+
+Martin handed over the bundle of "permis de voyage," which everyone
+without exception must possess in order to move about the roads of
+western France in wartime.
+
+"Ah!" said the official, his air changing now to one of marked relief,
+"this helps matters greatly. My name is Duchesne, Captain Grant--Gustave
+Duchesne. I belong to the Bureau de l'Interieur. So you people also have
+had your suspicions? There can be no doubt about it--the Baroness von
+Edelstein was a spy of the worst kind. The mischief that woman did was
+incalculable. Of course, it was hopeless to look for any real preventive
+work in England before the war; but we were caught napping here. You
+see, the widow of a British officer, a lady who had the best of
+credentials, and whose means were ample, hardly came under review. She
+kept open house, and had lived in Paris so long that her German origin
+was completely forgotten. In fact, the merest accident brought about her
+downfall."
+
+One of the policemen came in with a written memorandum, which M.
+Duchesne read.
+
+"Your chauffeur does not give information willingly," smiled the latter.
+"The sergeant had to threaten him with arrest before he would describe
+your journey to-day."
+
+It was clear that the authorities were taking nothing for granted where
+Mrs. Saumarez and her visitors were concerned. Martin felt that he had
+stumbled to the lip of an abyss. At any rate, events were out of his
+hands now, and for that dispensation he was profoundly thankful.
+
+"I think I ought to tell you what I know of Mrs. Saumarez," he said. "I
+don't wish to do the unfortunate woman an injustice, and my facts are so
+nebulous----"
+
+"One moment, Captain Grant," interposed the Frenchman. "You may feel
+less constraint if you hear that the Baroness died this morning."
+
+"Good Heavens!" was Martin's involuntary cry. "Was she executed?"
+
+"No," said the other. "She forestalled justice by a couple of hours. The
+cause of death was heart failure. She was--intemperate. Her daughter was
+with her at the end."
+
+"Madame Barthelemi de Saint-Ivoy!"
+
+"You know her, then?"
+
+"I met her in a Yorkshire village at the same time as her mother. The
+other day, by chance, I ascertained her name and address from one of our
+village lads who recognized her in Amiens about a month ago."
+
+"Well, you were about to say----"
+
+Martin had to put forth a physical effort to regain self-control. He
+plunged at once into the story of those early years. There was little to
+tell with regard to Mrs. Saumarez and Angele. "Fritz Bauer" was the
+chief personage, and he was now well on his way to a prison camp in
+England.
+
+Monsieur Duchesne was amused by the map episode in its latest phase.
+
+"And you were so blind that you took no action?" he commented dryly.
+
+"No. We saw, but were invincibly confident. My father sent the map to
+the Intelligence Department, with which he was connected until 1912,
+when he was given a command in the North. He and I believe now that
+someone in Whitehall overlooked the connection between Mrs. Saumarez and
+an admitted spy. She had left England, and there was so much to do when
+war broke out."
+
+"Ah! If only those people in London had written us!"
+
+"Is the affair really so bad?"
+
+"Bad! This wretched creature showed an ingenuity that was devilish. She
+deceived her own daughter. That is perfectly clear. The girl married a
+French officer after the Battle of the Marne, and, as we have every
+reason to believe, thought she had persuaded her mother to break off
+relations with her German friends. We know now that the baroness, left
+to her own devices, adopted a method of conveying information to the
+Boches which almost defied detection. Owing to her knowledge of the
+British army she was able to chat with your men on a plane of intimacy
+which no ordinary woman could command. She found out where certain
+brigades were stationed and what regiments composed them. She heard to
+what extent battalions were decimated. She knew what types of guns were
+in use and what improvements were coming along in caliber and range. She
+was told when men were suddenly recalled from leave, and where they were
+going. Need I say what deductions the German Staff could make from such
+facts?"
+
+"But how on earth could she convey the information in time to be of
+value?"
+
+"Quite easily. There is one weak spot on our frontier--south of the
+German line. She wrote to an agent in Pontarlier, and this man
+transmitted her notes across the Swiss frontier. The rest was simple.
+She was caught by fate, not by us. Years ago she employed a woman from
+Tinchebrai as a nurse----"
+
+"Francoise!" broke in Martin.
+
+"Exactly--Francoise Dupont. Well, Madame Dupont died in 1913. But she
+had spoken of her former mistress to a nephew, and this man, a cripple,
+is now a Paris postman. He is a sharp-witted peasant, and, as he grew in
+experience, was promoted gradually to more important districts. Just a
+week ago he took on this very street, and when he saw the name recalled
+her aunt's statements about Mrs. Saumarez. He informed the Surete at
+once. Even then she gave us some trouble. Her letters were printed, not
+written, and she could post them in out-of-the-way places. However, we
+trapped her within forty-eight hours. Have you a battery of four 9.2's
+hidden in a wood three hundred meters north-west of Pont Ballot?"
+
+Martin was so flabbergasted that he stammered.
+
+"That--is the sort of thing--we don't discuss--anywhere," he said.
+
+"Naturally. It happens to be also the sort of thing which Mrs. Saumarez
+drew out of some too-talkative lieutenant of artillery. Luckily, the
+fact has not crossed the border. We have the lady's notepaper and her
+secret signs, so are taking the liberty to supply the Boches with
+intelligence more useful to us."
+
+"Then you haven't grabbed the Pontarlier man?"
+
+"Not yet. We give him ten days. He has six left. When his time is up,
+the Germans will have discovered that the wire has been tapped."
+
+Martin forced the next question.
+
+"What of Madame de Saint-Ivoy?"
+
+"Her case is under consideration. She is working for the Croix Rouge.
+That is why she was in Amiens. Her husband has been recalled from
+Verdun. He, by the way, is devoted to her, and she professes to hate all
+Germans. Thus far her record is clean."
+
+Martin was glad to get out into the night air, though he had a strange
+notion that the quietude of the darkened Paris streets was unreal--that
+the only reality lay yonder where the shells crashed and men burrowed
+like moles in the earth. His chauffeur saluted.
+
+"Glad to see you, sir," said the man. "Those blighters wanted to run me
+in."
+
+"No. It's all right. The police are doing good work. Take me to the
+hotel. I'll follow your example and go to bed."
+
+Martin's voice was weary. He was grateful to Providence that he had
+been spared the ordeal which faced him when he entered the city. But
+the strain was heavier than he counted on, and he craved rest, even
+from tumultuous memories. Before retiring, however, he wrote to
+Elsie--guardedly, of course--but in sufficient detail that she should
+understand.
+
+Next morning, making an early start, he guided the car up the Rue
+Blanche, as the north road could be reached by a slight detour. He saw
+the Impasse Fautet, and glanced at the drawn blinds of Numero 2 bis. In
+one of those rooms, he supposed, Angele was lying. He had resolved not
+to seek her out. When the war was over, and he and his wife visited
+Paris, they could inquire for her. Was she wholly innocent? He hoped so.
+Somehow, he could not picture her as a spy. She was a disturbing
+influence, but her nature was not mean. At any rate, her mother's death
+would scare her effectually.
+
+It was a fine morning, clear, and not too cold. His spirits rose as the
+car sped along a good road, after the suburban traffic was left behind.
+The day's news was cheering. Verdun was safe, the Armentieres "push" was
+an admitted gain, and the United States had reached the breaking point
+with Germany. Thank God, all would yet be well, and humanity would
+arise, blood-stained but triumphant, from the rack of torment on which
+it had been stretched by Teuton oppression!
+
+"Hit her up!" he said when the car had passed through Crueil, and the
+next cordon was twenty miles ahead. The chauffeur stepped on the gas,
+and the pleasant panorama of France flew by like a land glimpsed in
+dreams.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every day in far-off Elmsdale Elsie would walk to the White House, or
+John and Martha would visit the vicarage. If there was no letter, some
+crumb of comfort could be drawn from its absence. Each morning, in both
+households, the first haunted glance was at the casualty lists in the
+newspapers. But none ever spoke of that, and Elsie knew what she never
+told the old couple--that the thing really to be dreaded was a long
+white envelope from the War Office, with "O.H.M.S." stamped across it,
+for the relatives of fallen officers are warned before the last sad item
+is printed.
+
+Elsie lived at the vicarage. The Elms was too roomy for herself and her
+baby boy, another Martin Bolland--such were the names given him at the
+christening font. So it came to pass that she and the vicar, accompanied
+by a nurse wheeling a perambulator, came to the White House with
+Martin's letter. And, heinous as were Mrs. Saumarez's faults,
+unforgivable though her crime, they grieved for her, since her memory in
+the village had been, for the most part, one of a gracious and dignified
+woman.
+
+Martha wiped her spectacles after reading the letter. The word "hotel"
+had a comforting sound.
+
+"It must ha' bin nice for t' lad te find hisself in a decent bed for a
+night," she said.
+
+Then Elsie's eyes filled with tears.
+
+"I only wish I had known he was there," she murmured.
+
+"Why, honey?"
+
+"Because, God help me, on one night, at least, I could have fallen
+asleep with the consciousness that he was safe!"
+
+She averted her face, and her slight, graceful body shook with an
+uncontrollable emotion. The vicar was so taken aback by this
+unlooked-for distress on Elsie's part that his lips quivered and he
+dared not speak. But John Bolland's huge hand rested lightly on the
+young wife's shoulder.
+
+"Dinnat fret, lass," he said. "I feel it i' me bones that Martin will
+come back te us. England needs such men, the whole wulld needs 'em, an'
+the Lord, in His goodness, will see to it that they're spared.
+Sometimes, when things are blackest, I liken mesen unto Job; for Job
+was a farmer an' bred stock, an' he was afflicted more than most. An'
+then I remember that the Lord blessed the latter end of Job, who died
+old and full of days; yet I shall die a broken man if Martin is taken. O
+Lord, my God, in Thee do I put my trust!"
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
+every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
+intent.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revellers, by Louis Tracy
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