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diff --git a/40631-8.txt b/40631-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fc55efa..0000000 --- a/40631-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17890 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Roar of the Sea, by Sabine Baring-Gould - -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: In the Roar of the Sea - -Author: Sabine Baring-Gould - -Release Date: August 31, 2012 [EBook #40631] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Sam W. and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA - - BY - - S. BARING-GOULD - - AUTHOR OF - "THE PENNYCOMEQUICKS," "URITH," ETC. - - - NEW YORK - NATIONAL BOOK COMPANY - 6 MISSION PLACE - - - Copyright, 1891, - BY - UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. - [_All rights reserved._] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. OVER AND DONE 5 - - II. A PASSAGE OF ARMS 12 - - III. CAPTAIN CRUEL 20 - - IV. HOP-O'-MY-THUMB 24 - - V. THE BUTTONS 31 - - VI. UNCLE ZACHIE 39 - - VII. A VISIT 45 - - VIII. A PATCHED PEACE 52 - - IX. C. C. 60 - - X. EGO ET REGINA MEA 67 - - XI. JESSAMINE 75 - - XII. THE CAVE 85 - - XIII. IN THE DUSK 93 - - XIV. WARNING OF DANGER 100 - - XV. CHAINED 109 - - XVI. ON THE SHINGLE 114 - - XVII. FOR LIFE OR DEATH 122 - - XVIII. UNA 128 - - XIX. A GOLDFISH 136 - - XX. BOUGHT AND SOLD 144 - - XXI. OTHELLO COTTAGE 151 - - XXII. JAMIE'S RIDE 158 - - XXIII. ALL IS FOR THE BEST IN THE BEST OF WORLDS 166 - - XXIV. A NIGHT EXCURSION 175 - - XXV. FOUND 182 - - XXVI. AN UNWILLING PRISONER 189 - - XXVII. A RESCUE 195 - - XXVIII. AN EXAMINATION 203 - - XXIX. ON A PEACOCK'S FEATHER 211 - - XXX. THROUGH THE TAMARISKS 221 - - XXXI. AMONG THE SAND-HEAPS 229 - - XXXII. A DANGEROUS GIFT 237 - - XXXIII. HALF A MARRIAGE 244 - - XXXIV. A BREAKFAST 252 - - XXXV. JACK O' LANTERN 259 - - XXXVI. THE SEA-WOLVES 269 - - XXXVII. BRUISED NOT BROKEN 275 - - XXXVIII. A CHANGE OF WIND 282 - - XXXIX. A FIRST LIE 290 - - XL. THE DIAMOND BUTTERFLY 297 - - XLI. A DEAD-LOCK 306 - - XLII. TWO LETTERS 313 - - XLIII. THE SECOND TIME 320 - - XLIV. THE WHIP FALLS 327 - - XLV. GONE FROM ITS PLACE 334 - - XLVI. A SECOND LIE 341 - - XLVII. FAST IN HIS HANDS 349 - - XLVIII. TWO ALTERNATIVES 357 - - XLIX. NOTHING LIKE GROG 364 - - L. PLAYING FORFEITS 372 - - LI. SURRENDER 380 - - LII. TO JUDITH 387 - - LIII. IN THE SMOKE 395 - - LIV. SQUAB PIE 403 - - - - -IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -OVER AND DONE. - - -Sitting in the parsonage garden, in a white frock, with a pale green -sash about her waist, leaning back against the red-brick wall, her -glowing copper hair lit by the evening sun, was Judith Trevisa. - -She was tossing guelder-roses into the air; some dozens were strewn -about her feet on the gravel, but one remained of the many she had -plucked and thrown and caught, and thrown and caught again for a sunny -afternoon hour. As each greenish-white ball of flowers went up into -the air it diffused a faint but pleasant fragrance. - -"When I have done with you, my beauty, I have done altogether," said -Judith. - -"With what?" - -Her father spoke. He had come up unperceived by the girl, burdened -with a shovel in one hand and a bucket in the other, looking pale, -weary, and worn. - -"Papa, you nearly spoiled my game. Let me finish, and I will speak." - -"Is it a very serious matter, Judith, and engrossing?" - -"Engrossing, but not serious, _Je m'amuse_." - -The old rector seated himself on the bench beside her, and he also -leaned back against the red-brick, gold-and-gray-lichen-spotted wall, -and looked into the distance before him, waiting till his daughter was -ready to speak, not, perhaps, sorry to have a little rest first, for -he was overtired. Had Judith not been absorbed in her ball-play with -the guelder-rose bunch she would have noticed his haggard appearance, -the green hue about his mouth, the sunken eyes, the beaded brow. But -she was counting the rebounds of her ball, bent on sustaining her play -as long as was possible to her. - -She formed a charming picture, fresh and pure, and had the old man not -been overtired, he would have thought so with a throb of parental -pride. - -She was a child in size, slender in build, delicate in bone, with face -and hands of porcelain transparency and whiteness, with, moreover, -that incomparable complexion only seen in the British Isles, and then -only with red-gold hair. - -Her bronze-leather shoes were the hue of some large flies that basked -and frisked on the warm wall, only slightly disturbed by the girl's -play, to return again and run and preen themselves again, and glitter -jewel-like as studs on that sun-baked, lichen-enamelled wall. Her -eyes, moreover, were lustrous as the backs of these flies, iridescent -with the changing lights of the declining sun, and the changed -direction of her glance following the dancing ball of guelder-rose. -Her long fingers might have been of china, but that when raised so -that the sun struck their backs they were turned to a translucent -rose. There was no color in her cheek, only the faintest suffusion of -pink on the temples below where the hair was rolled back in waves of -luminous molten copper dashing against the brick wall. - -"I have done my work," said the rector. - -"And I my play," responded the girl, letting the ball drop into her -lap and rock there from one knee to the other. "Papa, this fellow is -the conqueror; I have made him dance thirty-five great leaps, and he -has not yet fallen--wilfully. I let him go down and get breath just -now. There lie all my dancers dead about me. They failed very -speedily." - -"You cannot be forever playing, Ju." - -"That is why I play now, papa. When playtime is over I shall be in -earnest indeed." - -"Indeed?" the old man sighed. - -Judith looked round, and was shocked to see how ill her father -appeared to be. - -"Are you very tired, darling papa?" - -"Yes--overtired." - -"Have you been at your usual task?" - -"Yes, Ju--an unprofitable task." - -"Oh, papa!" - -"Yes, unprofitable. The next wind from the sea that blows--one will -blow in an hour--and all my work is undone." - -"But, my dear papa!" Judith stooped and looked into the bucket. -"Why!--what has made you bring a load of sand up here? We want none in -the garden. And such a distance too!--from the church. No wonder you -are tired." - -"Have I brought it?" he asked, without looking at the bucket. - -"You have, indeed. That, if you please, is unprofitable work, not the -digging of the church out of the sand-heaps that swallow it." - -"My dear, I did not know that I had not emptied the pail outside the -church-yard gate. I am very tired; perhaps that explains it." - -"No doubt about it, papa. It was work quite as unprofitable but much -more exhausting than my ball-play. Now, papa, while you have been -digging your church out of the sand, which will blow over it again -to-night, you say, I have been pitching and tossing guelder-roses. We -have been both wasting time, one as much as the other." - -"One as much as the other," repeated the old man. "Yes, dear, one as -much as the other, and I have been doing it all my time here--morally, -spiritually, as well as materially, digging the church out of the -smothering sands, and all in vain--all profitless work. You are right, -Ju." - -"Papa," said Judith hastily, seeing his discouragement and knowing his -tendency to depression, "papa, do you hear the sea how it roars? I -have stood on the bench, more than once, to look out seaward, and find -a reason for it; but there is none--all blue, blue as a larkspur; and -not a cloud in the sky--all blue, blue there too. No wind either, and -that is why I have done well with my ball-play. Do you hear the roar -of the sea, papa?" she repeated. - -"Yes, Ju. There will be a storm shortly. The sea is thrown into great -swells of rollers, a sure token that something is coming. Before night -a gale will be on us." - -Then ensued silence. Judith with one finger trifled with the -guelder-rose bunch in her lap musingly, not desirous to resume her -play with it. Something in her father's manner was unusual, and made -her uneasy. - -"My dear!" he began, after a pause, "one must look out to sea--into -the vast mysterious sea of the future--and prepare for what is coming -from it. Just now the air is still, and we sit in this sweet, sunny -garden, and lean our backs against the warm wall, and smell the -fragrance of the flowers; but we hear the beating of the sea, and know -that a mighty tempest, with clouds and darkness, is coming. So in -other matters we must look out and be ready--count the time till it -comes. My dear, when I am gone----" - -"Papa!" - -"We were looking out to sea and listening. That must come at some -time--it may come sooner than you anticipate." He paused, heaved a -sigh, and said, "Oh, Jamie! What are we to do about Jamie?" - -"Papa, I will always take care of Jamie." - -"But who will take care of you?" - -"Of me? Oh, papa, surely I can take care of myself!" - -He shook his head doubtfully. - -"Papa, you know how strong I am in will--how firm I can be with -Jamie." - -"But all mankind are not Jamies. It is not for you I fear, as much as -for you and him together. He is a trouble and a difficulty." - -"Jamie is not so silly and troublesome as you think. All he needs is -application. He cannot screw his mind down to his books--to any -serious occupation. But that will come. I have heard say that the -stupidest children make the sharpest men. Little by little it will -come, but it will come certainly. I will set myself as my task to make -Jamie apply his mind and become a useful man, and I shall succeed, -papa." She caught her father's hand between hers, and slapped it -joyously, confidently. "How cold your hand is, papa! and yet you look -warm." - -"You were always Jamie's champion," said her father, not noticing her -remark relative to himself. - -"He is my twin brother, so of course I am his champion. Who else would -be that, were not I?" - -"No--no one else. He is mischievous and troublesome--poor, poor -fellow. You will always be to Jamie what you are now, Ju--his -protector or champion? He is weak and foolish, and if he were to fall -into bad hands--I shudder to think what might become of him." - -"Rely on me, dearest father." - -Then he lifted the hand of his daughter, and looked at it with a faint -smile. "It is very small, it is very weak, to fight for self alone, -let alone yourself encumbered with Jamie." - -"I will do it, papa, do not fear." - -"Judith, I must talk very gravely with you, for the future is very -dark to me; and I am unable with hand or brain to provide anything -against the evil day. Numbness is on me, and I have been hampered on -every side. For one thing, the living has been so poor, and my -parishioners so difficult to deal with, that I have been able to lay -by but a trifle. I believe I have not a relative in the world--none, -at all events, near enough and known to me that I dare ask him to care -for you----" - -"Papa, there is Aunt Dionysia." - -"Aunt Dionysia," he repeated, with a hesitating voice. "Yes; but Aunt -Dionysia is--is not herself capable of taking charge of you. She has -nothing but what she earns, and then--Aunt Dionysia is--is--well--Aunt -Dionysia. I don't think you could be happy with her, even if, in the -event of my departure, she were able to take care of you. Then--and -that chiefly--she has chosen, against my express wishes--I may say, in -defiance of me--to go as housekeeper into the service of the man, of -all others, who has been a thorn in my side, a hinderer of God's work, -a--But I will say no more." - -"What! Cruel Coppinger?" - -"Yes, Cruel Coppinger. I might have been the means of doing a little -good in this place, God knows! I only _think_ I might; but I have been -thwarted, defied, insulted by that man. As I have striven to dig my -buried church out of the overwhelming sands, so have I striven to lift -the souls of my poor parishioners out of the dead engulfing sands of -savagery, brutality, very heathenism of their mode of life, and I have -been frustrated. The winds have blown the sands back with every gale -over my work with spade, and that stormblast Coppinger has devastated -every trace of good that I have done, or tried to do, in spiritual -matters. The Lord reward him according to his works." - -Judith felt her father's hand tremble in hers. - -"Never mind Coppinger now," she said, soothingly. - -"I must mind him," said the old man, with severe vehemence. "And--that -my own sister should go, go--out of defiance, into his house and serve -him! That was too much. I might well say, I have none to whom to look -as your protector." He paused awhile, and wiped his brow. His pale -lips were quivering. "I do not mean to say," said he, "that I acted -with judgment, when first I came to S. Enodoc, when I spoke against -smuggling. I did not understand it then. I thought with the thoughts -of an inlander. Here--the sands sweep over the fields, and agriculture -is in a measure impossible. The bays and creeks seem to -invite--well--I leave it an open question. But with regard to -wrecking--" His voice, which had quavered in feebleness, according -with the feebleness of his judgment relative to smuggling, now gained -sonorousness. "Wrecking, deliberate wrecking, is quite another matter. -I do not say that our people are not justified in gathering the -harvest the sea casts up. There always must be, there will be wrecks -on this terrible coast; but there has been--I know there has been, -though I have not been able to prove it--deliberate provocation of -wrecks, and that is the sin of Cain. Had I been able to prove----" - -"Never mind that now, dear papa. Neither I nor Jamie are, or will be, -wreckers. Talk of something else. You over-excite yourself." - -Judith was accustomed to hear her father talk in an open manner to -her. She had been his sole companion for several years, since his -wife's death, and she had become the _confidante_ of his inmost -thoughts, his vacillations, his discouragements, not of his hopes--for -he had none, nor of his schemes--for he formed none. - -"I do not think I have been of any use in this world," said the old -parson, relapsing into his tone of discouragement, the temporary flame -of anger having died away. "My sowing has produced no harvest. I have -brought light, help, strength to none. I have dug all day in the -vineyard, and not a vine is the better for it; all cankered and -fruitless." - -"Papa--and me! Have you done nothing for me!" - -"You!" - -He had not thought of his child. - -"Papa! Do you think that I have gained naught from you? No strength, -no resolution from seeing you toil on in your thankless work, without -apparent results? If I have any energy and principle to carry me -through I owe it to you." - -He was moved, and raised his trembling hand and laid it on her golden -head. - -He said no more, and was very still. - -Presently she spoke. His hands weighed heavily on her head. - -"Papa, you are listening to the roar of the sea?" - -He made no reply. - -"Papa, I felt a cold breath; and see, the sun has a film over it. -Surely the sea is roaring louder!" - -His hand slipped from her head and struck her shoulder--roughly, she -thought. She turned, startled, and looked at him. His eyes were open, -he was leaning back, almost fallen against the wall, and was deadly -pale. - -"Papa, you are listening to the roar?" - -Then a thought struck her like a bullet in the heart. - -"Papa! Papa! My papa!--speak--speak!" - -She sprang from the bench--was before him. Her left guelder-rose had -rolled, had bounded from her lap, and had fallen on the sand the old -man had listlessly brought up from the church. His work, her play, -were forever over. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -A PASSAGE OF ARMS. - - -The stillness preceding the storm had yielded. A gale had broken over -the coast, raged against the cliffs of Pentyre, and battered the walls -of the parsonage, without disturbing the old rector, whom no storm -would trouble again, soon to be laid under the sands of his buried -church-yard, his very mound to be heaped over in a few years, and -obliterated by waves of additional encroaching sand. Judith had not -slept all night. She--she, a mere child, had to consider and arrange -everything consequent on the death of the master of the house. The -servants--cook and house-maid--had been of little, if any, assistance -to her. When Jane, the house-maid, had rushed into the kitchen with -the tidings that the old parson was dead, cook, in her agitation, -upset the kettle and scalded her foot. The gardener's wife had come in -on hearing the news, and had volunteered help. Judith had given her -the closet-key to fetch from the stores something needed; and Jamie, -finding access to the closet, had taken possession of a pot of -raspberry jam, carried it to bed with him, and spilled it over the -sheets, besides making himself ill. The house-maid, Jane, had -forgotten in her distraction to shut the best bedroom casement, and -the gale during the night had wrenched it from its hinges, flung it -into the garden on the roof of the small conservatory, and smashed -both. Moreover, the casement being open, the rain had driven into the -room unchecked, had swamped the floor, run through and stained the -drawing-room ceiling underneath, the drips had fallen on the mahogany -table and blistered the veneer. A messenger was sent to Pentyre Glaze -for Miss Dionysia Trevisa, and she would probably arrive in an hour or -two. - -Mr. Trevisa, as he had told Judith, was solitary, singularly so. He -was of a good Cornish family, but it was one that had dwindled till -it had ceased to have other representative than himself. Once well -estated, at Crockadon, in S. Mellion, all the lands of the family had -been lost; once with merchants in the family, all the fortunes of -these merchants industriously gathered had been dissipated, and -nothing had remained to the Reverend Peter Trevisa but his family name -and family coat, a garb or, on a field gules. It really seemed as -though the tinctures of the shield had been fixed in the crown of -splendor that covered the head of Judith. But she did not derive this -wealth of red-gold hair from her Cornish ancestors, but from a -Scottish mother, a poor governess whom Mr. Peter Trevisa had married, -thereby exciting the wrath of his only sister and relative, Miss -Dionysia, who had hitherto kept house for him, and vexed his soul with -her high-handed proceedings. It was owing to some insolent words used -by her to Mrs. Trevisa that Peter had quarrelled with his sister at -first. Then when his wife died, she had forced herself on him as -housekeeper, but again her presence in the house had become irksome to -him, and when she treated his children--his delicate and dearly loved -Judith--with roughness, and his timid, silly Jamie with harshness, -amounting in his view to cruelty--harsh words had passed between them; -sharp is, however, hardly the expression to use for the carefully -worded remonstrances of the mild rector, though appropriate enough to -her rejoinders. Then she had taken herself off and had become -housekeeper to Curll Coppinger, Cruel Coppinger, as he was usually -called, who occupied Pentyre Glaze, and was a fairly well-to-do single -man. - -Mr. Trevisa had not been a person of energy, but one of culture and -refinement; a dispirited, timid man. Finding no neighbors of the same -mental texture, nor sympathetic, he had been driven to make of Judith, -though a child, his companion, and he had poured into her ear all his -troubles, which largely concerned the future of his children. In his -feebleness he took comfort from her sanguine confidence, though he was -well aware that it was bred of ignorance, and he derived a weak -satisfaction from the thought that he had prepared her morally, at all -events, if in no other fashion, for the crisis that must come when he -was withdrawn. - -Mr. Peter Trevisa--Peter was a family Christian name--was for -twenty-five years rector of S. Enodoc, on the north coast of Cornwall -at the mouth of the Camel. The sand dunes had encroached on the church -of S. Enodoc, and had enveloped the sacred structure. A hole was -broken through a window, through which the interior could be reached, -where divine service was performed occasionally in the presence of the -church-wardens, so as to establish the right of the rectors, and -through this same hole bridal parties entered to be coupled, with -their feet ankle-deep in sand that filled the interior to above the -pew-tops. - -But Mr. Trevisa was not the man to endure such a condition of affairs -without a protest and an effort to remedy it. He had endeavored to -stimulate the farmers and land-owners of the parish to excavate the -buried church, but his endeavors had proved futile. There were several -reasons for this. In the first place, and certainly foremost, stood -this reason: as long as the church was choked with sand and could not -be employed for regular divine service, the tithe-payers could make a -grievance of it, and excuse themselves from paying their tithes in -full, because, as they argued, "Parson don't give us sarvice, so us -ain't obliged to pay'n." They knew their man, that he was -tender-conscienced, and would not bring the law to bear upon them; he -would see that there was a certain measure of justness in the -argument, and would therefore not demand of them a tithe for which he -did not give them the _quid pro quo_. But they had sufficient -shrewdness to pay a portion of their tithes, so as not to drive him to -extremities and exhaust his patience. It will be seen, therefore, that -in the interests of their pockets the tithe-payers did not want to -have their parish church excavated. Excavation meant weekly service -regularly performed, and weekly service regularly performed would be -followed by exaction of the full amount of rent-charge. Then, again, -in the second place, should divine service be resumed in the church of -S. Enodoc, the parishioners would feel a certain uneasiness in their -consciences if they disregarded the summons of the bell; it might not -be a very lively uneasiness, but just such an irritation as might be -caused by a fly crawling over the face. So long as there was no -service they could soothe their consciences with the thought that -there was no call to make an effort to pull on Sunday breeches and -assume a Sunday hat, and trudge to the church. Therefore, secondly, -for the ease of their own consciences, it was undesirable that S. -Enodoc should be dug out of the sand. - -Then lastly, and thirdly, the engulfment of the church gave them a -cherished opportunity for being nasty to the rector, and retailing -upon him for his incaution in condemning smuggling and launching out -into anathema against wrecking. As he had made matters disagreeable to -them--tried, as they put it, to take bread out of their mouths, they -saw no reason why they should spend money to please him. - -Mr. Trevisa had made very little provision for his children, -principally, if not wholly, because he could not. He had received from -the farmers and land-owners a portion of tithe, and had been contented -with that rather than raise angry feelings by demanding the whole. Out -of that portion he was able to put aside but little. - -Aunt Dionysia arrived, a tall, bony woman, with hair turning gray, -light eyes and an aquiline nose, a hard, self-seeking woman, who -congratulated herself that she did not give way to feelings. - -"I feel," said she, "as do others, but I don't show my feelings as -beggars expose their bad legs." - -She went into the kitchen. "Hoity-toity!" she said to the cook, "fine -story this--scalding yourself. Mind this, you cook meals or no wage -for you." To Jane, "The mischief you have done shall be valued and -deducted from any little trifle my brother may have left you in his -will. Where is Jamie? Give me that joint of fishing-rod; I'll beat him -for stealing raspberry jam." - -Jamie, however, on catching a glimpse of his aunt had escaped into the -garden and concealed himself. The cook, offended, began to clatter the -saucepans. - -"Now, then," said Mrs. Trevisa--she bore the brevet-rank--"in a house -of mourning what do you mean by making this noise, it is impertinent -to me." - -The house-maid swung out of the kitchen, muttering. - -Mrs. Trevisa now betook herself up-stairs in quest of her niece, and -found her with red eyes. - -"I call it rank _felo-de-se_," said Aunt Dionysia. "Every one -knew--_he_ knew, that he had a feeble heart, and ought not to be -digging and delving in the old church. Who sent the sand upon it? Why, -Providence, I presume. Not man. Then it was a flying in the face of -Providence to try to dig it out. Who wanted the church? He might have -waited till the parishioners asked for it. But there--where is Jamie? -I shall teach him a lesson for stealing raspberry jam." - -"Oh, aunt, not now--not now!" - -Mrs. Trevisa considered a moment, then laid aside the fishing-rod. - -"Perhaps you are right. I am not up to it after my walk from Pentyre -Glaze. Now, then, what about mourning? I do not suppose Jamie can be -measured by guesswork. You must bring him here. Tell him the whipping -is put off till another day. Of course you have seen to black things -for yourself. Not? Why, gracious heavens! is everything to be thrown -on my shoulders? Am I to be made a beast of burden of? Now, no mewling -and pewking. There is no time for that. Whatever _your_ time may be, -_mine_ is valuable. I can't be here forever. Of course every -responsibility has been put on me. Just like Peter--no consideration. -And what can I do with a set of babies? I have to work hard enough to -keep myself. Peter did not want my services at one time; now I am put -upon. Have you sent for the undertaker? What about clothing again? I -suppose you know that you must have mourning? Bless my heart! what a -lot of trouble you give me." - -Mrs. Trevisa was in a very bad temper, which even the knowledge that -it was seemly that she should veil it could not make her restrain. She -was, no doubt, to a certain extent fond of her brother--not much, -because he had not been of any advantage to her; and no doubt she was -shocked at his death, but chiefly because it entailed on herself -responsibilities and trouble that she grudged. She would be obliged to -do something for her nephew and niece; she would have to provide a -home for them somewhere. She could not take them with her to -Coppinger's house, as she was there as a salaried servant, and not -entitled to invite thither her young relatives. Moreover, she did not -want to have them near her. She disliked young people; they gave -trouble, they had to be looked after, they entailed expenses. What was -she to do with them? Where was she to put them? What would they have -to live upon? Would they call on her to part-maintain them? Miss -Dionysia had a small sum put away, and she had no intention of -breaking into it for them. It was a nest-egg, and was laid by against -an evil day that might come on herself. She had put the money away for -herself, in her old age, not for the children of her feeble brother -and his lack-penny wife to consume as moth and rust. As these thoughts -and questions passed through her mind, Aunt Dionysia pulled open -drawers, examined cupboards, pried open closets, and searched chests -and wardrobes. - -"I wonder now what he has put by for them," she said aloud. - -"Do you mean my dear papa?" asked Judith, whose troubled heart and -shaken spirits were becoming angry and restless under the behavior of -the hard, unfeeling woman. - -"Yes, I do," answered Mrs. Trevisa, facing round, and glaring -malevolently at her niece. "It is early days to talk of this, but it -must be done sooner or later, and if so, the sooner the better. There -is money in the house, I suppose?" - -"I do not know." - -"I must know. You will want it--bills must be paid. You will eat and -drink, I suppose? You must be clothed. I'll tell you what: I'll put -the whole case into the hands of Lawyer Jenkyns, and he shall demand -arrears of tithes. I know what quixotish conduct Peter----" - -"Aunt, I will not allow this." A light flush came into the girl's -cheek. - -"It is all very well talking," said Aunt Dionysia; "but black is not -white, and no power on earth can make me say that it is so. Money must -be found. Money must be paid for expenses, and it is hard that I -should have to find it; so I think. What money is there in the house -for present necessities? I must know." - -Suddenly a loud voice was heard shouting through the house-- - -"Mother Dunes! old Dunes! I want you." - -Judith turned cold and white. Who was this that dared to bellow in the -house of death, when her dear, dear father lay up-stairs with the -blinds down, asleep? It was an insult, an outrage. Her nerves had -already been thrilled, and her heart roused into angry revolt by the -cold, unfeeling conduct of the woman who was her sole relative in the -world. And now, as she was thus quivering, there came this boisterous -shout. - -"It is the master!" said Mrs. Trevisa, in an awestruck voice, lowered -as much as was possible to her. - -To Coppinger alone she was submissive, cringing, obsequious. - -"What does he mean by this--this conduct?" asked Judith, trembling -with wrath. - -"He wants me." - -Again a shout. "Dunes! old fool! the keys!" - -Then Judith started forward, and went through the door to the head of -the staircase. At the foot stood a middle-sized, strongly built, -firmly knit man, in a dress half belonging to the land and half to the -sea, with high boots on his legs, and slouched hat on his head. His -complexion was olive, his hair abundant and black, covering cheeks and -chin and upper lip. His eyes were hard and dark. He had one brown hand -on the banister, and a foot on the first step, as though about to -ascend, when arrested by seeing the girl at the head of the stairs -before him. The house was low, and the steps led without a break -directly from the hall to the landing which gave communication to the -bedrooms. There was a skylight in the roof over the staircase, through -which a brilliant flood of pure white light fell over Judith, whereas -every window had been darkened by drawn blinds. The girl had found no -sombre dress suitable to wear, and had been forced to assume the same -white gown as the day before, but she had discarded the green sash and -had bound a black ribbon about her waist, and another about her -abundant hair. A black lace kerchief was drawn over her shoulders -across her breast and tied at her back. She wore long, black mittens. - -Judith stood motionless, her bosom rising and falling quickly, her -lips set, the breath racing through her nostrils, and one hand resting -on the banister at the stair-head. - -In a moment her eyes met those of Coppinger, and it was at once as -though a thrill of electric force had passed between them. - -He desisted from his attempt to ascend, and said, without moving his -eyes from hers, in a subdued tone, "She has taken the keys," but he -said no more. He drew his foot from the step hesitatingly, and -loosened his hand from the banister, down which went a thrill from -Judith's quivering nerves, and he stepped back. - -At the same moment she descended a step, still looking steadily into -the dark, threatening pupils, without blinking or lowering her orbs. -Emboldened by her boiling indignation, she stood on the step she had -reached with both feet firmly planted there, and finding that the -banister rattled under her hand she withdrew it, and folded her arms. -Coppinger raised his hand to his head and took off his hat. He had a -profusion of dark, curly, flowing hair, that fell and encircled his -saturnine face. - -Then Judith descended another step, and as she did so he retreated a -step backwards. Behind him was the hall door, open; the light lay wan -and white there on the gravel, for no sunshine had succeeded the gale. -At every step that Judith took down the stair Coppinger retreated. -Neither spoke; the hall was still, save for the sound of their breath, -and his came as fast as hers. When Judith had reached the bottom she -turned--Coppinger stood in the doorway now--and signed to her aunt to -come down with the keys. - -"Take them to him--Do not give them here--outside." - -Mrs. Trevisa, surprised, confounded, descended the stair, went by her, -and out through the door. Then Judith stepped after her, shut the door -to exclude both Aunt Dionysia and that man Coppinger, who had dared, -uninvited, on such a day to invade the house. - -She turned now to remount the stairs, but her strength failed her, her -knees yielded, and she sank upon a step, and burst into a flood of -tears and convulsive sobs. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -CAPTAIN CRUEL. - - -Captain Coppinger occupied an old farmhouse, roomy, low-built, granite -quoined and mullioned, called Pentyre Glaze, in a slight dip of the -hills near the cliffs above the thundering Atlantic. One ash shivered -at the end of the house--that was the only tree to be seen near -Pentyre Glaze. And--who was Coppinger? That is more than can be told. -He had come--no one knew whence. His arrival on the north coast of -Cornwall was mysterious. There had been haze over the sea for three -days. When it lifted, a strange vessel of foreign rig was seen lying -off the coast. Had she got there in the fog, not knowing her course; -or had she come there knowingly, and was making for the mouth of the -Camel? A boat was seen to leave the ship, and in it a man came ashore; -the boat returned to the vessel, that thereupon spread sail and -disappeared in the fog that re-descended over the water. The man gave -his name as Coppinger--his Christian name, he said, was Curll, and he -was a Dane; but though his intonation was not that of the Cornish, it -was not foreign. He took up his residence in S. Enodoc at a farm, and -suddenly, to the surprise of every one, became by purchase the -possessor of Pentyre Glaze, then vacant and for sale. Had he known -that the estate was obtainable when he had come suddenly out of the -clouds into the place to secure it? Nobody knew, and Coppinger was -silent. - -Thenceforth Pentyre Glaze became the harbor and den of every lawless -character along the coast. All kinds of wild uproar and reckless -revelry appalled the neighborhood day and night. It was discovered -that an organized band of smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made this -house the centre of their operations, and that "Cruel Coppinger" was -their captain. There were at that time--just a century ago--no -resident magistrates or gentry in the immediate neighborhood. The -yeomen were bribed, by kegs of spirits left at their doors, to -acquiesce in a traffic in illicit goods, and in the matter of exchange -they took their shares. It was said that on one occasion a preventive -man named Ewan Wyvill, who had pursued Coppinger in his boat, was -taken by him, and his head chopped off by the captain, with his boat -axe, on the gunwale. Such was the story. It was never proved. Wyvill -had disappeared, and the body was recovered headless on the Doom Bar. -That violence had been used was undoubted, but who had committed the -crime was not known, though suspicion pointed to Coppinger. -Thenceforth none ever called him Curll; by one consent he was named -Cruel. In the West of England every one is given his Christian name. -An old man is Uncle, and an old woman Aunt, and any one in command is -a Captain. So Coppinger was known as Captain Cruel, or as Cruel -Coppinger. - -Strange vessels were often seen appearing at regular intervals on the -coast, and signals were flashed from the one window of Pentyre Glaze -that looked out to sea. - -Among these vessels, one, a full-rigged schooner, soon became -ominously conspicuous. She was for long the terror of the Cornish -coast. Her name was The Black Prince. Once, with Coppinger on board, -she led a revenue cutter into an intricate channel among the rocks, -where, from knowledge of the bearings, The Black Prince escaped -scathless, while the king's vessel perished with all on board. - -Immunity increased Coppinger's daring. There were certain bridle-roads -along the fields over which he exercised exclusive control. He issued -orders that no man should pass over them by night, and accordingly -from that hour none ever did.[A] - - [A] Many stories of Cruel Coppinger may be found in Hawker's - Footprints of Former Men in Cornwall. I have also told them - in my Vicar of Morwenstow. I have ventured to translate the - scene of Coppinger's activity further west, from Wellcombe to - S. Enodoc. But, indeed, he is told of in many places on this - coast. - -Moreover, if report spoke true--and reports do not arise without -cause--Coppinger was not averse from taking advantage, and that -unlawful advantage, of a wreck. By "lawful" and "unlawful" two -categories of acts are distinguished, not by the laws of the land but -by common consent of the Cornish conscience. That same Cornish -conscience distinguished wrecking into two classes, as it -distinguished then, and distinguishes still, witchcraft into two -classes. The one, white witchcraft, is legitimate and profitable, and -to be upheld; the other, black witchcraft, is reprehensible, unlawful, -and to be put down. So with wrecking. The Bristol Channel teemed with -shipping, flights of white sails passed in the offing, and these -vessels were, when inward bound, laden with sugars and spices from the -Indies, or with spirits and wines from France. If outward bound they -were deep in the water with a cargo of the riches of England. - -Now, should a gale spring up suddenly and catch any of these vessels, -and should the gale be--as it usually is, and to the Cornish folk, -favorably is--from the northwest, then there was no harbor of refuge -along that rock-bound coast, and a ship that could not make for the -open was bound inevitably to be pounded to pieces against the -precipitous walls of the peninsula. If such were the case, it was -perfectly legitimate for every householder in the district to come -down on the wreck and strip it of everything it contained. - -But, on the other hand, there was wrecking that was disapproved of, -though practised by a few, so rumor said, and that consisted in luring -a vessel that was in doubt as to her course, by false signals, upon a -reef or bar, and then, having made a wreck of her, to pillage her. -When on a morning after a night in which there had been no gale, a -ship was found on the rocks, and picked as clean as the carcase of a -camel in the desert, it was open to suspicion that this ship had not -been driven there by wind or current; and when the survivors, if they -reached the shore, told that they had been led to steer in the -direction where they had been cast away by certain lights that had -wholly deceived them, then it was also open to suspicion that these -lights had been purposely exhibited for the sake of bringing that -vessel to destruction; and when, further, it was proved that a certain -set or gang of men had garnered all the profits, or almost all the -profits, that accrued from a wreck, before the countryside was aware -that a wreck had occurred, then it was certainly no very random -conjecture that the wreck had been contrived in some fashion by those -who profited by it. There were atrocious tales of murder of -shipwrecked men circulating, but these were probably wholly, or at -all events in part, untrue. If when a vessel ran upon the rocks she -was deserted by her crew, if they took to the boats and made for -shore, then there remained no impediment to the wreckers taking -possession; it was only in the event of their finding a skipper on -board to maintain right over the grounded vessel, or the mariners -still on her engaged in getting her off, that any temptation to -violence could arise. But it was improbable that a crew would cling to -a ship on such a coast when once she was on the breakers. It was a -moral certainty that they would desert her, and leave the wreck to be -pillaged by the rats from shore, without offer of resistance. The -character of the coast-wreckers was known to seamen, or rather a -legend full of horror circulated relative to their remorseless -savagery. The fear of wreckers added to the fear of the sea would -combine to drive a crew, to the last man, into the boats. -Consequently, though it is possible that in some cases murder of -castaway men may have occurred, such cases must have been most -exceptional. The wreckers were only too glad to build a golden bridge -by which the wrecked might escape. Morally, without a question, those -who lured a hapless merchantman upon the rocks were guilty of the -deaths of those sailors who were upset in their boats in escaping from -the vessel, or were dashed against the cliffs in their attempts to -land, but there was no direct blood-guiltiness felt in such cases; and -those who had reaped a harvest from the sea counted their gains -individually, and made no estimate of the misery accruing thereby to -others. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -HOP-O'-MY-THUMB. - - -"Listen to me," said Judith. - -"Yes, Ju!" - -The orphans were together in the room that had been their father's, -the room in which for some days he had lain with the blinds down, the -atmosphere heavy with the perfume of flowers, and that indescribable, -unmistakable scent of death. Often, every day, almost every hour, had -Judith stolen into the room while he lay there, to wonder with -infinite reverence and admiration at the purity and dignity of the -dead face. It was that of the dear, dear father, but sublimed beyond -her imagination. All the old vacillation was gone, the expression of -distress and discouragement had passed away, and in their place had -come a fixity and a calm, such as one sees in the busts of the ancient -Roman Cæsars, but with a superadded ethereality, if such a word can be -used, that a piece of pagan statuary never reached. Marvellous, past -finding out, it is that death, which takes from man the spiritual -element, should give to the mere clay a look of angelic spirituality, -yet so it is--so it was with the dead Peter Trevisa; and Judith, with -eyes filling as fast as dried, stood, her hands folded, looking into -his face, felt that she had never loved, never admired him half enough -when he was alive. Life had been the simmer in which all the scum of -trivialities, of infirmities, of sordidness had come to and shown -itself on the surface. Now Death had cleared these all away, and in -the peaceful face of the dead was seen the _real_ man, the nobility, -sanctity, delicacy that formed the texture of his soul, and which had -impressed the very clay wrapped about that volatile essence. - -As long as the dear father's body lay in the house Judith had not -realized her utter desolation. But now the funeral was over, and she -had returned with her brother to the parsonage, to draw up the -blinds, and let the light once more enter, and search out, and -revivify the dead rooms. - -She was very pale, with reddened eyes, and looking more fragile and -transparent than ever she did before, worn and exhausted by tearful, -wakeful nights, and by days of alternating gusts of sorrow and busy -preparation for the funeral, of painful recollections of joyous days -that were past, and of doubtful searchings into a future that was full -of cloud. - -Her black frock served to enhance her pallor, and to make her look -thinner, smaller than when in white or in color. - -She had taken her place in her father's high-backed leather chair, -studded thick with brass nails, the leather dulled and fretted by -constant use, but the nail-heads burnished by the same treatment. - -Her brother was in the same chair with her; both his arms were round -her neck, and his head was on her shoulder. She had her right arm -about his waist, her left was bowed, the elbow leaning on the chair -arm, her hand folded inward, and her weary head rested on its back. - -The fine weather broken in upon by the gale had returned; the sun -shone in unhindered at the window, and blazed on the children's hair; -the brass nails, polished by friction, twinkled as little suns, but -were naught in lustre to the gorgeous red of the hair of the twins, -for the first were but brass, and the other of living gold. - -Two more lonely beings could hardly be discovered on the face of the -earth--at all events in the peninsula of Cornwall--but the sense of -this loneliness was summed in the heart of Judith, and was there -articulate; Jamie was but dimly conscious of discomfort and -bereavement. She knew what her father's death entailed on her, or knew -in part, and conjectured more. Had she been left absolutely alone in -the world her condition would have been less difficult than it was -actually, encumbered with her helpless brother. Swimming alone in the -tossing sea, she might have struck out with confidence that she could -keep her head above water, but it was quite otherwise when clinging to -her was a poor, half-witted boy, incapable of doing anything to save -himself, and all whose movements tended only to embarrass her. Not -that she regretted for an instant having to care for Jamie, for she -loved him with sisterly and motherly love combined, intensified in -force by fusion; if to her a future seemed inconceivable without -Jamie, a future without him would be one without ambition, pleasure, -or interest. - -The twin brother was very like her, with the same beautiful and -abundant hair, delicate in build, and with the same refined face, but -without the flashes of alternating mood that lightened and darkened -her face. His had a searching, bewildered, distressed expression on -it--the only expression it ever bore except when he was out of temper, -and then it mirrored on its surface his inward ill-humor. His was an -appealing face, a face that told of a spirit infantile, innocent, and -ignorant, that would never grow stronger, but which could deteriorate -by loss of innocence--the only charge of which it was capable. The boy -had no inherent naughtiness in him, but was constantly falling into -mischief through thoughtlessness, and he was difficult to manage -because incapable of reasoning. - -What every one saw--that he never would be other than what he -was--Judith would not admit. She acknowledged his inaptitude at his -books, his frivolity, his restlessness, but believed that these were -infirmities to be overcome, and that when overcome the boy would be as -other boys are. - -Now these children--they were aged eighteen, but Jamie looked four -years younger--sat in their father's chair, clinging to each other, -all in all to one another, for they had no one else to love and who -loved them. - -"Listen to me, Jamie." - -"Yes, Ju, I be----" - -"Don't say 'I be'--say 'I am.'" - -"Yes, Ju." - -"Jamie, dear!" she drew her arm tighter about him; her heart was -bounding, and every beat caused her pain. "Jamie, dear, you know that, -now dear papa is gone, and you will never see him in this world again, -that----" - -"Yes, Ju." - -"That I have to look to you, my brother, to stand up for me like a -man, to think and do for me as well as for yourself--a brave, stout, -industrious fellow." - -"Yes, Ju." - -"I am a girl, and you will soon be a man, and must work for both of -us. You must earn the money, and I will spend it frugally as we both -require it. Then we shall be happy again, and dear papa in Paradise -will be glad and smile on us. You will make an effort, will you not, -Jamie? Hitherto you have been able to run about and play and squander -your time, but now serious days have come upon us, and you must fix -your mind on work and determine--Jamie--mind, screw your heart to a -strong determination to put away childish things and be a man, and a -strength and a comfort to me." - -He put up his lips to kiss her cheek, but could not reach it, as her -head was leaning on her hand away from him. - -"What are you fidgeting at, my dear?" she asked, without stirring, -feeling his body restless under her arm. - -"A nail is coming out," he answered. - -It was so; whilst she had been speaking to him he was working at one -of the brass studs, and had loosened its bite in the chair. - -"Oh, Jamie! you are making work by thus drawing out a nail. Can you -not help me a little, and reduce the amount one has to think of and -do? You have not been attending to what I said, and I was so much in -earnest." She spoke in a tone of discouragement, and the tone, more -than the words, impressed the susceptible heart of the boy. He began -to cry. - -"You are cross." - -"I am not cross, my pet; I am never cross with you, I love you too -dearly; but you try my patience sometimes, and just now I am -overstrained--and then I did want to make you understand." - -"Now papa's dead I'll do no more lessons, shall I?" asked Jamie, -coaxingly. - -"You must, indeed, and with me instead of papa." - -"Not _rosa_, _rosæ_?" - -"Yes, _rosa_, _rosæ_." - -Then he sulked. - -"I don't love you a bit. It is not fair. Papa is dead, so I ought not -to have any more lessons. I hate _rosa_, _rosæ_!" He kicked the legs -of the chair peevishly with his heels. As his sister said nothing, -seemed to be inattentive--for she was weary and dispirited--he slapped -her cheek by raising his hand over his head. - -"What, Jamie, strike me, your only friend?" - -Then he threw his arms round her again, and kissed her. "I'll love -you; only, Ju, say I am not to do _rosa_, _rosæ_!" - -"How long have you been working at the first declension in the Latin -grammar, Jamie?" - -He tried for an instant to think, gave up the effort, laid his head on -her shoulder, and said: - -"I don't know and don't care. Say I am not to do _rosa_, _rosæ_!" - -"What! not if papa wished it?" - -"I hate the Latin grammar!" - -For a while both remained silent. Judith felt the tension to which her -mind and nerves had been subjected, and lapsed momentarily into a -condition of something like unconsciousness, in which she was dimly -sensible of a certain satisfaction rising out of the pause in thought -and effort. The boy lay quiet, with his head on her shoulder, for a -while, then withdrew his arms, folded his hands on his lap, and began -to make a noise by compressing the air between the palms. - -"There's a finch out there going 'chink! chink!' and listen, Ju, I can -make 'chink! chink!' too." - -Judith recovered herself from her distraction, and said: - -"Never mind the finch now. Think of what I say. We shall have to leave -this house." - -"Why?" - -"Of course we must, sooner or later, and the sooner the better. It is -no more ours." - -"Yes, it is ours. I have my rabbits here." - -"Now that papa is dead it is no longer ours." - -"It's a wicked shame." - -"Not at all, Jamie. This house was given to papa for his life only; -now it will go to a new rector, and Aunt Dunes[B] is going to fetch us -away to another house." - - [B] Dunes is the short for Dionysia. - -"When?" - -"To-day." - -"I won't go," said the boy. "I swear I won't." - -"Hush, hush, Jamie! Don't use such expressions. I do not know where -you have picked them up. We must go." - -"And my rabbits, are they to go too?" - -"The rabbits? We'll see about them. Aunt----" - -"I hate Aunt Dunes!" - -"You really must not call her that; if she hears you she will be very -angry. And consider, she has been taking a great deal of trouble about -us." - -"I don't care." - -"My dear, she is dear papa's sister." - -"Why didn't papa get a nicer sister--like you?" - -"Because he had to take what God gave him." - -The boy pouted, and began to kick his heels against the chair-legs -once more. - -"Jamie, we must leave this house to-day. Aunt is coming to take us -both away." - -"I won't go." - -"But, Jamie, I am going, and the cook is going, and so is Jane." - -"Are cook and Jane coming with us?" - -"No, dear." - -"Why not?" - -"We shall not want them. We cannot afford to keep them any more, to -pay their wages; and then we shall not go into a house of our own. You -must come with me, and be a joy and rest to me, dear Jamie." - -She turned her head over, and leaned it on his head. The sun glowed in -their mingled hair--all of one tinge and lustre. It sparkled in the -tears on her cheek. - -"Ju, may I have these buttons?" - -"What buttons?" - -"Look!" - -He shook himself free from his sister, slid his feet to the ground, -went to a bureau, and brought to his sister a large open basket that -had been standing on the top of the bureau. It had been turned out of -a closet by Aunt Dionysia, and contained an accumulation of those most -profitless of collected remnants--odd buttons, coat buttons, brass, -smoked mother-of-pearl, shirt buttons, steel clasps--buttons of all -kinds, the gathering together made during twenty-five years. Why the -basket, after having been turned out of a lumber closet, had been left -in the room of death, or why, if turned out elsewhere, it had been -brought there, is more than even the novelist can tell. Suffice it -that there it was, and by whom put there could not be said. - -"Oh! what a store of pretty buttons!" exclaimed the boy. "Do look, -Ju, these great big ones are just like those on Cheap Jack's red -waistcoat. Here is a brass one with a horse on it. Do see! Oh, Ju, -please get your needle and thread and sew this one on to my black -dress." - -Judith sighed. It was in vain for her to impress the realities of the -situation on his wandering mind. - -"Hark!" she exclaimed. "There is Aunt Dunes. I hear her voice--how -loud she speaks! She has come to fetch us away." - -"Where is she going to take us to?" - -"I do not know, Jamie." - -"She will take us into the forest and lose us, like as did -Hop-o'-my-Thumb's father." - -"There are no forests here--hardly any trees." - -"She will leave us in the forest and run away." - -"Nonsense, Jamie!" - -"I am sure she will. She doesn't like us. She wants to get rid of us. -I don't care. May I have the basket of buttons?" - -"Yes, Jamie." - -"Then I'll be Hop-o'-my-Thumb." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE BUTTONS. - - -It was as Judith surmised. Mrs. Dionysia Trevisa had come to remove -her nephew and niece from the rectory. She was a woman decided in -character, especially in all that concerned her interests. She had -made up her mind that the children could not be left unprotected in -the parsonage, and she could not be with them. Therefore they must go. -The servants must leave; they would be paid their month's wage, but by -dismissing them their keep would be economized. There was a factotum -living in a cottage near, who did the gardening, the cinder-sifting, -and boot-cleaning for the rectory inmates, he would look after the -empty house, and wait on in hopes of being engaged to garden, sift -cinders, and clean boots for the new rector. - -As it was settled that the children must leave the house, the next -thing to consider was where they were to be placed. The aunt could not -take them to Pentyre Glaze; that was not to be thought of. They must -be disposed of in some other way. - -Mrs. Trevisa had determined on a sale of her brother's effects: his -furniture, bedding, curtains, carpets, books, plate, and old sermons. -She was anxious to realize as soon as possible, so as to know for -certain what she could calculate upon as being left her for the -support of Judith and her brother. To herself the rector had left only -a ring and five guineas. She had not expected more. His decease was -not likely to be a benefit, but, on the contrary, an embarrassment to -her. He had left about a thousand pounds, but then Mrs. Trevisa did -not yet know how large a bite out of this thousand pounds would be -taken by the dilapidations on rectory, glebe, and chancel. The chancel -of the church was in that condition that it afforded a wide margin for -the adjudication of dilapidations. They might be set down at ten -shillings or a thousand pounds, and no one could say which was the -fairest sum, as the chancel was deep in sand and invisible. The -imagination of the valuer might declare it to be sound or to be -rotten, and till dug out no one could impeach his judgment. - -In those days, when an incumbent died, the widow and orphans of the -deceased appointed a valuer, and the incoming rector nominated his -valuer, and these two cormorants looked each other in the eyes--said -to each other, "Brother, what pickings?" And as less resistance to -being lacerated and cleaned to the bone was to be anticipated from -a broken-hearted widow and helpless children than from a robust, -red-faced rector, the cormorants contrived to rob the widow and the -fatherless. Then that cormorant who had been paid to look after the -interest of the widow and children and had not done it said to the -other cormorant, "Brother, I've done you a turn this time; do me the -like when the chance falls to you." Now, although nominally the money -picked off the sufferers was to go to the account of the incomer, it -was not allowed to pass till the cormorants had taken toll of it. -Moreover, these cormorants were architects, builders, solicitors, or -contractors of some sort, and looked to get something further out of -the incoming man they favored, whereas they knew they could get -nothing at all out of the departed man who was buried. Now we have -pretended to change all this; let us persuade ourselves we have made -the conduct of these matters more honest and just. - -Aunt Dionysia did not know by experience what valuers for -dilapidations were, but she had always heard that valuation for -dilapidations materially diminished the property of a deceased -incumbent. She was consequently uneasy, and anxious to know the worst, -and make the best of the circumstances that she could. She saw clearly -enough that the sum that would remain when debts and valuation were -paid would be insufficient to support the orphans, and she saw also -with painful clearness that there would be a necessity for her to -supplement their reduced income from her own earnings. This conviction -did not sweeten her temper and increase the cordiality with which she -treated her nephew and niece. - -"Now, hoity-toity!" said Aunt Dionysia; "I'm not one of your mewlers -and pewkers. I have my work to do, and can't afford to waste time in -the luxury of tears. You children shall come with me. I will see you -settled in, and then Balhachet shall wheel over your boxes and -whatever we want for the night. I have been away from my duties longer -than I ought, and the maids are running wild, are after every one who -comes near the place like horse-flies round the cattle on a sultry -day. I will see you to your quarters, and then you must shift for -yourselves. Balhachet can come and go between the rectory and Zachie -Menaida as much as you want." - -"Are we going to Mr. Menaida's, aunt?" asked Judith. - -"Did I not say Zachie Menaida! If I said Zachie Menaida I suppose I -meant what I said, or are you hard of hearing? Come--time to _me_ is -precious. Bustle--bustle--don't keep me waiting while you gape." - -After a while Mrs. Trevisa succeeded in getting her nephew and niece -to start. Judith, indeed, was ready at the first suggestion to go with -her aunt, glad to get over the pang of leaving the house as quickly as -might be. It was to be the rupture of one thread of the tie that bound -her to the past, but an important thread. She was to leave the house -as a home, though she would return to it again and again to carry away -from it such of her possessions as she required and could find a place -for at Zachary Menaida's. But with Jamie it was otherwise. He had run -away, and had to be sought, and when found coaxed and cajoled into -following his aunt and sister. - -Judith had found him, for she knew his nooks and dens. He was seated -in a laurel bush playing with the buttons. - -"Look, Ju! there is some broken mirror among the buttons. Stand still, -and I will make the sun jump into your eyes. Open your mouth, and I -will send him down your throat. Won't it be fun; I'll tease old Dunes -with it." - -"Then come along with me." - -He obeyed. - -The distance to Zachary Menaida's cottage was about a mile and a -quarter, partly through parish roads, partly through lanes, the way in -parts walled and hedged up against the winds, in others completely -exposed to every breath of air where it traversed a down. - -Judith walked forward with her aunt, and Jamie lagged. Occasionally -his sister turned her head to reassure herself that he had not given -them the slip; otherwise she attended as closely as she was able to -the instructions and exhortations of her aunt. She and her brother -were to be lodged temporarily at Uncle Zachie's, that is to say, with -Mr. Menaida, an elderly, somewhat eccentric man, who occupied a double -cottage at the little hamlet of Polzeath. No final arrangement as to -the destination of the orphans could be made till Aunt Dunes knew the -result of the sale, and how much remained to the children after the -father's trifling debts had been paid, and the considerable slice had -been cut out of it by the valuers for dilapidations. Mrs. Trevisa -talked fast in her harsh tones, and in a loud voice, without -undulation or softness in it, and expected her niece to hear and give -account for everything she told her, goading her to attention with a -sharp reminder when she deemed that her mind was relaxed, and whipping -her thoughts together when she found them wandering. But, indeed, it -was not possible to forget for one moment the presence and personality -of Dionysia, though the subject of her discourse might be unnoticed. - -Every fibre of Judith's heart was strung and strained to the -uttermost, to acutest feeling, and a sympathetic hand drawn across -them would have produced a soft, thrilling, musical wail. Her bosom -was so full to overflow that a single word of kindness, a look even -that told of love, would have sufficed to make the child cast herself -in a convulsion of grief into her aunt's arms, bury her face in her -bosom, and weep out her pent-up tears. Then, after perhaps half an -hour, she would have looked up through the rain into her aunt's face, -and have smiled, and have loved that aunt passionately, -self-sacrificingly, to her dying day. She was disposed to love -her--for was not Dionysia the only relative she had; and was she not -the very sister of that father who had been to her so much? But Mrs. -Trevisa was not the woman to touch the taught cords with a light hand, -or to speak or look in love. She was hard, angular, unsympathetic; and -her manner, the intonations of her voice, her mode of address, the -very movements of her body, acted on the strained nerves as a rasping -file, that would fret till it had torn them through. - -Suddenly round a corner, where the narrow road turned, two hundred -yards ahead, dashed a rider on a black steed, and Judith immediately -recognized Coppinger on his famous mare Black Bess; a mare much talked -of, named after the horse ridden by Dick Turpin. The recognition was -mutual. He knew her instantly; with a jerk of the rein and a set of -the brow he showed that he was not indifferent. - -Coppinger wore his slouched hat, tied under his chin and beard, a -necessary precaution in that gale-swept country; on his feet to his -knees were high boots. He wore a blue knitted jersey, and a red -kerchief about his throat. - -Captain Cruel slightly slackened his pace, as the lane was narrow; and -as he rode past his dark brow was knit, and his eyes flashed angrily -at Judith. He deigned neither a glance nor a word to his housekeeper, -who courtesied and assumed a fawning expression. - -When he had passed the two women he dug his spurs into Black Bess and -muttered some words they did not hear. - -Judith, who had stood aside, now came forward into the midst of the -roadway and rejoined her aunt, who began to say something, when her -words and Judith's attention was arrested by shouts, oaths, and cries -in their rear. - -Judith and her aunt turned to discover the occasion of this -disturbance, and saw that Coppinger was off his horse, on his feet, -dragging the brute by the rein, and was hurling his crop, or -hunting-whip, as he pursued Jamie flying from him with cries of -terror. But that he held the horse and could not keep up with the boy, -Jamie would have suffered severely, for Coppinger was in a livid fury. - -Jamie flew to his sister. - -"Save me, Ju! he wants to kill me." - -"What have you done?" - -"It is only the buttons." - -"Buttons, dear?" - -But the boy was too frightened to explain. - -Then Judith drew her brother behind her, took from him the basket he -was carrying, and stepped to encounter the angry man, who came on, now -struggling with his horse, cursing Bess because she drew back, then -plunging forward with his whip above his head brandished menacingly, -and by this conduct further alarmed Black Bess. - -Judith met Coppinger, and he was forced to stay his forward course. - -"What has he done?" asked the girl. "Why do you threaten?" - -"The cursed idiot has strewn bits of glass and buttons along the -road," answered the Captain, angrily. "Stand aside that I may lash -him, and teach him to frighten horses and endanger men's lives." - -"I am sorry for what Jamie has done. I will pick up the things he has -thrown down." - -Cruel Coppinger's eyes glistened with wrath. He gathered the lash of -his whip into his palm along with the handle, and gripped them -passionately. - -"Curse the fool! My Bess was frightened, dashed up the bank, and all -but rolled over. Do you know he might have killed me?" - -"You must excuse him; he is a very child." - -"I will not excuse him. I will cut the flesh off his back if I catch -him." - -He put the end of the crop handle into his mouth, and, putting his -right hand behind him, gathered the reins up shorter and wound them -more securely about his left hand. - -Judith walked backward, facing him, and he turned with his horse and -went after her. She stooped and gathered up a splinter of glass. The -sun striking through the gaps in the hedge had flashed on these scraps -of broken mirror and of white bone, or burnished brass buttons, and -the horse had been frightened at them. As Judith stooped and took up -now a buckle, then a button, and then some other shining trifle, she -hardly for an instant withdrew her eyes from Coppinger; they had in -them the same dauntless defiance as when she encountered him on the -stairs of the rectory. But now it was she who retreated, step by step, -and he who advanced, and yet he could not flatter himself that he was -repelling her. She maintained her strength and mastery unbroken as she -retreated. - -"Why do you look at me so? Why do you walk backward?" - -"Because I mistrust you. I do not know what you might do were I not to -confront you." - -"What I might do? What do you think I would do?" - -"I cannot tell. I mistrust you." - -"Do you think me capable of lashing at you with my crop?" - -"I think you capable of anything." - -"Flattering that!" he shouted, angrily. - -"You would have lashed at Jamie." - -"And why not? He might have killed me." - -"He might have killed you, but you should not have touched him--not -have thought of touching him." - -"Indeed! Why not?" - -"Why not?" She raised herself upright and looked straight into his -eyes, in which fire flickered, flared, then decayed, then flared -again. - -"You are no Dane, or you would not have asked 'Why not?' twice. Nay, -you would not have asked it once." - -"Not a Dane?" His beard and mustache were quivering, and he snorted -with anger. - -"A Dane, I have read in history, is too noble and brave to threaten -women and to strike children." - -He uttered an oath and ground his teeth. - -"No; a Dane would never have thought of asking why not?--why not lash -a poor little silly boy?" - -"You insult me! You dare to do it?" - -Her blood was surging in her heart. As she looked into this man's dark -and evil face she thought of all the distress he had caused her -father, and a wave of loathing swept over her, nerved her to defy him -to the uttermost, and to proclaim all the counts she had against him. - -"I dare do it," she said, "because you made my own dear papa's life -full of bitterness and pain----" - -"I! I never touched him, hardly spoke to him. I don't care to have to -do with parsons." - -"You made his life one of sorrow through your godless, lawless ways, -leading his poor flock astray, and bidding them mock at his warnings -and despise his teachings. Almost with his last breath he spoke of -you, and the wretchedness of heart you had caused him. And then you -dared--yes--you dared--you dared to burst into our house where he lay -dead, with shameful insolence to disturb its peace. And now--" she -gasped, "and now, ah! you lie when you say you are a Dane, and talk of -cutting and lashing the dead father's little boy on his father's -burial day. You are but one thing I can name--a coward!" - -Did he mean it? No! But blinded, stung to madness by her words, -especially that last, he raised his right arm with the crop. - -Did she mean it? No! But in the instinct of self-preservation, -thinking he was about to strike her, she dashed the basket of buttons -in his face, and they flew right and left over him, against the head -of Black Bess, a rain of fragments of mirror, brass, steel, -mother-of-pearl, and bone. - -The effect was instantaneous. The mare plunged, reared, threw -Coppinger backward from off his feet, dashed him to the ground, -dragged him this way, that way, bounded, still drawing him about by -the twisted reins, into the hedge, then back, with her hoofs upon him, -near, if not on, his head, his chest--then, released by the snap of -the rein, or through its becoming disengaged, Bess darted down the -lane, was again brought to a standstill by the glittering fragments on -the ground, turned, rushed back in the direction whence she had come, -and disappeared. - -Judith stood panting, paralyzed with fear and dismay. Was he dead, -broken to pieces, pounded by those strong hoofs? - -He was not dead. He was rolling himself on the ground, struggling -clumsily to his knees. - -"Are you satisfied?" he shouted, glaring at her like a wild beast -through his tangled black hair that had fallen over his face. "I -cannot strike you nor your brother now. My arm and the Lord knows what -other bones are broken. You have done that--and I owe you something -for it." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -UNCLE ZACHIE. - - -The astonishment, the consternation of Mrs. Trevisa at what had -occurred, which she could not fully comprehend, took from her the -power to speak. She had seen her niece in conversation with Cruel -Coppinger, and had caught snatches of what had passed between them. -All his words had reached her, and some of Judith's. When, suddenly, -she saw the girl dash the basket of buttons in the face of the -Captain, saw him thrown to the ground, drawn about by his frantic -horse, and left, as she thought, half dead, her dismay was unbounded. -It might have been that Coppinger threatened Judith with his whip, but -nothing could excuse her temerity in resisting him, in resisting him -and protecting herself in the way she did. The consequences of that -resistance she could not measure. Coppinger was bruised, bones were -broken, and Aunt Dionysia knew the nature of the man too well not to -expect his deadly animosity, and to feel sure of implacable revenge -against the girl who had injured him--a revenge that would envelop all -who belonged to her, and would therefore strike herself. - -The elderly spinster had naturally plenty of strength and hardness -that would bear her through most shocks without discomposure, but such -an incident as that which had just taken place before her eyes -entirely unnerved and dismayed her. - -Coppinger was conveyed home by men called to the spot, and Mrs. -Trevisa walked on with her niece and nephew in silence to the house of -Mr. Zachary Menaida. Jamie had escaped over the hedge, to put a -stone-and-earth barrier between himself and his assailant directly -Judith interposed between him and Coppinger. Now that the latter was -gone, he came, laughing, over the hedge again. To him what had -occurred was fun. - -At Menaida's the aunt departed, leaving her nephew and niece with the -old man, that she might hurry to Pentyre Glaze and provide what was -needed for Coppinger. She took no leave of Judith. In the haze of -apprehension that enveloped her mind glowed anger against the girl for -having increased her difficulties and jeopardized her position with -Coppinger. - -Mr. Zachary Menaida was an old man, or rather a man who had passed -middle age, with grizzled hair that stood up above his brow, -projecting like the beak of a ship or the horn of an unicorn. He had a -big nose inclined to redness, and kindly, watery eyes, was close -shaven, and had lips that, whenever he was in perplexity, or worried -with work or thought, he thrust forward and curled. He was a -middle-statured man, inclined to stoop. - -Uncle Zachie, as he was commonly called behind his back, was a -gentleman by birth. In the Roman Catholic Church there is a religious -order called that of Minims. In England we have, perhaps, the most -widely-diffused of orders, not confined to religion--it is that of -Crotchets. To this order Mr. Menaida certainly belonged. He was made -up of hobbies and prejudices that might bore, but never hurt others. - -Probably the most difficult achievement one can conceive for a man to -execute is to stand in his own light; yet Mr. Menaida had succeeded in -doing this all through his life. In the first place, he had been bred -up for the law, but had never applied himself to the duties of the -profession to which he had been articled. As he had manifested as a -boy a love of music, his mother and sister had endeavored to make him -learn to play on an instrument; but, because so urged, he had refused -to qualify himself to play on pianoforte, violin, or flute, till his -fingers had stiffened, whereupon he set to work zealously to practise, -when it was no longer possible for him to acquire even tolerable -proficiency. - -As he had been set by his father to work on skins of parchment, he -turned his mind to skins of another sort, and became an eager -naturalist and taxidermist. - -That he had genius, or rather a few scattered sparks of talent in his -muddled brain, was certain. Every one who knew him said he was clever, -but pitied his inability to turn his cleverness to purpose. But one -must take into consideration, before accepting the general verdict -that he was clever, the intellectual abilities of those who formed -this judgment. When we do this, we doubt much whether their opinion is -worth much. Mr. Menaida was not clever. He had flashes of wit, no -steady light of understanding. Above all, he had no application, a -little of which might have made him a useful member of society. - -When his articleship was over he set up as a solicitor, but what -business was offered him he neglected or mismanaged, till business -ceased to be offered. He would have starved had not a small annuity of -fifty pounds been left him to keep the wolf from the door, and that he -was able to supplement this small income with money made by the sale -of his stuffed specimens of sea-fowl. Taxidermy was the only art in -which he was able to do anything profitable. He loved to observe the -birds, to wander on the cliffs listening to their cries, watching -their flight, their positions when at rest, the undulations in their -feathers under the movement of the muscles as they turned their heads -or raised their feet; and when he set himself to stuff the skins he -was able to imitate the postures and appearance of living birds with -rare fidelity. Consequently his specimens were in request, and -ornithologists and country gentlemen whose game-keepers had shot rare -birds desired to have the skins dealt with, and set in cases, by the -dexterous fingers of Mr. Zachary Menaida. He might have done more work -of the same kind, but that his ingrained inactivity and distaste for -work limited his output. In certain cases Mr. Menaida would not do -what was desired of him till coaxed and flattered, and then he did it -grumblingly and with sighs at being subjected to killing toil. - -Mr. Menaida was a widower; his married life had not been long; he had -been left with a son, now grown to manhood, who was no longer at home. -He was abroad, in Portugal, in the service of a Bristol merchant, an -importer of wines. - -As already said, Uncle Zachie did not begin the drudgery of music till -it was too late for him to acquire skill on any instrument. His -passion for music grew with his inability to give himself pleasure -from it. He occupied a double cottage at Polzeath, and a hole knocked -through the wall that had separated the lower rooms enabled him to -keep his piano in one room and his bird-stuffing apparatus in the -other, and to run from one to the other in his favorite desultory way, -that never permitted him to stick to one thing at a time. - -Into this house Judith and her brother were introduced. Mr. Menaida -had been attached to the late rector, the only other gentleman in -culture, as in birth, that lived in the place, and when he was told by -Miss--or, as she was usually called, Mrs.--Trevisa that the children -must leave the parsonage and be put temporarily with some one -suitable, and that no other suitable house was available, he consented -without making much objection to receive them into his cottage. He was -a kindly man, gentle at heart, and he was touched at the bereavement -of the children whom he had known since they were infants. - -After the first salutation Mr. Menaida led Judith and the boy into his -parlor, the room opening out of his workshop. - -"Look here," said he, "what is that?" He pointed to his piano. - -"A piano, sir," answered Judith. - -"Yes--and mind you, I hate strumming, though I love music. When I am -in, engaged at my labors, no strumming. I come in here now and then as -relaxation, and run over this and that; then, refreshed, go back to my -work, but, if there is any strumming, I shall be put out. I shall run -my knife or needle into my hand, and it will upset me for the day. You -understand--no strumming. When I am out, then you may touch the keys, -but only when I am out. You understand clearly? Say the words after -me: 'I allow no strumming.'" - -Judith did as required. The same was exacted of Jamie. Then Mr. -Menaida said-- - -"Very well; now we shall have a dish of tea. I daresay you are tired. -Dear me, you look so. Goodness bless me! indeed you do. What has tired -you has been the trial you have gone through. Poor things, poor -things! There, go to your rooms; my maid, Jump, will show you where -they are, and I will see about making tea. It will do you good. You -want it. I see it." - -The kind-hearted man ran about. - -"Bless my soul! where have I put the key of the caddy? And--really--my -fingers are all over arsenical soap. I think I will leave Jump to make -the tea. Jump, have you seen where I put the key? Bless my soul! -where did I have it last? Never mind; I will break open the caddy." - -"Please, Mr. Menaida, do not do that for us. We can very well wait -till the key is found." - -"Oh! I don't know when that will be. I shall have forgotten about it -if I do not find the key at once, or break open the caddy. But, if you -prefer it, I have some cherry-brandy, or I would give you some -milk-punch." - -"No--no, indeed, Mr. Menaida." - -"But Jamie--I am sure he looks tired. A little cherry-brandy to draw -the threads in him together. And suffer me, though not a doctor, to -recommend it to you. Bless my soul! my fingers are all over arsenical -soap. If I don't have some cherry-brandy myself I shall have the -arsenic get into my system. I hope you have no cuts or scratches on -your hand. I forgot the arsenic when I shook hands with you. Now, look -here, Jump, bring in the saffron cake, and I will cut them each a good -hunch. It will do you good, on my word it will. I have not spared -either figs or saffron, and then--I will help you, as I love you. Come -and see my birds. That is a cormorant--a splendid fellow--looks as if -run out of metal, all his plumage, you know, and in the attitude as if -swallowing a fish. Do you see!--the morsel is going down his throat. -And--how much luggage have you? Jump! show the young lady where she -can put away her gowns and all that sort of thing. Oh, not come yet? -All right--a lady and her dresses are not long parted. They will be -here soon. Now, then. What will you have?--some cold beef--and cider? -Upon my soul!--you must excuse me. I was just wiring that kittiwake. -Excuse me--I shall be ready in a moment. In the meantime there are -books--Rollin's 'Ancient History,' a very reliable book. No--upon my -word, my mind is distracted. I cannot get that kittiwake right without -a glass of port. I have some good port. Oliver guarantees it--from -Portugal, you know. He is there--first-rate business, and will make -his fortune, which is more than his father ever did." - -Mr. Menaida went to a closet, and produced a bottle. - -"Come here, Jamie. I know what is good for you." - -"No--please, Mr. Menaida, do not. He has not been accustomed to -anything of the sort. Please not, sir." - -"Fudge!" said Uncle Zachie, holding up a glass and pouring -cherry-brandy into it. "What is your age?--seventeen or eighteen, and -I am fifty-two. I have over thirty years' more experience of the world -than you. Jamie, don't be tied to your sister's apron-string. I know -what is best for you. Girls drink water, men something better. Come -here, Jamie!" - -"No, sir--I beseech you." - -"Bless my soul! I know what is good for him. Come to me, Jamie. Look -the other way, Judith, if I cannot persuade you." - -Judith sighed, and covered her face with her hands. There was to be no -help, no support in Uncle Zachie. On the contrary, he would break down -her power over Jamie. - -"Jamie," she said, "if you love me, go up-stairs." - -"Presently, Ju. I want that first." And he took it, ran to his sister, -and said: - -"It is good, Ju!" - -"You have disobeyed me, Jamie--that is bad." - -She stood on the threshold of further trouble, and she knew it. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A VISIT. - - -No sleep visited Judith's eyes that night till the first streaks of -dawn appeared, though she was weary, and her frail body and -over-exerted brain needed the refreshment of sleep. But sleep she -could not, for cares were gathering upon her. - -She had often heard her father, when speaking of Mr. Menaida, lament -that he was not a little more self-controlled in his drinking. It was -not that the old fellow ever became inebriated, but that he hankered -after the bottle, and was wont to take a nip continually to strengthen -his nerves, steady his hand, or clear his brain. There was ever ready -some excuse satisfactory to his own conscience; and it was due to -these incessant applications to the bottle that his hand shook, his -eyes became watery, and his nose red. It was a danger Judith must -guard against, lest this trick should be picked up by the childish -Jamie, always apt to imitate what he should not, and acquire habits -easily gained, hardly broken, that were harmful to himself. Uncle -Zachie, in his good-nature, would lead the boy after him into the same -habits that marred his own life. - -This was one thought that worked like a mole all night in Judith's -brain; but she had other troubles as well to keep her awake. She was -alarmed at the consequences of her conduct in the lane. She wondered -whether Coppinger were more seriously hurt than had at first appeared. -She asked herself whether she had not acted wrongly when she acted -inconsiderately, whether in her precipitation to protect herself she -had not misjudged Coppinger, whether, if he had attempted to strike -her, it would not have been a lesser evil to receive the blow, than to -ward it off in such a manner as to break his bones. Knowing by report -the character of the man, she feared that she had incurred his deadly -animosity. He could not, that she could see, hurt herself in the -execution of his resentment, but he might turn her aunt out of his -house. That she had affronted her aunt she was aware; Mrs. Trevisa's -manner in parting with her had shown that with sufficient plainness. - -A strange jumble of sounds on the piano startled Judith. Her first -thought and fear were that her brother had gone to the instrument, and -was amusing himself on the keys. But on listening attentively she was -aware that there was sufficient sequence in the notes to make it -certain that the performer was a musician, though lacking in facility -of execution. She descended the stairs and entered the little -sitting-room. Uncle Zachie was seated on the music-stool, and was -endeavoring to play a sonata of Beethoven that was vastly beyond the -capacity of his stiff-jointed fingers. Whenever he made a false note -he uttered a little grunt and screwed up his eyes, endeavored to play -the bar again, and perhaps accomplish it only to break down in the -next. - -Judith did not venture to interrupt him. She took up some knitting, -and seated herself near the piano, where he might see her without her -disturbing him. He raised his brows, grunted, floundered into false -harmony, and exclaimed, "Bless me! how badly they do print music -nowadays. Who, without the miraculous powers of a prophet, could tell -that B should be natural?" Then, turning his head over his shoulder, -addressed Judith, "Good-morning, missie. Are you fond of music?" - -"Yes, sir, very." - -"So you think. Everyone says he or she is fond of music, because that -person can hammer out a psalm tune or play the 'Rogue's March.' I hate -to hear those who call themselves musical strum on a piano. They can't -feel, they only execute." - -"But they can play their notes correctly," said Judith, and then -flushed with vexation at having made this pointed and cutting remark. -But it did not cause Mr. Menaida to wince. - -"What of that? I give not a thank-you for mere literal music-reading. -Call Jump, set 'Shakespeare' before her, and she will hammer out a -scene--correctly as to words; but where is the sense? Where the life? -You must play with the spirit and play with the understanding also, -as you must read with the spirit and read with the understanding also. -It is the same thing with bird-stuffing. Any fool can ram tow into a -skin and thrust wires into the neck, but what is the result? You must -stuff birds with the spirit and stuff with the understanding also--or -it is naught." - -"I suppose it is the same with everything one does--one must do it -heartily and intelligently." - -"Exactly! Now you should see my boy, Oliver. Have you ever met him?" - -"I think I have; but, to be truthful, I do not recollect him, sir." - -"I will bring you his likeness--in miniature. It is in the next room." -Up jumped Mr. Menaida, and ran through the opening in the wall, and -returned in another moment with the portrait, and gave it into -Judith's hands. - -"A fine fellow is Oliver! Look at his nose how straight it is. Not -like mine--that is a pump-handle. He got his good looks from his -mother, not from me. Ah!" He reseated himself at the piano, and -ran--incorrectly--over a scale. "It is all the pleasure I have in -life, to think of my boy, and to look at his picture, and read his -letters, and drink the port he sends me--first-rate stuff. He writes -admirable letters, and never a month passes but I receive one. It -would come expensive if he wrote direct, so his letter is enclosed in -the business papers sent to the house at Bristol, and they forward it -to me. You shall read his last--out loud. It will give me a pleasure -to hear it read by you." - -"If I read properly, Mr. Menaida--with the spirit and with the -understanding." - -"Exactly! But you could not fail to do that looking at the cheerful -face in the miniature, and reading his words--pleasant and bright as -himself. Pity you have not seen him; well, that makes something to -live for. He has dark hair and blue eyes--not often met together, and -when associated, very refreshing. Wait! I'll go after the letter: -only, bless my soul! where is it? What coat did I have on when I read -it? I'll call Jump. She may remember. Wait! do you recall this?" - -He stumbled over something on the keys which might have been anything. - -"It is Haydn. I will tell you what I think: Mozart I delight in as a -companion; Beethoven I revere as a master; but Haydn I love as a -friend. You were about to say something?" - -Judith had set an elbow on the piano and put her hand to her head, her -fingers through the hair, and was looking into Uncle Zachie's face -with an earnestness he could not mistake. She did desire to say -something to him; but if she waited till he gave her an opportunity -she might wait a long time. He jumped from one subject to another with -alacrity, and with rapid forgetfulness of what he was last speaking -about. - -"Oh, sir, I am so very, very grateful to you for having received us -into your snug little house----" - -"You like it? Well, I only pay seven pounds for it. Cheap, is it not? -Two cottages--laborers' cottages--thrown together. Well, I might go -farther and fare worse." - -"And, Mr. Menaida, I venture to ask you another favor, which, if you -will grant me, you will lay me under an eternal obligation." - -"You may command me, my dear." - -"It is only this: not to let Jamie have anything stronger than a glass -of cider. I do not mind his having that; but a boy like him does not -need what is, no doubt, wanted by you who are getting old. I am so -afraid of the habit growing on him of looking for and liking what is -too strong for him. He is such a child, so easily led, and so unable -to control himself. It may be a fancy, a prejudice of mine"--she -passed her nervous hand over her face--"I do hope I am not offending -you, dear Mr. Menaida; but I know Jamie so well, and I know how -carefully he must be watched and checked. If it be a silly fancy of -mine--and perhaps it is only a silly fancy--yet," she put on a -pleading tone, "you will humor me in this, will you not, Mr. Menaida?" - -"Bless my soul! you have only to express a wish and I will fulfil it. -For myself, you must know, I am a little weak; I feel a chill when the -wind turns north or east, and am always relaxed when it is in the -south or west; that forces me to take something just to save me from -serious inconvenience, you understand." - -"Oh quite, sir." - -"And then--confound it!--I am goaded on to work when disinclined. Why, -there's a letter come to me now from Plymouth--a naturalist there, -asking for more birds; and what can I do? I slave, I am at it all day, -half the night; I have no time to eat or sleep. I was not born to -stuff birds. I take it as an amusement, a pastime, and it is converted -into a toil. I must brace up my exhausted frame; it is necessary to my -health, you understand!" - -"Oh, yes, Mr. Menaida. And you really will humor my childish whim?" - -"Certainly, you may rely on me." - -"That is one thing I wanted to say. You see, sir, we have but just -come into your house, and already, last night, Jamie was tempted to -disobey me, and take what I thought unadvisable, so--I have been -turning it over and over in my head--I thought I would like to come to -a clear understanding with you, Mr. Menaida. It seems ungracious in -me, but you must pity me. I have now all responsibility for Jamie on -my head, and I have to do what my conscience tells me I should do; -only, I pray you, do not take offence at what I have said." - -"Fudge! my dear; you are right, I dare say." - -"And now that I have your promise--I have that, have I not?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"Now I want your opinion, if you will kindly give it me. I have no -father, no mother, to go to for advice; and so I venture to appeal to -you--it is about Captain Coppinger." - -"Captain Coppinger!" repeated Uncle Zachie, screwing up his brows and -mouth. "Umph! He is a bold man who can give help against Captain -Coppinger, and a strong man as well as bold. How has he wronged you?" - -"Oh! he has not wronged me. It is I who have hurt him." - -"You--you!" Uncle Zachie laughed. "A little creature such as you could -not hurt Captain Cruel!" - -"But, indeed, I have; I have thrown him down and broken his arms and -some of his bones." - -"You--you?" Uncle Zachie's face of astonishment and dismay was so -comical that Judith, in spite of her anxiety and exhaustion, smiled; -but the smile was without brightness. - -"And pray, how in the name of wonder did you do that? Upon my word, -you will deserve the thanks of the Preventive men. They have no love -for him; they have old scores they would gladly wipe off with a broken -arm, or, better still, a cracked skull. And pray how did you do this? -With the flour-roller?" - -"No, sir, I will tell you the whole story." - -Then, in its true sequence, with great clearness, she related the -entire narrative of events. She told how her father, even with his -last breath, had spoken of Coppinger as the man who had troubled his -life by marring his work; how that the Captain had entered the -parsonage without ceremony when her dear father was lying dead -up-stairs, and how he had called there boisterously for Aunt Dionysia -because he wanted something of her. She told the old man how that her -own feelings had been wrought, by this affront, into anger against -Coppinger. Then she related the incident in the lane, and how that, -when he raised his arm against her, she had dashed the buttons into -his face, frightened his horse, and so produced an accident that might -have cost the Captain his life. - -"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Menaida, "and what do you want? Is it -an assault? I will run to my law-books and find out; I don't know that -it can quite be made out a case of misadventure." - -"It is not that, sir." - -"Then what do you want?" - -"I have been racking my head to think what I ought to do under the -circumstances. There can be no doubt that I aggravated him. I was very -angry, both because he had been a trouble to my darling papa, and then -because he had been so insolent as to enter our house and shout for -Aunt Dunes; but there was something more--he had tried to beat Jamie, -and it was my father's day of burial. All that roused a bad spirit in -me, and I did say very bad words to him--words a man of metal would -not bear from even a child, and I suppose I really did lash him to -madness, and he would have struck me--but perhaps not, he might have -thought better of it. I provoked him, and then I brought about what -happened. I have been considering what I ought to do. If I remain here -and take no notice, then he will think me very unfeeling, and that I -do not care that I have hurt him in mind and body. It came into my -head last night that I would ask aunt to apologize to him for what I -had done, or, better still, should aunt not come here to-day, which is -very likely, that I might walk with Jamie to Pentyre and inquire how -Captain Coppinger is, and send in word by my aunt that I am -sorry--very sorry." - -"Upon my soul, I don't know what to say. I could not have done this to -Coppinger myself for a good deal of money. I think if I had, I would -get out of the place as quickly as possible, while he was crippled by -his broken bones. But then, you are a girl, and he may take it better -from you than from me. Well--yes; I think it would be advisable to -allay his anger if you can. Upon my word, you have put yourself into a -difficult position. I'll go and look at my law-books, just for my own -satisfaction." - -A heavy blow on the door, and without waiting for a response and -invitation to enter, it was thrown open, and there entered Cruel -Coppinger, his arm bandaged, tied in splints, and bound to his body, -with his heavy walking-stick brandished by the uninjured hand. He -stood for a moment glowering in, searching the room with his keen eyes -till they rested on Judith. Then he made an attempt to raise his hand -to his head, but ineffectually. - -"Curse it!" said he, "I cannot do it; don't tear it off my head with -your eyes, girl. Here, you Menaida, come here and take my hat off. -Come instantly, or she--she will do--the devil knows what she will not -do to me." - -He turned, and with his stick beat the door back, that it slammed -behind him. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -A PATCHED PEACE. - - -"Look at her!" cried Coppinger, with his back against the house door, -and pointing to Judith with his stick. - -She was standing near the piano, with one hand on it, and was half -turned toward him. She was in black, but had a white kerchief about -her neck. The absence of all color in her dress heightened the lustre -of her abundant and glowing hair. - -Coppinger remained for a moment, pointing with a half sneer on his -dark face. Mr. Menaida had nervously complied with his demand, and had -removed the hat from the smuggler, and his dark hair fell about his -face. That face was livid and pale; he had evidently suffered much, -and now every movement was attended with pain. Not only had some of -his bones been broken, but he was bruised and strained. - -"Look at her!" he shouted again, in his deep commanding tones, and he -fixed his fierce eyes on her and knitted his brows. She remained -immovable, awaiting what he had to say. Though there was a flutter in -her bosom, her hand on the piano did not shake. - -"I am very sorry, Captain Coppinger," said Judith, in a low, sweet -voice, in which there was but a slight tremulousness. "I profess that -I believe I acted wrongly yesterday, and I repeat that I am -sorry--very sorry, Captain Coppinger." - -He made no reply. He lowered the stick that had been pointed at her, -and leaned on it. His hand shook because he was in pain. - -"I acted wrongly yesterday," continued Judith, "but I acted under -provocation that, if it does not justify what I did, palliates the -wrong. I can say no more--that is the exact truth." - -"Is that all?" - -"I am sorry for what was wrong in my conduct--frankly sorry that you -are hurt." - -"You hear her?" laughed Coppinger, bitterly. "A little chit like that -to speak to me thus"--then, turning sharply on her, "Are you not -afraid?" - -"No, I am not afraid; why should I be?" - -"Why? Ask any one in S. Enodoc--any one in Cornwall--who has heard my -name." - -"I beg your pardon. I do not want to ask any one else in S. Enodoc, -any one else in Cornwall. I ask you." - -"Me? You ask me why you should be afraid of me?" He paused, drew his -thick brows together till they formed a band across his forehead. "I -tell you that none has ever wronged me by a blade of grass or a flock -of wool but has paid for it a thousand-fold. And none has ever hurt me -as you have done--none has ever dared to attempt it." - -"I have said that I am sorry." - -"You talk like one cold as a mermaid. I do not believe in your -fearlessness. Why do you lean on the piano. There, touch the wires -with the very tips of your fingers, and let me hear if they give a -sound--and sound they will if you tremble." - -Judith exposed some of the wires by raising the top of the piano. Then -she smiled, and stood with the tips of her delicate fingers just -touching the chords. Coppinger listened, so did Uncle Zachie, and not -a vibration could they detect. - -Presently she withdrew her hand, and said, "Is not that enough? When a -girl says, 'I am sorry,' I supposed the chapter was done and the book -closed." - -"You have strange ideas." - -"I have those in which I was brought up by the best of fathers." - -Coppinger thrust his stick along the floor. - -"Is it due to the ideas in which you have been brought up that you are -not afraid--when you have reduced me to a wreck?" - -"And you?--are you afraid of the wreck that you have made?" - -The dark blood sprang into and suffused his whole face. Uncle Zachie -drew back against the wall and made signs to Judith not to provoke -their self-invited visitor; but she was looking steadily at the -Captain, and did not observe the signals. In Coppinger's presence she -felt nerved to stand on the defensive, and more, to attack. A threat -in his whole bearing, in his manner of addressing her, roused every -energy she possessed. - -"I tell you," said he, harshly, "if any man had used the word you -threw at me yesterday, I would have murdered him; I would have split -his skull with the handle of my crop." - -"You raised your hand to do it to me," said Judith. - -"No!" he exclaimed, violently. "It is false; come here, and let me see -if you have the courage, the fearlessness you affect. You women are -past-masters of dissembling. Come here; kneel before me and let me -raise my stick over you. See; there is lead in the handle, and with -one blow I can split your skull and dash the brains over the floor." - -Judith remained immovable. - -"I thought it--you are afraid." - -She shook her head. - -He let himself, with some pain, slowly into a chair. - -"You are afraid. You know what to expect. Ah! I could fell you and -trample on you and break your bones, as I was cast down, trampled on, -and broken in my bones yesterday--by you, or through you. Are you -afraid?" - -She took a step toward him. Then Uncle Zachie waved her back, in great -alarm. He caught Judith's attention, and she answered him, "I am not -afraid. I gave him a word I should not have given him yesterday. I -will show him that I retract it fully." Then she stepped up to -Coppinger and sank on her knees before him. He raised his whip, with -the loaded handle, brandishing it over her. - -"Now I am here," she said, "I again ask your forgiveness, but I -protest an apology is due to me." - -He threw his stick away. "By heaven, it is!" Then in an altered tone, -"Take it so, that I ask your forgiveness. Get up; do not kneel to me. -I could not have struck you down had I willed, my arm is stiff. -Perhaps you knew it." - -He rose with effort to his feet again. Judith drew back to her former -position by the piano, two hectic spots of flame were in her cheek, -and her eyes were preternaturally bright. - -Coppinger looked steadily at her for a while, then he said, "Are you -ill? You look as if you were." - -"I have had much to go through of late." - -"True." - -He remained looking at her, brooding over something in his mind. She -perplexed him; he wondered at her. He could not comprehend the spirit -that was in her, that sustained a delicate little frame, and made her -defy him. - -His eyes wandered round the room, and he signed to Uncle Zachie to -give him his stick again. - -"What is that?" said he, pointing to the miniature on the stand for -music, where Mr. Menaida had put it, over a sheet of the music he had -been playing, or attempting to play. - -"It is my son, Oliver," said Uncle Zachie. - -"Why is it there? Has she been looking at it? Let me see it." - -Mr. Menaida hesitated, but presently handed it to the redoubted -Captain, with nervous twitches in his face. "I value it highly--my -only child." - -Coppinger looked at it, with a curl of his lips; then handed it back -to Mr. Menaida. - -"Why is it here?" - -"I brought it here to show it her. I am very proud of my son," said -Uncle Zachie. - -Coppinger was in an irritable mood, captious about trifles. Why did he -ask questions about this little picture? Why look suspiciously at -Judith as he did so--suspiciously and threateningly? - -"Do you play on the piano?" asked Coppinger. "When the evil spirit was -on Saul, David struck the harp and sent the spirit away. Let me hear -how you can touch the notes. It may do me good. Heaven knows it is not -often I have the leisure, or the occasion, or am in the humor for -music. I would hear what you can do." - -Judith looked at Uncle Zachie. - -"I cannot play," she said; "that is to say, I can play, but not now, -and on this piano." - -But Mr. Menaida interfered and urged her to play. He was afraid of -Coppinger. - -She seated herself on the music-stool and considered for a moment. The -miniature was again on the stand. Coppinger put out his stick and -thrust it off, and it would have fallen had not Judith caught it. She -gave it to Mr. Menaida, who hastily carried it into the adjoining -room, where the sight of it might no longer irritate the Captain. - -"What shall I play? I mean, strum?" asked Judith, looking at Uncle -Zachie. "Beethoven! No--Haydn. Here are his 'Seasons.' I can play -'Spring.'" - -She had a light, but firm touch. Her father had been a man of great -musical taste, and he had instructed her. But she had, moreover, the -musical faculty in her, and she played with the spirit and with the -understanding also. Wondrous is the power of music, passing that of -fabled necromancy. It takes a man up out of his most sordid -surroundings, and sets him in heavenly places. It touches fibres of -the inner nature, lost, forgotten, ignored, and makes them thrill with -a new life. It seals the eyes to outward sights, and unfurls new -vistas full of transcendental beauty; it breathes over hot wounds and -heals them; it calls to the surface springs of pure delight, and bids -them gush forth in an arid desert. - -It was so now, as, under the sympathetic fingers of Judith, Haydn's -song of the "Spring" was sung. A May world arose in that little dingy -room; the walls fell back and disclosed green woods thick with red -robin and bursting bluebells, fields golden with buttercups, hawthorns -clothed in flower, from which sang the blackbird, thrush, the finch, -and the ouzel. The low ceiling rose and overarched as the speed-well -blue vault of heaven, the close atmosphere was dispelled by a waft of -crisp, pure air; shepherds piped, Boy Blue blew his horn, and -milkmaids rattled their pails and danced a ballet on the turf; and -over all, down into every corner of the soul, streamed the glorious, -golden sun, filling the heart with gladness. - -Uncle Zachie had been standing at the door leading into his workshop, -hesitating whether to remain, with a pish! and a pshaw! or to fly away -beyond hearing. But he was arrested, then drawn lightly, irresistibly, -step by step, toward the piano, and he noiselessly sank upon a chair, -with his eyes fixed on Judith's fingers as they danced over the keys. -His features assumed a more refined character as he listened; the -water rose into his eyes, his lips quivered, and when, before reaching -the end of the piece, Judith faltered and stopped, he laid his hand on -her wrist and said: "My dear--you play, you do not strum. Play when -you will--never can it be too long, too much for me. It may steady my -hand, it may dispel the chill and the damp better than--but never -mind--never mind." - -Why had Judith failed to accomplish the piece? Whilst engaged on the -notes she had felt that the searching, beaming eyes of the smuggler -were on her, fixed with fierce intensity. She could meet them, looking -straight at him, without shrinking, and without confusion, but to be -searched by them whilst off her guard, her attention engaged on her -music, was what she could not endure. - -Coppinger made no remark on what he had heard, but his face gave token -that the music had not swept across him without stirring and softening -his hard nature. - -"How long is she to be here with you?" he asked, turning to Uncle -Zachie. - -"Captain, I cannot tell. She and her brother had to leave the rectory. -They could not remain in that house alone. Mrs. Trevisa asked me to -lodge them here, and I consented. I knew their father." - -"She did not ask me. I would have taken them in." - -"Perhaps she was diffident of doing that," said Uncle Zachie. "But -really, on my word, it is no inconvenience to me. I have room in this -house, and my maid, Jump, has not enough to do to attend on me." - -"When you are tired of them send them to me." - -"I am not likely to be tired of Judith, now that I have heard her -play." - -"Judith--is that her name?" - -"Yes--Judith." - -"Judith!" he repeated, and thrust his stick along the floor, -meditatively. "Judith!" Then, after a pause, with his eyes on the -ground, "Why did not your aunt speak to me! Why does she not love -you?--she does not, I know. Why did she not go to see you when your -father was alive! Why did you not come to the Glaze?" - -"My dear papa did not wish me to go to your house," said Judith, -answering one of his many questions, the last, and perhaps the easiest -to reply to. - -"Why not?" he glanced up at her, then down on the floor again. - -"Papa was not very pleased with Aunt Dunes--it was no fault on either -side, only a misunderstanding," said Judith. - -"Why did he not let you come to my house to salute your aunt?" - -Judith hesitated. He again looked up at her searchingly. - -"If you really must know the truth, Captain Coppinger, papa thought -your house was hardly one to which to send two children--it was said -to harbor such wild folk." - -"And he did not know how fiercely and successfully you could defend -yourself against wild folk," said Coppinger, with a harsh laugh. "It -is we wild men that must fear you, for you dash us about and bruise -and break us when displeased with our ways. We are not so bad at the -Glaze as we are painted, not by a half--here is my hand on it." - -Judith was still seated on the music-stool, her hands resting in her -lap. Coppinger came toward her, walking stiffly, and extending his -palm. - -She looked down in her lap. What did this fierce, strange man, mean? - -"Will you give me your hand?" he asked. "Is there peace between us?" - -She was doubtful what to say. He remained, awaiting her answer. - -"I really do not know what reply to make," she said, after awhile. "Of -course, so far as I'm concerned, it is peace. I have myself no quarrel -with you, and you are good enough to say that you forgive me." - -"Then why not peace?" - -Again she let him wait before answering. She was uneasy and unhappy. -She wanted neither his goodwill nor his hostility. - -"In all that affects me, I bear you no ill-will," she said, in a low, -tremulous voice; "but in that you were a grief to my dear, dear -father, discouraging his heart, I cannot be forgetful, and so full of -charity as to blot it out as though it had not been." - -"Then let it be a patched peace--a peace with evasions and -reservations. Better that than none. Give me your hand." - -"On that understanding," said Judith, and laid her hand in his. His -iron fingers closed round it, and he drew her up from the stool on -which she sat, drew her forward near the window, and thrust her in -front of him. Then he raised her hand, held it by the wrist, and -looked at it. - -"It is very small, very weak," he said, musingly. - -Then there rushed over her mind the recollection of her last -conversation with her father. He, too, had taken and looked at her -hand, and had made the same remark. - -Coppinger lowered her hand and his, and, looking at her, said: - -"You are very wonderful to me." - -"I--why so?" - -He did not answer, but let go his hold of her, and turned away to the -door. - -Judith saw that he was leaving, and she hastened to bring him his -stick, and she opened the door for him. - -"I thank you," he said, turned, pointed his stick at her, and added, -"It is peace--though a patched one." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -C. C. - - -Days ensued, not of rest to body, but of relaxation to mind. Judith's -overstrained nerves had now given them a period of numbness, a sleep -of sensibility with occasional turnings and wakenings, in which they -recovered their strength. She and Jamie were settled into their rooms -at Mr. Menaida's, and the hours were spent in going to and from the -rectory removing their little treasures to the new home--if a -temporary place of lodging could be called a home--and in arranging -them there. - -There were a good many farewells to be taken, and Judith marvelled -sometimes at the insensibility with which she said them--farewells to -a thousand nooks and corners of the house and garden, the shrubbery, -and the glebe farm, all endeared by happy recollections, now having -their brightness dashed with rain. - -To Judith this was a first revelation of the mutability of things on -earth. Hitherto, as a child, with a child's eyes and a child's -confidence, she had regarded the rectory, the glebe, the contents of -the house, the flowers in the garden, as belonging inalienably to her -father and brother and herself. They belonged to them together. There -was nothing that was her father's that did not belong to Jamie and to -her, nothing of her brother's or her own that was not likewise the -property of papa. There was no mine or thine in that little family of -love--save only a few birthday presents given from one to the other, -and these only special property by a playful concession. But now the -dear father was gone, and every right seemed to dissolve. From the -moment that he leaned back against the brick, lichen-stained wall, and -sighed--and was dead, house and land had been snatched from them. And -though the contents of the rectory, the books, and the furniture, and -the china belonged to them, it was but for a little while; these -things must be parted with also, turned into silver. - -Not because the money was needed, but because Judith had no settled -home, and no prospect of one. Therefore she must not encumber herself -with many belongings. For a little while she would lodge with Mr. -Menaida, but she could not live there forever; she must remove -elsewhere, and she must consider, in the first place, that there was -not room in Uncle Zachie's cottage for accumulations of furniture, and -that, in the next place, she would probably have to part with them on -her next remove, even if she did retain them for a while. - -If these things were to be parted with, it would be advisable to part -with them at once. But to this determination Judith could not bring -herself at first. Though she had put aside, to be kept, things too -sacred to her, too much part of her past life, to be allowed to go -into the sale, after a few days she relinquished even these. Those six -delightful old colored prints, in frames, of a fox-hunt--how Jamie had -laughed at them, and followed the incidents in them, and never wearied -of them--must they go--perhaps for a song? It must be so. That -work-table of her mother's, of dark rosewood, with a crimson bag -beneath it to contain wools and silks, one of the few remembrances she -had of that mother whom she but dimly recalled--must that go?--what, -and all those skeins in it of colored floss silk, and the piece of -embroidery half finished? the work of her mother, broken off by -death--that also? It must be so. And that rusty leather chair in which -papa had sat, with one golden-headed child on each knee cuddled into -his breast, with the flaps of his coat drawn over their heads, which -listened to the tick-tick of his great watch, and to the tale of -Little Snowflake, or Gracieuse and Percinet?--must that go also? It -must be so. - -Every day showed to Judith some fresh link that had to be broken. She -could not bear to think that the mother's work-table should be -contended for at a vulgar auction, and struck down to a blousy -farmer's wife; that her father's chair should go to some village inn -to be occupied by sots. She would rather have seen them destroyed; but -to destroy them would not be right. - -After a while she longed for the sale; she desired to have it over, -that an entirely new page of life might be opened, and her thoughts -might not be carried back to the past by everything she saw. - -Of Coppinger nothing further was seen. Nor did Aunt Dionysia appear at -the rectory to superintend the assortment of the furniture, nor at Mr. -Menaida's to inquire into the welfare of her nephew and niece. To -Judith it was a relief not to have her aunt in the parsonage while she -was there; that hard voice and unsympathetic manner would have kept -her nerves on the quiver. It was best as it was, that she should have -time, by herself, with no interference from any one, to select what -was to be kept and put away what was to be sold; to put away gently, -with her own trembling hand, and with eyes full of tears, the old -black gown and the Oxford hood that papa had worn in church, and to -burn his old sermons and bundles of letters, unread and uncommented on -by Aunt Dunes. - -In these days Judith did not think much of Coppinger. Uncle Zachie -informed her that he was worse, he was confined to his bed, he had -done himself harm by coming over to Polzeath the day after his -accident, and the doctor had ordered him not to stir from Pentyre -Glaze for some time--not till his bones were set. Nothing was known of -the occasion of Coppinger's injuries, so Uncle Zachie said; it was -reported in the place that he had been thrown from his horse. Judith -entreated the old man not to enlighten the ignorance of the public; -she was convinced that naught would transpire through Jamie, who could -not tell a story intelligibly; and Miss Dionysia Trevisa was not -likely to publish what she knew. - -Judith had a pleasant little chamber at Mr. Menaida's; it was small, -low, plastered against the roof, the rafters showing, and whitewashed -like the walls and ceiling. The light entered from a dormer in the -roof, a low window glazed with diamond quarries set in lead that -clickered incessantly in the wind. It faced the south, and let the sun -flow in. A scrap of carpet was on the floor, and white curtains to the -window. In this chamber Judith ranged such of her goods as she had -resolved on retaining, either as indispensable, or as being too dear -to her to part with unnecessarily, and which, as being of small size, -she might keep without difficulty. - -Her father's old travelling trunk, covered with hide with the hair -on, and his initials in brass nails--a trunk he had taken with him to -college--was there, thrust against the wall; it contained her clothes. -Suspended above it was her little bookcase, with the shelves laden -with "The Travels of Rolando," Dr. Aitkin's "Evenings at Home," -Magnal's "Questions," a French Dictionary, "Paul and Virginia," and a -few other works such as were the delight of children from ninety to a -hundred years ago. - -Books for children were rare in those days, and such as were produced -were read and re-read till they were woven into the very fibre of the -mind, never more to be extricated and cast aside. Now it is otherwise. -A child reads a story-book every week, and each new story-book effaces -the impression produced by the book that went before. The result of -much reading is the same as the result of no reading--the production -of a blank. - -How Judith and Jamie had sat together perched up in a sycamore, in -what they called their nest, and had revelled in the adventures of -Rolando, she reading aloud, he listening a little, then lapsing into -observation of the birds that flew and hopped about, or the insects -that spun and crept, or dropped on silky lines, or fluttered humming -about the nest, then returned to attention to the book again! Rolando -would remain through life the friend and companion of Judith. She -could not part with the four-volumed, red-leather-backed book. - -For the first day or two Jamie had accompanied his sister to the -rectory, and had somewhat incommoded her by his restlessness and his -mischief, but on the third day, and thenceforth, he no longer attended -her. He had made fast friends with Uncle Zachie. He was amused with -watching the process of bird-stuffing, and the old man made use of the -boy by giving him tow to pick to pieces and wires to straighten. - -Mr. Menaida was pleased to have some one by him in his workshop to -whom he could talk. It was unimportant to him whether the listener -followed the thread of his conversation or not, so long as he was a -listener. Mr. Menaida, in his solitude, had been wont to talk to -himself, to grumble to himself at the impatience of his customers, to -lament to himself the excess of work that pressed upon him and -deprived him of time for relaxation. He was wont to criticise, to -himself, his success or want of success in the setting-up of a bird. -It was far more satisfactory to him to be able to address all these -remarks to a second party. - -He was, moreover, surprised to find how keen and just had been Jamie's -observation of birds, their ways, their attitudes. Judith was -delighted to think that Jamie had discovered talent of some sort, and -he had, so Uncle Zachie assured her, that imitative ability which is -often found to exist alongside with low intellectual power, and this -enabled him to assist Mr. Menaida in giving a natural posture to his -birds. - -It flattered the boy to find that he was appreciated, that he was -consulted, and asked to assist in a kind of work that exacted nothing -of his mind. - -When Uncle Zachie was tired of his task, which was every ten minutes -or quarter of an hour, and that was the extreme limit to which he -could continue regular work, he lit his pipe, left his bench, and sat -in his arm-chair. Then Jamie also left his tow-picking or -wire-punching, and listened, or seemed to listen, to Mr. Menaida's -talk. When the old man had finished his pipe, and, with a sigh, went -back to his task, Jamie was tired of hearing him talk, and was glad to -resume his work. Thus the two desultory creatures suited each other -admirably, and became attached friends. - -"Jamie! what is the meaning of this?" asked Judith, with a start and a -rush of blood to her heart. - -She had returned in the twilight from the parsonage. There was -something in the look of her brother, something in his manner that was -unusual. - -"Jamie! What have you been taking? Who gave it you?" - -She caught the boy by the arm. Distress and shame were in her face, in -the tones of her voice. - -Mr. Menaida grunted. - -"I'm sorry, but it can't be helped--really it can't," said he, -apologetically. "But Captain Coppinger has sent me down a present of a -keg of cognac--real cognac, splendid, amber-like--and, you know, it was -uncommonly kind. He never did it before. So there was no avoidance; we -had to tap it and taste it, and give a sup to the fellow who brought -us the keg, and drink the health of the Captain. One could not be -churlish; and, naturally, I could not abstain from letting Jamie try -the spirit. Perfectly pure--quite wholesome--first-rate quality. Upon -my word, he had not more than a fly could dip his legs in and feel the -bottom; but he is unaccustomed to anything stronger than cider, and -this is stronger than I supposed." - -"Mr. Menaida, you promised me--" - -"Bless me! There are contingencies, you know. I never for a moment -thought that Captain Coppinger would show me such a favor, would have -such courtesy. But, upon my honor, I think it is your doing, my dear! -You shook hands and made peace with him, and he has sent this in token -of the cessation of hostilities and the ratification of the -agreement." - -"Mr. Menaida, I trusted you. I did believe, when you passed your word -to me, that you would hold to it." - -"Now--there, don't take it in that way. Jamie, you rascal, hop off to -bed. He'll be right as a trivet to-morrow morning, I stake my -reputation on that. There, there, I will help him up-stairs." - -Judith suffered Mr. Menaida to do as he proposed. When he had left the -room with Jamie, who was reluctant to go, and struggled to remain, she -seated herself on the sofa, and covering her face with her hands burst -into tears. Whom could she trust? No one. - -Had she been alone in the world she would have been more confident of -the future, been able to look forward with a good courage; but she had -to carry Jamie with her, who must be defended from himself, and from -the weak good-nature of those he was with. - -When Uncle Zachie came down-stairs he slunk into his workroom and was -very quiet. No lamp or candle was lighted, and it was too dark for him -to continue his employment on the birds. What was he doing? Nothing. -He was ashamed of himself, and keeping out of Judith's way. - -But Judith would not let him escape so easily; she went to him, as he -avoided her, and found him seated in a corner turning his pipe about. -He had been afraid of striking a light, lest he should call her -attention to his presence. - -"Oh, my dear, come in here into the workshop to me! This is an honor, -an unexpected pleasure. Jamie and I have been drudging like slaves all -day, and we're fagged--fagged to the ends of our fingers and toes." - -"Mr. Menaida, I am sorry to say it, but if such a thing happens again -as has taken place this evening, Jamie and I must leave your house. I -thank you with an overflowing heart for your goodness to us; but I -must consider Jamie above everything else, and I must see that he be -not exposed to temptation." - -"Where will you take him?" - -"I cannot tell; but I must shield him." - -"There, there, not a word! It shall never happen again. Now let -by-gones be by-gones, and play me something of Beethoven, while I sit -here and listen in the twilight." - -"No, Mr. Menaida, I cannot. I have not the spirit to do it. I can -think only of Jamie." - -"So you punish me!" - -"Take it so. I am sorry; but I cannot do otherwise." - -"Now, look here! Bless my soul! I had almost forgotten it. Here is a -note for you, from the Captain, I believe." He went to the -chimney-piece and took down a scrap of paper, folded and sealed. - -Judith looked at it and went to the window, broke the seal, and opened -the paper. She read-- - - "Why do you not come and see me? You do not care for what you - have done. They call me cruel; but you are that.--C. C." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -EGO ET REGINA MEA. - - -The strange, curt note from Cruel Coppinger served in a measure to -divert the current of Judith's thoughts from her trouble about Jamie. -It was, perhaps, as well, or she would have fretted over that -throughout the night, not only because of Jamie, but because she felt -that her father had left his solemn injunction on her to protect and -guide her twin-brother, and she knew that whatsoever harm, physical or -moral, came to him, argued a lack of attention to her duty. Her father -had not been dead many days, and already Jamie had been led from the -path she had undertaken to keep him in. - -But when she began to worry herself about Jamie, the bold characters, -"C. C.," with which the letter was signed, rose before her, and glowed -in the dark as characters of fire. - -She had gone to her bedroom, and had retired for the night, but could -not sleep. The moon shone through the lattice into her chamber, and on -the stool by the window lay the letter, where she had cast it. Her -mind turned to it. - -Why did Coppinger call her cruel? Was she cruel? Not intentionally so. -She had not wilfully injured him. He did not suppose that. He meant -that she was heartless and indifferent in letting him suffer without -making any inquiry concerning him. - -He had injured himself by coming to Polzeath to see her the day -following his accident. Uncle Zachie had assured her of that. - -She went on in her busy mind to ask why he had come to see her? Surely -there had been no need for him to do so! His motive--the only motive -she could imagine--was a desire to relieve her from anxiety and -distress of mind; a desire to show her that he bore no ill-will toward -her for what she had done. That was generous and considerate of him. -Had he not come she certainly would have been unhappy and in unrest, -would have imagined all kinds of evil as likely to ensue through his -hostility--for one thing, her aunt's dismissal from her post might -have been expected. - -But Coppinger, though in pain, and at a risk to his health, had walked -to where she was lodging to disabuse her of any such impression. She -was grateful to him for so doing. She felt that such a man could not -be utterly abandoned by God, entirely void of good qualities, as she -had supposed, viewing him only through the representations of his -character and the tales circulating relative to his conduct that had -reached her. - -A child divides mankind into two classes--the good and the bad, and -supposes that there is no debatable land between them, where light and -shade are blended into neutral tint; certainly not that there are -blots on the white leaf of the lives of the good, and luminous -glimpses in the darkness of the histories of the bad. As they grow -older they rectify their judgments, and such a rectification Judith -had now to make. - -She was assisted in this by compassion for Coppinger, who was in -suffering, and by self-reproach, because she was the occasion of this -suffering. - -What were the exact words Captain Cruel had employed? She was not -certain; she turned the letter over and over in her mind, and could -not recall every expression, and she could not sleep till she was -satisfied. - -Therefore she rose from bed, stole to the window, took up the letter, -seated herself on the stool, and conned it in the moonlight. "Why do -you not come and see me? You do not care for what you have done." That -was not true; she was greatly troubled at what she had done. She was -sick at heart when she thought of that scene in the lane, when the -black mare was leaping and pounding with her hoofs, and Coppinger lay -on the ground. One kick of the hoof on his head, and he would have -been dead. His blood would have rested on her conscience, never to be -wiped off. Horrible was the recollection now, in the stillness of the -night. It was marvellous that life had not been beaten out of the -prostrate man, that, dragged about by the arm, he had not been torn to -pieces, that every bone had not been shattered, that his face had not -been battered out of recognition. Judith felt the perspiration stand -on her brow at the thought. God had been very good to her in sending -His angel to save Coppinger from death and her from blood-guiltiness. -She slid to her knees at the window, and held up her hands, the -moonlight illuminating her white upturned face, as she gave thanks to -Heaven that no greater evil had ensued from her inconsidered act with -the button-basket than a couple of broken bones. - -Oh! it was very far indeed from true that she did not care for what -she had done. Coppinger must have been blind indeed not to have seen -how she felt her conduct. His letter concluded: "They call me cruel; -but you are that." He meant that she was cruel in not coming to the -Glaze to inquire after him. He had thought of her trouble of mind, and -had gone to Polzeath to relieve her of anxiety, and she had shown no -consideration for him--or not in like manner. - -She had been very busy at the rectory. Her mind had been concerned -with her own affairs, that was her excuse. Cruel she was not. She took -no pleasure in his pain. But she hesitated about going to see him. -That was more than was to be expected of a young girl. She would go on -the morrow to Coppinger's house, and ask to speak to her aunt; that -she might do, and from Aunt Dionysia she would learn in what condition -Captain Cruel was, and might send him her respects and wishes for his -speedy recovery. - -As she still knelt in her window, looking up through the diamond panes -into the clear, gray-blue sky, she heard a sound without, and, looking -down, saw a convoy of horses pass, laden with bales and kegs, and -followed or accompanied by men wearing slouched hats. So little noise -did the beasts make in traversing the road, that Judith was convinced -their hoofs must be muffled in felt. She had heard that this was done -by the smugglers. It was said that all Coppinger's horses had their -boots drawn on when engaged in conveying run goods from the place -where stored to their destination. - -These were Coppinger's men, this his convoy, doubtless. Judith thrust -the letter from her. He was a bad man, a very bad man; and if he had -met with an accident, it was his due, a judgment on his sins. She rose -from her knees, turned away, and went back to her bed. - -Next day, after a morning spent at the rectory, in the hopes that her -aunt might arrive and obviate the need of her going in quest of her, -Judith, disappointed in this hope, prepared to walk to Pentyre. Mrs. -Dionysia had not acted with kindness toward her. Judith felt this, -without allowing herself to give to the feeling articulate expression. -She made what excuses she could for Aunt Dunes: she was hindered by -duties that had crowded upon her, she had been forbidden going by -Captain Cruel; but none of these excuses satisfied Judith. - -Judith must go herself to the Glaze, and she had reasons of her own -for wishing to see her aunt, independent of the sense of obligation on -her, more or less acknowledged, that she must obey the summons of -C. C. There were matters connected with the rectory, with the -furniture there, the cow, and the china, that Mrs. Trevisa must give -her judgment upon. There were bills that had come in, which Mrs. -Trevisa must pay, as Judith had been left without any money in her -pocket. - -As the girl walked through the lanes she turned over in her mind the -stories she had heard of the smuggler Captain, the wild tales of his -wrecking ships, of his contests with the Preventive men, and the -ghastly tragedy of Wyvill, who had been washed up headless on Doombar. -In former days she had accepted all these stories as true, had not -thought of questioning them; but now that she had looked Coppinger in -the face, had spoken with him, experienced his consideration, she -could not believe that they were to be accepted without question. That -story of Wyvill--that Captain Cruel had hacked off his head on the -gunwale with his axe--seemed to her now utterly incredible. But if -true! She shuddered to think that her hand had been held in that -stained with so hideous a crime. - -Thus musing, Judith arrived at Pentyre Glaze, and entering the porch, -turned from the sea, knocked at the door. - -A loud voice bade her enter. She knew that the voice proceeded from -Coppinger, and her heart fluttered with fear and uncertainty. She -halted, with her hand on the door, inclined to retreat without -entering; but again the voice summoned her to come in, and gathering -up her courage she opened the door, and, still holding the latch, -took a few steps forward into the hall or kitchen, into which it -opened. - -A fire was smouldering in the great open fireplace, and beside it, in -a carved oak arm-chair, sat Cruel Coppinger, with a small table at his -side, on which were a bottle and glass, a canister of tobacco and a -pipe. His arm was strapped across his breast as she had seen it a few -days before. Entering from the brilliant light of day, Judith could -not at first observe his face, but, as her eyes became accustomed to -the twilight of the smoke-blackened and gloomy hall, she saw that he -looked more worn and pale than he had seemed the day after the -accident. Nor could she understand the expression on his countenance -when he was aware who was his visitor. - -"I beg your pardon," said Judith; "I am sorry to have intruded; but I -wished to speak to my aunt." - -"Your aunt? Old mother Dunes? Come in. Let go your hold of the door -and shut it. Your aunt started a quarter of an hour ago for the -rectory." - -"And I came along the lane from Polzeath." - -"Then no wonder you did not meet her. She went by the church path, of -course, and over the down." - -"I am sorry to have missed her. Thank you, Captain Coppinger, for -telling me." - -"Stay!" he roared, as he observed her draw back into the porch. "You -are not going yet!" - -"I cannot stay for more than a moment in which to ask how you do, and -whether you are somewhat better? I was sorry to hear you had been -worse." - -"I have been worse, yes. Come in. You shall not go. I am mewed in as a -prisoner, and have none to speak to, and no one to look at but old -Dunes. Come in, and take that stool by the fire, and let me hear you -speak, and let me rest my eyes a while on your golden hair--gold more -golden than that of the Indies." - -"I hope you are better, sir," said Judith, ignoring the compliment. - -"I am better now I have seen you. I shall be worse if you do not come -in." - -She refused to do this by a light shake of the head. - -"I suppose you are afraid. We are wild and lawless men here, ogres -that eat children! Come, child, I have something to show you." - -"Thank you for your kindness; but I must run to the parsonage; I -really _must_ see my aunt." - -"Then I will send her to Polzeath to you when she returns. She will -keep; she's stale enough." - -"I would spare her the trouble." - -"Pshaw! She shall do what I will. Now see--I am wearied to death with -solitude and sickness. Come, amuse yourself, if you will, with -insulting me--calling me what you like; I do not mind, so long as you -remain." - -"I have no desire whatever, Captain Coppinger, to insult you and call -you names." - -"You insult me by standing there holding the latch--standing on one -foot, as if afraid to sully the soles by treading my tainted floor. Is -it not an insult that you refuse to come in? Is it not so much as -saying to me, 'You are false, cruel, not to be trusted; you are not -worthy that I should be under the same roof with you, and breathe the -same air?'" - -"Oh, Captain Coppinger, I do not mean that!" - -"Then let go the latch and come in. Stand, if you will not sit, -opposite me. How can I see you there, in the doorway?" - -"There is not much to see when I am visible," said Judith, laughing. - -"Oh, no! not much! Only a little creature who has more daring than any -man in Cornwall--who will stand up to, and cast at her feet, Cruel -Coppinger, at whose name men tremble." - -Judith let go her hold on the door, and moved timidly into the hall; -but she let the door remain half open that the light and air flowed -in. - -"And now," said Captain Coppinger, "here is a key on this table by me. -Do you see a small door by the clock-case? Unlock that door with the -key." - -"You want something from thence!" - -"I want you to unlock the door. There are beautiful and costly things -within that you shall see." - -"Thank you; but I would rather look at them some other day, when my -aunt is here, and I have more time." - -"Will you refuse me even the pleasure of letting you see what is -there?" - -"If you particularly desire it, Captain Coppinger, I will peep in--but -only peep." - -She took the key from his table, and crossed the hall to the door. -The lock was large and clumsy, but she turned the key by putting both -hands to it. Then, swinging open the door, she looked inside. The door -opened into an apartment crowded with a collection of sundry articles -of value: bales of silk from Italy, Genoa laces, Spanish silver-inlaid -weapons, Chinese porcelain, bronzes from Japan, gold and silver -ornaments, bracelets, brooches, watches, inlaid mother-of-pearl -cabinets--an amazing congeries of valuables heaped together. - -"Well, now!" shouted Cruel Coppinger. "What say you to the gay things -there? Choose--take what you will. I care not for them one rush. What -do you most admire, most covet? Put out both hands and take--take all -you would have; fill your lap, carry off all you can. It is yours." - -Judith drew hastily back and relocked the door. - -"What have you taken?" - -"Nothing." - -"Nothing? Take what you will; I give it freely." - -"I cannot take anything, though I thank you, Captain Coppinger, for -your kind and generous offer." - -"You will accept nothing?" - -She shook her head. - -"That is like you. You do it to anger me. As you throw hard words at -me--coward, wrecker, robber--and as you dash broken glass, buttons, -buckles, in my face, so do you throw back my offers." - -"It is not through ingratitude--" - -"I care not through what it is! You seek to anger, and not to please -me. Why will you take nothing? There are beautiful things there to -charm a woman." - -"I am not a woman; I am a little girl." - -"Why do you refuse me!" - -"For one thing, because I want none of the things there, beautiful and -costly though they be." - -"And for the other thing----?" - -"For the other thing--excuse my plain speaking--I do not think they -have been honestly got." - -"By heavens!" shouted Coppinger. "There you attack and stab at me -again. I like your plainness of speech. You do not spare me. I would -not have you false and double like old Dunes." - -"Oh, Captain Coppinger! I give you thanks from the depths of my -heart. It is kindly intended, and it is so good and noble of you, I -feel that; for I have hurt you and reduced you to the state in which -you now are, and yet you offer me the best things in your -house--things of priceless value. I acknowledge your goodness; but -just because I know I do not deserve this goodness I must decline what -you offer." - -"Then come here and give me the key." - -She stepped lightly over the floor to him and handed him the great -iron key to his store chamber. As she did so he caught her hand, bowed -his dark head, and kissed her fingers. - -"Captain Coppinger!" She started back, trembling, and snatched her -hand from him. - -"What! have I offended you again? Why not? A subject kisses the hand -of his queen; and I am a subject, and you--you my queen." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -JESSAMINE. - - -"How are you, old man?" - -"Middlin', thanky'; and how be you, gov'nor?" - -"Middlin' also; and your missus?" - -"Only sadly. I fear she's goin' slow but sure the way of all flesh." - -"Bless us! 'Tis a trouble and expense them sort o' things. Now to -work, shall we? What do you figure up?" - -"And you?" - -"Oh, well, I'm not here on reg'lar business. Huntin' on my own score -to-day." - -"Oh, ay! Nice port this." - -"Best the old fellow had in his cellar. I told the executrix I should -like the taste of it, and advise thereon." - -The valuers for dilapidations, vulgarly termed dilapidators, were met -in the dining-room of the deserted parsonage. Mr. Scantlebray was on -one side, Mr. Cargreen on the other. Mr. Scantlebray was on that of -the "orphings," as he termed his clients, and Mr. Cargreen on that of -the Rev. Mr. Mules, the recently nominated rector to S. Enodoc. - -Mr. Scantlebray was a tall, lean man, with light gray eyes, a red -face, and legs and arms that he shook every now and then as though -they were encumbrances to his trunk and he was going to shake them -off, as a poodle issuing from a bath shakes the water out of his -locks. Mr. Cargreen was a bullet-headed man, with a white neckcloth, -gray whiskers, a solemn face, and a sort of perpetual "Let-us-pray" -expression on his lips and in his eyes--a composing of his interior -faculties and abstraction from worldly concerns. - -"I am here," said Mr. Scantlebray, "as adviser and friend--you -understand, old man--of the orphings and their haunt." - -"And I," said Mr. Cargreen, "am ditto to the incoming rector." - -"And what do you get out of this visit!" asked Mr. Scantlebray, who -was a frank man. - -"Only three guineas as a fee," said Mr. Cargreen. "And you?" - -"Ditto, old man--three guineas. You understand, I am not here as -valuer to-day." - -"Nor I--only as adviser." - -"Exactly! Taste this port. 'Taint bad--out of the cellar of the old -chap. Told auntie I must have it, to taste and give opinion on." - -"And what are you going to do to-day?" - -"I'm going to have one or two little things pulled down, and other -little things put to rights." - -"Humph! I'm here to see nothing is pulled down." - -"We won't quarrel. There's the conservatory, and the linney in Willa -Park." - -"I don't know," said Cargreen, shaking his head. - -"Now look here, old man," said Mr. Scantlebray. "You let me tear the -linney down, and I'll let the conservatory stand." - -"The conservatory----" - -"I know; the casement of the best bedroom went through the roof of it. -I'll mend the roof and repaint it. You can try the timber, and find it -rotten, and lay on dilapidations enough to cover a new conservatory. -Pass the linney; I want to make pickings out of that." - -It may perhaps be well to let the reader understand the exact -situation of the two men engaged in sipping port. Directly it was -known that a rector had been nominated to S. Enodoc, Mr. Cargreen, a -Bodmin valuer, agent, and auctioneer, had written to the happy -nominee, Mr. Mules, of Birmingham, inclosing his card in the letter, -to state that he was a member of an old-established firm, enjoying the -confidence, not to say the esteem of the principal county families in -the north of Cornwall, that he was a sincere Churchman, that -deploring, as a true son of the Church, the prevalence of Dissent, he -felt it his duty to call the attention of the reverend gentleman to -certain facts that concerned him, but especially the CHURCH, and facts -that he himself, as a devoted son of the Church, on conviction, after -mature study of its tenets, felt called upon, in the interest of that -Church he so had at heart, to notice. He had heard, said Mr. Cargreen, -that the outgoing parties from S. Enodoc were removing, or causing to -be removed, or were proposing to remove, certain fixtures in the -parsonage, and certain out-buildings, barns, tenements, sheds, and -linneys on the glebe and parsonage premises, to the detriment of its -value, inasmuch as that such removal would be prejudicial to the -letting of the land, and render it impossible for the incoming rector -to farm it himself without re-erecting the very buildings now in -course of destruction, or which were purposed to be destroyed: to wit, -certain out-buildings, barns, cattle-sheds, and linneys, together with -other tenements that need not be specified. Mr. Cargreen added that, -roughly speaking, the dilapidations of these buildings, if allowed to -stand, might be assessed at £300; but that, if pulled down, it would -cost the new rector about £700 to re-erect them, and their re-erection -would be an imperative necessity. Mr. Cargreen had himself, -personally, no interest in the matter; but, as a true son of the -Church, etc., etc. - -By return of post Mr. Cargreen received an urgent request from the -Rev. Mr. Mules to act as his agent, and to act with precipitation in -the protection of his interests. - -In the meantime Mr. Scantlebray had not been neglectful of other -people's interest. He had written to Miss Dionysia Trevisa to inform -her that, though he did not enjoy a present acquaintance, it was the -solace and joy of his heart to remember that some years ago, before -that infelicitous marriage of Mr. Trevisa, which had led to Miss -Dionysia's leaving the rectory, it had been his happiness to meet her -at the house of a mutual acquaintance, Mrs. Scaddon, where he had -respectfully, and, at this distance of time, he ventured to add, -humbly and hopelessly admired her; that, as he was riding past the -rectory he had chanced to observe the condition of dilapidation -certain tenements, pig-sties, cattle-sheds, and other out-buildings -were in, and that, though it in no way concerned him, yet, for auld -lang syne's sake, and a desire to assist one whom he had always -venerated, and, at this distance of time might add, had admired, he -ventured to offer a suggestion: to wit, That a number of unnecessary -out-buildings should be torn down and utterly effaced before a new -rector was nominated, and had appointed a valuer; also that certain -obvious repairs should be undertaken and done at once, so as to give -to the parsonage the appearance of being in excellent order, and cut -away all excuse for piling up dilapidations. Mr. Scantlebray ventured -humbly to state that he had had a good deal of experience with those -gentlemen who acted as valuers for dilapidations, and with pain he was -obliged to add that a more unscrupulous set of men it had never been -his bad fortune to come into contact with. He ventured to assert that, -were he to tell all he knew, or only half of what he knew, as to their -proceedings in valuing for dilapidations, he would make both of Miss -Trevisa's ears tingle. - -At once Miss Dionysia entreated Mr. Scantlebray to superintend and -carry out with expedition such repairs and such demolitions as he -deemed expedient, so as to forestall the other party. - -"Chicken!" said Mr. Cargreen. "That's what I've brought for my lunch." - -"And 'am is what I've got," said Mr. Scantlebray. "They'll go lovely -together." Then, in a loud tone--"Come in!" - -The door opened, and a carpenter entered with a piece of deal board in -his hand. - -"You won't mind looking out of the winder, Mr. Cargreen?" said Mr. -Scantlebray. "Some business that's partick'ler my own. You'll find the -jessamine--the white jessamine--smells beautiful." - -Mr. Cargreen rose, and went to the dining-room window that was -embowered in white jessamine, then in full flower and fragrance. - -"What is it, Davy?" - -"Well, sir, I ain't got no dry old board for the floor where it be -rotten, nor for the panelling of the doors where broken through." - -"No board at all?" - -"No, sir--all is green. Only cut last winter." - -"Won't it take paint?" - -"Well, sir, not well. I've dried this piece by the kitchen fire, and I -find it'll take the paint for a time." - -"Run, dry all the panels at the kitchen fire, and then paint 'em." - -"Thanky', sir; but, how about the boarding of the floor? The boards'll -warp and start." - -"Look here, Davy, that gentleman who's at the winder a-smelling to -the jessamine is the surveyor and valuer to t'other party. I fancy -you'd best go round outside and have a word with him and coax him to -pass the boards." - -"Come in!" in a loud voice. Then there entered a man in a cloth coat, -with very bushy whiskers. "How d'y' do, Spargo? What do you want?" - -"Well, Mr. Scantlebray, I understand the linney and cow-shed is to be -pulled down." - -"So it is, Spargo." - -"Well, sir!" Mr. Spargo drew his sleeve across his mouth. "There's a -lot of very fine oak timber in it--beams, and such like--that I don't -mind buying. As a timber merchant I could find a use for it." - -"Say ten pound." - -"Ten pun'! That's a long figure!" - -"Not a pound too much; but come--we'll say eight." - -"I reckon I'd thought five." - -"Five! pshaw! It's dirt cheap to _you_ at eight." - -"Why to me, sir?" - -"Why, because the new rector will want to rebuild both cattle-shed and -linney, and he'll have to go to you for timber." - -"But suppose he don't, and cuts down some on the glebe?" - -"No, Spargo--not a bit. There at the winder, smelling to the -jessamine, is the new rector's adviser and agent. Go round by the -front door into the garding, and say a word to him--you understand, -and--" Mr. Scantlebray tapped his palm. "Do now go round and have a -sniff of the jessamine, Mr. Spargo, and I don't fancy Mr. Cargreen -will advise the rector to use home-grown timber. He'll tell him it -sleeps away, gets the rot, comes more expensive in the long run." - -The valuer took a wing of chicken and a little ham, and then shouted, -with his mouth full--"Come in!" - -The door opened and admitted a farmer. - -"How do, Mr. Joshua? middlin'?" - -"Middlin', sir, thanky'." - -"And what have you come about, sir?" - -"Well--Mr. Scantlebray, sir! I fancy you ha'n't offered me quite -enough for carting away of all the rummage from them buildings as is -coming down. 'Tis a terrible lot of stone, and I'm to take 'em so far -away." - -"Why not?" - -"Well, sir, it's such a lot of work for the bosses, and the pay so -poor." - -"Not a morsel, Joshua--not a morsel." - -"Well, sir, I can't do it at the price." - -"Oh, Joshua! Joshua! I thought you'd a better eye to the future. Don't -you see that the new rector will have to build up all these -out-buildings again, and where else is he to get stone except out of -your quarry, or some of the old stone you have carted away, which you -will have the labor of carting back?" - -"Well, sir, I don't know." - -"But I do, Joshua." - -"The new rector might go elsewhere for stone." - -"Not he. Look there, at the winder is Mr. Cargreen, and he's in with -the new parson, like a brother--knows his very soul. The new parson -comes from Birmingham. What can he tell about building-stone here? Mr. -Cargreen will tell him yours is the only stuff that ain't powder." - -"But, sir, he may not rebuild." - -"He must. Mr. Cargreen will tell him that he can't let the glebe -without buildings; and he can't build without your quarry stone: and -if he has your quarry stone--why, you will be given the carting also. -Are you satisfied?" - -"Yes--if Mr. Cargreen would be sure----" - -"He's there at the winder, a-smelling to the jessamine. You go round -and have a talk to him, and make him understand--you know. He's a -little hard o' hearing; but the drum o' his ear is here," said -Scantlebray, tapping his palm. - -Mr. Scantlebray was now left to himself to discuss the chicken -wing--the liver wing he had taken--and sip the port; a conversation -was going on in an undertone at the window; but that concerned Mr. -Cargreen and not himself, so he paid no attention to it. - -After a while, however, when this hum ceased, he turned his head, and -called out: - -"Old man! how about your lunch?" - -"I'm coming." - -"And you found the jessamine very sweet?" - -"Beautiful! beautiful!" - -"Taste this port. It is not what it should be: some the old fellow -laid in when he could afford it--before he married. It is passed, and -going back; should have been drunk five years ago." - -Mr. Cargreen came to the table, and seated himself. Then Mr. -Scantlebray flapped his arms, shook out his legs, and settled himself -to the enjoyment of the lunch, in the society of Mr. Cargreen. - -"The merry-thought! Pull with me, old man?" - -"Certainly!" - -Mr. Scantlebray and Mr. Cargreen were engaged on the merry-thought, -each endeavoring to steal an advantage on the other, by working the -fingers up the bone unduly, when the window was darkened. - -Without desisting from pulling at the merry-thought each turned his -head, and Scantlebray at once let go his end of the bone. At the -window stood Captain Coppinger looking in at the couple, with his -elbow resting on the window-sill. - -Mr. Scantlebray flattered himself that he was on good terms with all -the world, and he at once with hilarity saluted the Captain by raising -the fingers greased by the bone to his brow. - -"Didn't reckon on seeing you here, Cap'n." - -"I suppose not." - -"Come and pick a bone with us?" - -Coppinger laughed a short snort through his nostrils. - -"I have a bone to pick with you already." - -"Never! no, never!" - -"You have forced yourself on Miss Trevisa to act as her agent and -valuer in the matter of dilapidations." - -"Not forced, Captain. She asked me to give her friendly counsel. We -are old acquaintances." - -"I will not waste words. Give me her letter. She no longer requires -your advice and counsel. I am going to act for her." - -"You, Cap'n! Lor' bless me! You don't mean to say so!" - -"Yes. I will protect her against being pillaged. She is my -housekeeper." - -"But see! she is only executrix. She gets nothing out of the -property." - -"No--but her niece and nephew do. Take it that I act for them. Give me -up her letter." - -Mr. Scantlebray hesitated. - -"But, Cap'n, I've been to vast expense. I've entered into -agreements----" - -"With whom?" - -"With carpenter and mason about the repairs." - -"Give me the agreements." - -"Not agreements exactly. They sent me in their estimates, and I -accepted them, and set them to work." - -"Give me the estimates." - -Mr. Scantlebray flapped all his limbs, and shook his head. - -"You don't suppose I carry these sort of things about with me?" - -"I have no doubt whatever they are in your pocket." Scantlebray -fidgeted. - -"Cap'n, try this port--a little going back, but not to be sneezed at." - -Coppinger leaned forward through the window. - -"Who is that man with you?" - -"Mr. Cargreen." - -"What is he here for?" - -"I am agent for the Reverend Mules, the newly appointed rector," said -Mr. Cargreen, with some dignity. - -"Then I request you both to step to the window to me." - -The two men looked at each other. Scantlebray jumped up, and Cargreen -followed. They stood in the window-bay at a respectful distance from -Cruel Coppinger. - -"I suppose you know who I am?" said the latter, fixing his eyes on -Cargreen. - -"I believe I can form a guess." - -"And your duty to your client is to make out as bad a case as you can -against the two children. They have had just one thousand pounds left -them. You are going to get as much of that away from them as you are -permitted." - -"My good sir--allow me to explain----" - -"There is no need," said Coppinger. "Suffice it that you are one side. -I--Cruel Coppinger--on the other. Do you understand what that means?" - -Mr. Cargreen became alarmed, his face became very blank. - -"I am not a man to waste words. I am not a man that many in Cornwall -would care to have as an adversary. Do you ever travel at night, Mr. -Cargreen?" - -"Yes, sir, sometimes." - -"Through the lanes and along the lonely roads?" - -"Perhaps, sir--now and then." - -"So do I," said Coppinger. He drew a pistol from his pocket, and -played with it. The two "dilapidators" shrank back. "So do I," said -Coppinger; "but I never go unarmed. I would advise you to do the -same--if you are my adversary." - -"I hope, Captain, that--that----" - -"If those children suffer through you more than what I allow"--Coppinger -drew up his one shoulder that he could move--"I should advise you to -consider what Mrs. Cargreen will have to live on when a widow." Then -he turned to Scantlebray, who was sneaking behind the window-curtain. - -"Miss Trevisa's letter, authorizing you to act for her?" - -Scantlebray, with shaking hand, groped for his pocket-book. - -"And the two agreements or estimates you signed." - -Scantlebray gave him the letter. - -"The agreements also." - -Nervously the surveyor groped again, and reluctantly produced them. -Captain Coppinger opened them with his available hand. - -"What is this? Five pounds in pencil added to each, and then summed up -in the total? What is the meaning of that, pray?" - -Mr. Scantlebray again endeavored to disappear behind the curtain. - -"Come forward!" shouted Captain Cruel, striking the window-sill with -the pistol. - -Scantlebray jumped out of his retreat at once. - -"What is the meaning of these two five pounds?" - -"Well, sir--Captain--it is usual; every one does it. It is my--what -d'y' call it!--consideration for accepting the estimates." - -"And added to each, and then charged to the orphans, who pay you to -act in their interest--so they pay wittingly, directly, and -unwittingly, indirectly. Well for you and for Mrs. Scantlebray that I -release you of your obligation to act for Mother Dunes--I mean Miss -Trevisa." - -"Sir," said Cargreen, "under the circumstances, under intimidation, I -decline to sully my fingers with the business. I shall withdraw." - -"No, you shall not," said Cruel Coppinger, resolutely. "You shall act, -and act as I approve; and in the end it shall not be to your -disadvantage." - -Then, without a word of farewell, he stood up, slipped the pistol back -into his pocket, and strode away. - -Mr. Cargreen had become white, or rather, the color of dough. After a -moment he recovered himself somewhat, and, turning to Scantlebray, -with a sarcastic air, said-- - -"I hope _you_ enjoy the jessamine. They don't smell particularly sweet -to me." - -"Orful!" groaned Scantlebray. He shook himself--almost shaking off all -his limbs in the convulsion--"Old man--them jessamines is orful!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE CAVE. - - -Some weeks slipped by without bringing to Judith any accession of -anxiety. She did not go again to Pentyre Glaze, but her aunt came once -or twice in the week to Polzeath to see her. Moreover, Miss Dionysia's -manner toward her was somewhat less contrary and vexatious, and she -seemed to put on a conciliatory manner, as far as was possible for one -so angular and crabbed. Gracious she could not be; nature had made it -as impossible for her to be gracious in manner as to be lovely in face -and graceful in movement. - -Moreover, Judith observed that her aunt looked at her with an -expression of perplexity, as though seeking in her to find an answer -to a riddle that vexed her brain. And so it was. Aunt Dunes could not -understand the conduct of Coppinger toward Judith and her brother. Nor -could she understand how a child like her niece could have faced and -defied a man of whom she herself stood in abject fear. Judith had -behaved to the smuggler in a way that no man in the whole countryside -would have ventured to behave. She had thrown him at her feet, half -killed him, and yet Cruel Coppinger did not resent what had been done; -on the contrary, he went out of his way to interfere in the interest -of the orphans. He was not the man to concern himself in other -people's affairs; why should he take trouble on behalf of Judith and -her brother? That he did it out of consideration for herself, Miss -Trevisa had not the assurance to believe. - -Aunt Dunes put a few searching questions to Judith, but drew from her -nothing that explained the mystery. The girl frankly told her of her -visit to the Glaze and interview with the crippled smuggler, of his -offer to her of some of his spoil, and of her refusal to receive a -present from him. Miss Trevisa approved of her niece's conduct in this -respect. It would not have befitted her to accept anything. Judith, -however, did not communicate to her aunt the closing scene in that -interview. She did not tell her that Coppinger had kissed her hand, -nor his excuse for having done so, that he was offering homage to a -queen. - -For one thing, Judith did not attach any importance to this incident. -She had always heard that Coppinger was a wild and insolent man, wild -and insolent in his dealings with his fellow-men, therefore doubtless -still more so in his treatment of defenceless women. He had behaved to -her in the rude manner in which he would behave to any peasant girl or -sailor's daughter who caught his fancy, and she resented his act as an -indignity, and his excuse for it as a prevarication. And, precisely, -because he had offended her maidenly dignity, she blushed to mention -it, even to her aunt, resolving in her own mind not to subject herself -to the like again. - -Miss Trevisa, on several occasions, invited Judith to come and see her -at Pentyre Glaze, but the girl always declined the invitation. - -Judith's estimate of Cruel Coppinger was modified. He could not be the -utter reprobate she had always held him to be. She fully acknowledged -that there was an element of good in the man, otherwise he would not -have forgiven the injury done him, nor would he have interfered to -protect her and Jamie from the fraud and extortion of the -"dilapidators." She trusted that the stories she had heard of -Coppinger's wild and savage acts were false, or overcolored. Her dear -father had been misled by reports, as she had been, and it was -possible that Coppinger had not really been the impediment in her -father's way that the late rector had supposed. - -Jamie was happy. He was even, in a fashion, making himself useful. He -helped Mr. Menaida in his bird-stuffing on rainy days; he did more, he -ran about the cliffs, learned the haunts of the wild-fowl, ascertained -where they nested, made friends with Preventive men, and some of those -fellows living on shore, without any very fixed business, who rambled -over the country with their guns, and from these he was able to obtain -birds that he believed Mr. Menaida wanted. Judith was glad that the -boy should be content, and enjoy the fresh air and some freedom. She -would have been less pleased had she seen the companions Jamie made. -But the men had rough good-humor, and were willing to oblige the -half-witted boy, and they encouraged him to go with them shooting, or -to sit with them in their huts. - -Jamie manifested so strong a distaste for books, and lesson time being -one of resistance, pouting, tears, and failures, that Judith thought -it not amiss to put off the resumption of these irksome tasks for a -little while, and to let the boy have his run of holidays. She fancied -that the loss of his father and of his old home preyed on him more -than was actually the case; and believed that by giving him freedom -till the first pangs were over, he might not suffer in the way that -she had done. - -For a fortnight or three weeks Judith's time had been so fully engaged -at the parsonage, that she could not have devoted much of it to Jamie, -even had she thought it desirable to keep him to his lessons; nor -could she be with him much. She did not press him to accompany her to -the rectory, there to spend the time that she was engaged sorting her -father's letters and memoranda, his account-books and collection of -extracts made from volumes he had borrowed, as not only would it be -tedious to him, but he would distract her mind. She must see that he -was amused, and must also provide that he was not at mischief. She did -take him with her on one or two occasions, and found that he had -occupied himself in disarranging much that she had put together for -the sale. - -But she would not allow him wholly to get out of the way of looking to -her as his companion, and she abandoned an afternoon to him now and -then, as her work became less arduous, to walk with him on the cliffs -or in the lanes, to listen to his childish prattle, and throw herself -into his new pursuits. The link between them must not be allowed to -become relaxed, and, so far as in her lay, she did her utmost to -maintain it in its former security. But, with his father's death, and -his removal to Mr. Menaida's cottage, a new world had opened to Jamie; -he was brought into association with men and boys whom he had hardly -known by sight previously, and without any wish to disengage himself -from his sister's authority, he was led to look to others as comrades, -and to listen to and follow their promptings. - -"Come, Jamie," said Judith, one day. "Now I really have some hours -free, and I will go a stroll with you on the downs." - -The boy jumped with pleasure, and caught her hand. - -"I may take Tib with me?" - -"Oh yes, certainly, dear." - -Tib was a puppy that had been given to Jamie by one of his new -acquaintances. - -The day was fresh. Clouds driving before the wind, now obscuring the -sun and threatening rain, then clearing and allowing the sun to turn -the sea green and gild the land. Owing to the breeze the sea was -ruffled and strewn with breakers shaking their white foam. - -"I am going to show you something I have found, Ju," said the boy. -"You will follow, will you not?" - -"Lead the way. What is it?" - -"Come and see. I found it by myself. I shan't tell any one but you." - -He conducted his sister down the cliffs to the beach of a cove. Judith -halted a moment to look along the coast with its mighty, sombre -cliffs, and the sea glancing with sun or dulled by shadow to Tintagel -Head standing up at the extreme point to the northeast, with the white -surf lashing and heaving around it. Then she drew her skirts together, -and descended by the narrow path along which, with the lightness and -confidence of a kid, Jamie was skipping. - -"Jamie!" she said. "Have you seen?--there is a ship standing in the -offing." - -"Yes; she has been there all the morning." - -Then she went further. - -The cove was small, with precipitous cliffs rising from the sand to -the height of two to three hundred feet. The seagulls screamed and -flashed to and fro, and the waves foamed and threw up their waters -lashed into froth as white and light as the feathers on the gulls. In -the concave bay the roar of the plunging tide reverberated from every -side. Neither the voice of Jamie, when he shouted to his sister from -some feet below, nor the barking of his little dog that ran with him, -could be distinguished by her. - -The descent was rapid and rugged, yet not so precipitous but that it -could be gone over by asses or mules. Evidence that these creatures -had passed that way remained in the impression of their hoofs in the -soil, wherever a soft stratum intervened between the harder shelves of -the rock, and had crumbled on the path into clay. - -Judith observed that several paths--not all mule-paths--converged -lower down at intervals in the way by which she descended, so that it -would be possible, apparently, to reach the sand from various points -in the down, as well as by the main track by which she was stepping to -the beach. - -"Jamie!" called Judith, as she stood on the last shoulder of rock -before reaching the beach over a wave-washed and smoothed surface. -"Jamie! I can see that same ship from here." - -But her brother could not hear her. He was throwing stones for the dog -to run after, and meet a wave as it rushed in. - -The tide was going out: it had marked its highest elevation by a bow -of foam and strips of dark seaweed and broken shells. Judith stepped -along this line, and picked out the largest ribbon of weed she could -find. She would hang it in her bedroom to tell her the weather. The -piece that had been wont to act as barometer was old, and, besides, it -had been lost in the recent shift and confusion. - -Jamie came up to her. - -"Now, Ju, mind and watch me, or you will lose me altogether." - -Then he ran forward, with Tib dancing and yelping round him. Presently -he scrambled up a shelf of rock inclined from the sea, and up after -him, yelping, scrambled Tib. In a moment both disappeared over the -crest. - -Judith went up to the ridge and called to her brother. - -"I cannot climb this, Jamie." - -But in another moment, a hundred yards to her right, round the -extremity of the reef, came Tib and his master, the boy dancing and -laughing, the dog ducking his head, shaking his ears, and, all but -laughing also, evidently enjoying the fun as much as Jamie. - -"This way, Ju!" shouted the boy, and signed to his sister. She could -not hear his voice, but obeyed his gestures. The reef ran athwart the -top of the bay, like the dorsal, jagged ridge of a crocodile half -buried in the sand. - -Judith drew her skirts higher and closer, as the sand was wet, and -there were pools by the rock. Then, holding her ribbon of seaweed by -the harsh, knotted root, torn up along with the leaf, and trailing it -behind her, she followed her brother, reached the end of the rock, -turned and went in the traces of Jamie and Tib in the sand parallel to -her former course. - -Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, on the right hand there opened -before her, in the face of the cliff, a cave, the entrance to which -was completely masked by the ridge she had turned. Into this cave went -Jamie with his dog. - -"I am not obliged to follow you there!" protested Judith; but he made -such vehement signs to her to follow him that she good-humoredly -obeyed. - -The cave ran in a long way, at first at no great incline, then it -became low overhead, and immediately after the floor inclined rapidly -upward, and the vault took a like direction. Moreover, light appeared -in front. Here, to Judith's surprise, she saw a large boat, painted -gray, furnished with oars and boat-hook. She was attached by a chain -to a staple in the rock. Judith examined her with a little uneasiness. -No name was on her. - -The sides of the cave at this point formed shelves, not altogether -natural, and that these were made use of was evident, because on them -lay staves of broken casks, a four-flanged boat-anchor, and some oars. -Out of the main trunk cave branched another that was quite dark, and -smaller; in this, Judith, whose eyes were becoming accustomed to the -twilight, thought she saw the bows of a smaller boat, also painted -gray. - -"Jamie!" said Judith, now in serious alarm; "we ought not to be here. -It is not safe. Do--do come away at once." - -"Why, what is there to harm us?" - -"My dear, do come away." She turned to retrace her steps, but Jamie -stopped her. - -"Not that way, Ju! I have another by which to get out. Follow me -still." - -He led the way up the steep rubble slope, and the light fell fuller -from above. The cave was one of those into which when the sea rolls -and chokes the entrance, the compressed air is driven out by a second -orifice. - -They reached a sort of well or shaft, at the bottom of which they -stood, but it did not open vertically but bent over somewhat, so that -from below the sky could not be seen, though the light entered. A -narrow path was traced in the side, and up this Jamie and the dog -scrambled, followed by Judith, who was most anxious to escape from a -place which she had no doubt was one of the shelter caves of the -smugglers--perhaps of Cruel Coppinger, whose house was not a mile -distant. - -The ascent was steep, the path slippery in places, and therefore -dangerous. Jamie made nothing of it, nor did the little dog, but -Judith picked her way with care; she had a good steady head, and did -not feel giddy, but she was not sure that her feet might not slide in -the clay where wet with water that dripped from the sides. As she -neared the entrance she saw that hartstongue and maidenhair fern had -rooted themselves in the sheltered nooks of this tunnel. - -After a climb of a hundred feet she came out on a ledge in the face of -the cliff above the bay, to see, with a gasp of dismay, her brother in -the hand of Cruel Coppinger, the boy paralyzed with fear so that he -could neither stir nor cry out. - -"What!" exclaimed the Captain, "you here?" as he saw Judith stand -before him. - -The puppy was barking and snapping at his boots. Coppinger let go -Jamie, stooped and caught the dog by the neck. "Look at me," said the -smuggler sternly, addressing the frightened boy. Then he swung the dog -above his head and dashed it down the cliffs; it caught, then rolled, -and fell out of sight--certainly with the life beaten out of it. - -"This will be done to you," said he; "I do not say that I would do it. -She"--he waved his hand toward Judith--"stands between us. But if any -of the fifteen to twenty men who know this place and come here should -chance to meet you as I have met you, he would treat you without -compunction as I have treated that dog. And if he were to catch you -below--you have heard of Wyvill, the Preventive man?--you would fare -as did he. Thank your sister that you are alive now. Go on--that -way--up the cliff." He pointed with a telescope he held. - -Jamie fled up the steep path like the wind. - -"Judith," said Coppinger, "will you stand surety that he does not tell -tales?" - -"I do not believe he will say anything." - -"I do not ask you to be silent. I know you will not speak. But if you -mistrust his power to hold his tongue, send him away--send him out of -the country--as you love him." - -"He shall never come here again," said Judith, earnestly. - -"That is well; he owes his life to you." - -Judith noticed that Cruel Coppinger's left arm was no more in a sling, -nor in bands. - -He saw that she observed this, and smiled grimly. "I have my freedom -with this arm once more--for the first time to-day." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -IN THE DUSK. - - -"Kicking along, Mr. Menaida, old man?" asked Mr. Scantlebray, in his -loud, harsh voice, as he shook himself inside the door of Uncle -Zachie's workshop. "And the little 'uns? Late in life to become nurse -and keep the bottle and pap-bowl going, eh, old man? How's the -orphings? Eating their own weight of victuals at twopence-ha'penny a -head, eh? My experience of orphings isn't such as would make a man -hilarious, and feel that he was filling his pockets." - -"Sit you down, sir; you'll find a chair. Not that one, there's a dab -of arsenical paste got on to that. Sit you down, sir, over against me. -Glad to see you and have some one to talk to. Here am I slaving all -day, worn to fiddlestrings. There's Squire Rashleigh, of Menabilly, -must have a glaucous gull stuffed at once that he has shot; and -there's Sir John St. Aubyn, of Clowance, must have a case of -kittiwakes by a certain day; and an institution in London wants a -genuine specimen of a Cornish chough. Do they think I'm a tradesman to -be ordered about? That I've not an income of my own, and that I am -dependent on my customers? I'll do no more. I'll smoke and play the -piano. I've no time to exchange a word with any one. Come, sit down. -What's the news?" - -"It's a bad world," said Mr. Scantlebray, setting himself into a -chair. "That's to say, the world is well enough if it warn't for there -being too many rascals in it. I consider it's a duty on all -right-thinking men to clear them off." - -"Well, the world would be better if we had the making of it," -acquiesced Mr. Menaida. "Bless you! I've no time for anything. I like -to do a bit of bird-stuffing just as a sort of relaxation after -smoking, but to be forced to work more than one cares--I won't do it! -Besides, it is not wholesome. I shall be poisoned with arsenic. I must -have some antidote. So will you, sir--eh? A drop of real first-rate -cognac?" - -"Thank you, sir--old man--I don't mind dipping a feather and drawing -it across my lips." - -Jamie had been so frightened by the encounter with Cruel Coppinger -that he was thoroughly upset. He was a timid, nervous child, and -Judith had persuaded him to go to bed. She sat by him, holding his -hand, comforting him as best she might, when he sobbed over the loss -of his pup, and cheering him when he clung to her in terror at the -reminiscence of the threats of the Captain to deal with him as he had -with Tib. Judith was under no apprehension of his revisiting the cave; -he had been too thoroughly frightened ever to venture there again. She -said nothing to impress this on him; all her efforts were directed -toward allaying his alarms. - -Just as she hoped that he was dropping off into unconsciousness, he -suddenly opened his eyes, and said, "Ju." - -"Yes, dear." - -"I've lost the chain." - -"What chain, my pretty?" - -"Tib's chain." - -The pup had been a trouble when Jamie went with the creature through -the village or through a farm-yard. He would run after and nip the -throats of chickens. Tib and his master had got into trouble on this -account; accordingly Judith had turned out a light steel chain, -somewhat rusty, and a dog collar from among the sundries that -encumbered the drawers and closets of the rectory. This she had given -to her brother, and whenever the little dog was near civilization he -was obliged to submit to the chain. - -Judith, to console Jamie for his loss, had told him that in all -probability another little dog might be procured to be his companion. -Alas! the collar was on poor Tib, but she represented to him that if -another dog were obtained it would be possible to buy or beg a collar -for him, supposing a collar to be needful. This had satisfied Jamie, -and he was about to doze off, when suddenly he woke to say that the -chain was lost. - -"Where did you lose the chain, Jamie?" - -"I threw it down." - -"Why did you do that?" - -"I thought I shouldn't want it when Tib was gone." - -"And where did you throw it? Perhaps it may be found again." - -"I won't go and look for it--indeed I won't." He shivered and clung to -his sister. - -"Where was it? Perhaps I can find it." - -"I dropped it at the top--on the down when I came up the steps -from--from that man, when he had killed Tib." - -"You did not throw it over the cliff?" - -"No--I threw it down. I did not think I wanted it any more." - -"I dare say it may be found. I will go and see." - -"No--no! Don't, Ju. You might meet that man." - -Judith smiled. She felt that she was not afraid of that man--he would -not hurt her. - -As soon as the boy was asleep, Judith descended the stairs, leaving -the door ajar, that she might hear should he wake in a fright, and -entering the little sitting-room, took up her needles and wool, and -seated herself quietly by the window, where the last glimmer of -twilight shone, to continue her work at a jersey she was knitting for -Jamie's use in the winter. - -The atmosphere was charged with tobacco-smoke, almost as much as that -of the adjoining workshop. There was no door between the rooms; none -had been needed formerly, and Mr. Menaida did not think of supplying -one now. It was questionable whether one would have been an advantage, -as Jamie ran to and fro, and would be certain either to leave the door -open or to slam it, should one be erected. Moreover, a door meant -payment to a carpenter for timber and labor. There was no carpenter in -the village, and Mr. Menaida spent no more money than he was -absolutely obliged to spend, and how could he on an annuity of fifty -pounds. - -Judith dropped her woolwork in her lap and fell into meditation. She -reviewed what had just taken place: she saw before her again -Coppinger, strongly built, with his dark face, and eyes that glared -into the soul to its lowest depths, illumining all, not as the sun, -but as the lightning, and suffering not a thought, not a feeling to -remain obscure. - -A second time had Jamie done what angered him, but on this occasion -he had curbed his passion and had contented himself with a -threat--nay, not even that--with a caution. He had expressly told -Jamie, that he himself would not hurt him, but that he ran into danger -from others. - -She was again looking at Coppinger as he spoke; she saw the changes in -his face, the alterations of expression in his eyes, in his -intonation. She recalled the stern, menacing tone in which he had -spoken to Jamie, and then the inflexion of voice as he referred to -her. A dim surmise--a surmise she was ashamed to allow could be -true--rose in her mind and thrilled her with alarm. Was it possible -that he _liked_ her--liked--she could, she would give even in thought -no other term to describe that feeling which she feared might possibly -have sprung up in his breast. That he liked her--after all she had -done? Was that why he had come to the cottage the day after his -accident? Was that what had prompted the strange note sent to her -along with the keg of spirits to Uncle Zachie? Was that the meaning of -the offer of the choice of all his treasures?--of the vehemence with -which he had seized her hand and had kissed it? Was that the -interpretation of those words of excuse in which he had declared her -his queen? If this were so, then much that had been enigmatical in his -conduct was explained--his interference with the valuers for -dilapidations, the strange manner in which he came across her path -almost whenever she went to the rectory. And this was the -signification of the glow in his eyes, the quaver in his voice, when -he addressed her. - -Was it so?--could it be so?--that he liked her?--he--Cruel -Coppinger--_Cruel_ Coppinger--the terror of the country round--liked -_her_, the weakest creature that could be found? - -The thought of such a possibility frightened her. That the wild -smuggler-captain should hate her she could have borne with better than -that he should like her. That she was conscious of a sense of pleased -surprise, intermixed with fear, was inevitable, for Judith was a -woman, and there was something calculated to gratify feminine pride in -the presumption that the most lawless and headstrong man on the -Cornish coast should have meant what he said when he declared himself -her subject. - -These thoughts, flushing and paling her cheek, quickening and staying -her pulse, so engrossed Judith that, though she heard the voices in -the adjoining apartment, she paid no heed to what was said. - -The wind, which had been fresh all day, was blowing stronger. It -battered at the window where Judith sat, as though a hand struck and -brushed over the panes. - -"Hot or cold?" asked Uncle Zachie. - -"Thanky', neither. Water can be got everywhere, but such brandy as -this, old man--only here." - -"You are good to say so. It is Coppinger's present to me." - -"Coppinger!--his very good health, and may he lie in clover to-morrow -night. He's had one arm bound, I've seen; perhaps he may have two -before the night grows much older." - -Mr. Menaida raised his brows. - -"I do not understand you." - -"I daresay not," said Scantlebray. "It's the duty of all right-minded -men to clear the world of rascals. I will do my duty, please the pigs. -Would you mind--just another drop?" - -After his glass had been refilled, Mr. Scantlebray leaned back in his -chair and said: - -"It's a wicked world, and, between you and me and the sugar dissolving -at the bottom of my glass, you won't find more rascality anywhere than -in my profession, and one of the biggest rascals in it is Mr. -Cargreen. He's on the side against the orphings. If you've the faculty -of pity in you, pity them--first, because they've him agin' 'em, and, -secondly, because they've lost me as their protector. You know whom -they got in place of me? I wish them joy of him. But they won't have -his wing over them long, I can tell you." - -"You think not?" - -"Sure of it." - -"You think he'll throw it up?" - -"I rather suspect he won't be at liberty to attend to it. He'll want -his full attention to his own consarns." - -Mr. Scantlebray tipped off his glass. - -"It's going to be a dirty night," said he. "You won't mind my spending -an hour or two with you, will you?" - -"I shall be delighted. Have you any business in the place?" - -"Business--no. A little pleasure, maybe." After a pause, he said, -"But, old man, I don't mind telling you what it is. You are mum, I -know. It is this--the trap will shut to-night. Snap it goes, and the -rats are fast. You haven't been out on the cliffs to-day, have you?" - -"No--bless me!--no, I have not." - -"The Black Prince is in the offing." - -"The Black Prince?" - -"Ay, and she will run her cargo ashore to-night. Now, I'm one who -knows a little more than most. I'm one o' your straightfor'ard 'uns, -always ready to give a neighbor a lift in my buggy, and a helping hand -to the man that is down, and a frank, outspoken fellow am I to every -one I meet--so that, knocking about as I do, I come to know and to -hear more than do most, and I happen to have learnt into what cove the -Black Prince will run her goods. I've a bone to pick with Captain -Cruel, so I've let the Preventive men have the contents of my -information-pottle, and they will be ready to-night for Coppinger and -the whole party of them. The cutter will slip in between them and the -sea, and a party will be prepared to give them the kindliest welcome -by land. That is the long and short of it--and, old man, I shall -dearly love to be there and see the sport. That is why I wish to be -with you for an hour or two. Will you come as well?" - -"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Menaida, "not I! You don't suppose Coppinger -and his men will allow themselves to be taken easily? There'll be a -fight." - -"And pistols go off," said Scantlebray. "I shall not be surprised or -sorry if Captain Cruel be washed up one of these next tides with a -bullet through his head. Ebenezer Wyvill is one of the guards, and he -has his brother's death to avenge." - -"Do you really believe that Coppinger killed him?" - -Mr. Scantlebray shrugged his shoulders. "It don't matter much what _I_ -think, to-night, but what the impression is that Ebenezer Wyvill -carries about with him. I imagine that if Ebenezer comes across the -Captain he won't speak to him by word of mouth, nor trouble himself to -feel for a pair of handcuffs. So--fill my glass again, old man, and -we'll drink to a cold bed and an indigestible lump--somewhere--in his -head or in his gizzard--to Cruel Coppinger, and the wiping off of old -scores--always a satisfaction to honest men." Scantlebray rubbed his -hands. "It is a satisfaction to the conscience--to ferret out the rats -sometimes." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WARNING OF DANGER. - - -Judith, lost for awhile in her dreams, had been brought to a sense of -what was the subject of conversation in the adjoining room by the -mention of Coppinger's name more than once. She heard the desultory -talk for awhile without giving it much attention, but Scantlebray's -voice was of that harsh and penetrating nature that to exclude it the -ears must be treated as Ulysses treated the ears of his mariners as he -passed the rock of the Sirens. - -Presently she became alive to the danger in which Coppinger stood. -Scantlebray spoke plainly, and she understood. There could be no doubt -about it. The Black Prince belonged to the Captain, and his dealings -with and through that vessel were betrayed. Not only was Coppinger, as -the head of a gang of smugglers, an object worth capture to the -Preventive men, but the belief that he had caused the death of at -least one of their number had embittered them against him to such an -extent that, when the opportunity presented itself to them of -capturing him red-handed engaged in his smuggling transactions, they -were certain to deal with him in a way much more summary than the -processes of a court of a justice. The brother of the man who had been -murdered was among the coast-guard, and he would not willingly let -slip a chance of avenging the death of Jonas Wyvill. Coppinger was not -in a condition to defend himself effectively. On that day for the -first time, had he left off his bandages, and his muscles were stiff -and the newly set bones still weak. - -What was to be done? Could Judith go to bed and let Coppinger run into -the net prepared for his feet--go to his death? - -No sooner, however, had Judith realized the danger that menaced -Coppinger than she resolved on doing her utmost to avert it. She, and -she alone, could deliver him from the disgrace, if not the death, that -menaced him. - -She stole lightly from the room and got her cloak, drew the hood over -her head, and sallied forth into the night. Heavy clouds rolled over -the sky, driven before a strong gale. Now and then they opened and -disclosed the twilight sky, in which faintly twinkled a few stars, and -at such times a dim light fell over the road, but in another moment -lumbering masses of vapor were carried forward, blotting out the clear -tract of sky, and at the same time blurring all objects on earth with -one enveloping shadow. - -Judith's heart beat furiously, and timidity came over her spirit as -she left the cottage, for she was unaccustomed to be outside the house -at such an hour; but the purpose she had before her eyes gave her -strength and courage. It seemed to her that Providence had suddenly -constituted her the guardian angel of Coppinger, and she flattered -herself that, were she to be the means of delivering him from the -threatened danger, she might try to exact of him a promise to -discontinue so dangerous and so questionable a business. If this night -she were able to give him warning in time, it would be some return -made for his kindness to her, and some reparation made for the injury -she had done him. When for an instant there was a rift in the clouds, -and she could look up and see the pure stars, it seemed to her that -they shone down on her like angels' eyes, watching, encouraging, and -promising her protection. She thought of her father--of how his mind -had been set against Coppinger; now, she felt convinced, he saw that -his judgment had been warped, and that he would bless her for doing -that which she had set her mind to accomplish. Her father had been -ever ready frankly to acknowledge himself in the wrong when he had -been convinced that he was mistaken, and now in the light of eternity, -with eyes undarkened by prejudice, he must know that he was in error -in his condemnation of Coppinger, and be glad that his daughter was -doing something to save that man from an untimely and bloody death. - -Not a soul did Judith meet or pass on her way. She had determined in -the first case to go to Pentyre Glaze. She would see if Captain Cruel -were there. She trusted he was at his house. If so, her course was -simple; she would warn him and return to Mr. Menaida's cottage as -quickly as her feet would bear her. The wind caught her cloak, and she -turned in alarm, fancying that it was plucked by a human hand. No one, -however, was behind her. - -In Pentyre lane it was dark, very dark. The rude half-walls, -half-hedges stood up high, walled toward the lane hedged with earth -and planted with thorns toward the field. The wind hissed through the -bushes; there was an ash tree by a gate. One branch sawed against -another, producing a weird, even shrill sound like a cry. - -The way led past a farm, and she stole along before it with the utmost -fear as she heard the dog in the yard begin to bark furiously, and as -she believed that it was not chained up, might rush forth at her. It -might fall upon her, and hold her there till the farmer came forth and -found her, and inquired into the reason of her being there at night. -If found and recognized, what excuse could she give? What explanation -could satisfy the inquisitive? - -She did not breathe freely till she had come out on the down; the dog -was still barking, but, as he had not pursued her, she was satisfied -that he was not at large. Her way now lay for a while over open -common, and then again entered a lane between the hedges that enclosed -the fields and meadows of the Glaze. - -A dense darkness fell over the down, and Judith for a while was -uncertain of her way, the track being undistinguishable from the short -turf on either side. Suddenly she saw some flashes of light that ran -along the ground and then disappeared. - -"This is the road," said a voice. - -Judith's heart stood still, and her blood curdled in her veins. If the -cloud were to roll away--and she could see far off its silvery fringe, -she would become visible. The voice was that of a man, but whether -that of a smuggler or of a coast-guard she could not guess. By neither -did she care to be discovered. By the dim, uncertain light she stole -off the path, and sank upon the ground among some masses of gorse that -stood on the common. Between the prickly tufts she might lie, and in -her dark cloak be mistaken for a patch of furze. She drew her feet -under the skirt, that the white stockings might not betray her, and -plucked the hood of her cloak closely round her face. The gorse was -sharp, and the spikes entered her hands and feet, and pricked her as -she turned herself about between the bushes to bring herself deeper -among them. - -From where she lay she could see the faintly illumined horizon, and -against that horizon figures were visible, one--then another--a -third--she could not count accurately, for there came several -together; but she was convinced there must have been over a dozen men. - -"It's a'most too rough to-night, I reckon," said one of the men. - -"No, it is not--the wind is not direct on shore. They'll try it." - -"Coppinger and his chaps are down in the cove already," said a third. -"They wouldn't go out if they wasn't expecting the boats from the -Black Prince." - -"You are sure they're down, Wyvill?" - -"Sure and sartain. I seed 'em pass, and mighty little I liked to let -'em go by--without a pop from my pistol. But I'd my orders. No orders -against the pistol going off of itself, Captain, if I have a chance -presently?" - -No answer was given to this; but he who had been addressed as Captain -asked-- - -"Are the asses out?" - -"Yes; a whole score, I reckon." - -"Then they'll come up the mule path. We must watch that. Lieutenant -Hanson will be ready with the cutter to run out and stop their way -back by water to the Prince. The Prince's men will take to the sea, -and he'll settle with them; but Coppinger's men will run up the -cliffs, and we must tackle them. Go on." - -Several now disappeared into the darkness, moving toward the sea. - -"Here, a word with you, Wyvill," said the Captain. - -"Right, sir--here I be." - -"Dash it!--it is so dark! Here, step back--a word in your ear." - -"Right you are, sir." - -They came on to the turf close to where Judith crouched. - -"What is that?" said the Captain, hastily. - -"What, sir?" - -"I thought I trod on something like cloth. Have you a light?" - -"No, sir! Home has the dark lantern." - -"I suppose it is nothing. What is all that dark stuff there?" - -"I'll see, sir," said Wyvill, stooping, and with his hand. "By George, -sir! it's naught but fuzz." - -"Very well, Wyvill--a word between us. I know that if you have the -chance you intend to send a bullet into Coppinger. I don't blame you. -I won't say I wouldn't do it--unofficially--but looky' here, man, if -you can manage without a bullet--say a blow with the butt-end on his -forehead and a roll over the cliffs--I'd prefer it. In self-defence of -course we must use fire-arms. But there's some squeamish stomachs, you -understand; and if it can come about accidentally, as it were--as if -he'd missed his footing--I'd prefer it. Make it pleasant all around, -if you can." - -"Yes, sir; leave it to me." - -"It oughtn't to be difficult, you know, Wyvill. I hear he's broke one -arm, so is like to be insecure in his hold climbing the cliffs. Then -no questions asked, and more pleasant, you know. You understand me?" - -"Yes, sir; thank you, sir." - -Then they went on, and were lost to sight and to hearing. For some -minutes Judith did not stir. She lay, recovering her breath; she had -hardly ventured to breathe while the two men were by her, the Captain -with his foot on her skirt. Now she remained motionless, to consider -what was to be done. It was of no further use her going on to Pentyre -Glaze. Coppinger had left it. Wyvill, who had been planted as spy, had -seen him with his carriers defile out of the lane with the asses that -were to bring up the smuggled goods from the shore. - -She dare not take the path by which on the preceding afternoon she had -descended with Jamie to the beach, for it was guarded by the -Preventive men. - -There was but one way by which she could reach the shore and warn -Coppinger, and that was by the chimney of the cave--a way dangerous in -daylight, one, moreover, not easy to find at night. The mouth of the -chimney opened upon a ledge that overhung the sea half-way down the -face of the precipice, and this ledge could only be reached by a -narrow track--a track apparently traced by sheep. - -Judith thought that she might find her way to that part of the down -from which the descent was to be made; for she had noticed that what -is locally called a "new-take" wall came near it, and if she could hit -this wall, she believed she could trace it up to where it approached -the cliff: and the track descended somewhere thereabouts. She waited -where she lay till the heavy clouds rolled by, and for a brief space -the sky was comparatively clear. Then she rose, and took the direction -in which she ought to go to reach the "new-take" wall. As she went -over the down, she heard the sea roaring threateningly; on her left -hand the glint of the light-house on Trevose Head gave her the -direction she must pursue. But, on a down like that, with a precipice -on one hand, in a light, uncertain at best, often in complete -darkness, it was dangerous to advance except by thrusting the foot -forward tentatively before taking a step. The sea and the gnawing -winds caused the cliffs to crumble; bits were eaten out of the -surface, and in places there were fissures in the turf where a rent -had formed, and where shortly a mass would fall. - -It is said that the duties on customs were originally instituted in -order to enable the Crown to afford protection to trade against -pirates. The pirates ceased to infest the seas, but the duties were -not only taken off, but were increased, and became a branch of the -public revenue. Perhaps some consciousness that the profits were not -devoted to the purpose originally intended, bred in the people on the -coast a feeling of resentment against the imposition of duties. There -certainly existed an impression, a conviction rather, that the -violation of a positive law of this nature was in no respect criminal. -Adventurers embarked in the illicit traffic without scruple, as they -did in poaching. The profit was great, and the danger run enhanced the -excitement of the pursuit, and gave a sort of heroic splendor to the -achievements of the successful smuggler. - -The Government, to stop a traffic that injured legitimate trade and -affected the revenue, imposed severe penalties. Smuggling was classed -among the felonies, "without benefit of clergy," the punishment for -which was death and confiscation of goods. The consciousness that -they would be dealt with with severity did not deter bold men from -engaging in the traffic, but made them desperate in self-defence when -caught. Conflicts with revenue officers were not uncommon, and lives -were lost on both sides. The smugglers were not bound together by any -link, and sometimes one gang was betrayed by another, so as to divert -suspicion and attention from their own misdeeds, or out of jealousy, -or on account of a quarrel. It was so on this occasion: the success of -Coppinger, the ingenuity with which he had carried on his defiance of -the law, caused envy of him, because he was a foreigner--was, at all -events, not a Cornishman; this had induced a rival to give notice to -the Revenue officers, through Scantlebray--a convenient go-between in -a good many questionable negotiations. The man who betrayed Coppinger -dared not be seen entering into communication with the officers of the -law. He, therefore, employed Scantlebray as the vehicle through whom, -without suspicion resting on himself, his rival might be fallen upon -and his proceedings brought to an end. - -It was now very dark. Judith had reached and touched a wall; but in -the darkness lost her bearings. The Trevose light was no longer -visible, and directly she left the wall to strike outward she became -confused as direction, and in the darkness groped along with her feet, -stretching her hands before her. Then the rain came down, lashing in -her face. The wind had shifted somewhat during the evening, and it was -no guidance to Judith to feel from what quarter the rain drove against -her. Moreover, the cove formed a great curve in the coast-line, and -was indented deeply in some places, so that to grope round the edge -without light in quest of a point only seen or noticed once, seemed a -desperate venture. Suddenly Judith's foot caught. It was entangled, -and she could not disengage it. She stooped, and put her hand on a -chain. It was Jamie's steel dog-chain, one link of which had caught in -a tuft of rest-harrow. - -She had found the spot she wanted, and now waited only till the rain -had rushed further inland, and a fringe of light appeared in the sky, -to advance to the very edge of the cliff. She found it expedient to -stoop as she proceeded, so as to discover some indications of the -track. There were depressions where feet had worn the turf, and she -set hers therein, and sought the next. Thus, creeping and groping, she -neared the edge. - -And now came the moment of supreme peril, when, trusting that she had -found the right path, she must go over the brink. If she were -mistaken, the next step would send her down two hundred feet, to where -she heard the roar, and felt the breath of the sea stream up to her -from the abyss. Here she could distinguish nothing; she must trust to -Providence to guide her steps. She uttered a short and earnest prayer, -and then boldly descended. She could not stoop now. To stoop was to -dive headlong down. She felt her way, however, with her feet, reached -one firm station, then another. Her hands touched the grass and earth -of the ragged margin, then with another step she was below it, and -held to the rain-splashed fangs of rock. - -Clinging, with her face inward, feeling with her feet, and never sure -but that the next moment might see her launched into air, she stole -onward, slowly, cautiously, and ever with the gnawing dread in her -heart lest she should be too late. One intense point of consciousness -stood out in her brain--it told her that if, while thus creeping down, -there should come the flash and explosion of fire-arms, her courage -would fail, her head would spin, and she would be lost. - -How long she was descending she could not tell, how many steps she -took was unknown to her--she had not counted--but it seemed to her an -entire night that passed, with every change of position an hour was -marked; then, at last, she was conscious that she stood on more level -ground. She had reached the terrace. - -A little further, and on her left hand, would open the mouth of the -shaft, and she must descend that, in profoundest darkness. A cry! A -light flashed into her eyes and dazzled her. A hand at the same moment -clutched her, or she would have reeled back and gone over the cliff. - -The light was held to pour over her face. Who held it and who grasped -her she could not see; but she knew the moment she heard a voice -exclaim-- - -"Judith!" - -In her terror and exhaustion she could but gasp for breath for a few -moments. - -By degrees her firmness and resolution returned, and she exclaimed, -in broken tones, panting between every few words-- - -"Captain Cruel!--you are betrayed--they are after you!" - -He did not press her. He waited till she could speak again, lowering -the lantern. - -Then, without the glare in her eyes, she was able to speak more -freely. - -"There is a boat--a Revenue cutter--waiting in the -bay--and--above--are the Preventive men--and they will kill you." - -"Indeed," said he. "And you have come to warn me?" - -"Yes." - -"Tell me--are there any above, where you came down!" - -"None; they are on the ass-path." - -"Can you ascend as you came down?" - -"Yes." - -He extinguished his lantern, or covered it. - -"I must no more show light. I must warn those below." He paused, then -said-- - -"Dare you mount alone." - -"I came down alone." - -"Then do this one thing more for me. Mount, and go to Pentyre. Tell -your aunt--three lights--red, white, red; then ten minutes, and then, -red, red, white. Can you remember? Repeat after me: 'Three -lights--red, white, red; then, ten minutes, and next, red, red, and -white.'" - -Judith repeated the words. - -"That is right. Lose no time. I dare not give you a light. None must -now be shown. The boat from the Black Prince is not in--this lantern -was her guide. Now it is out she will go back. You will remember the -signals? I thank you for what you have done. There is but one woman -would have done it, and that Judith." - -He stepped inside the shaft to descend. When hidden, he allowed his -light again to show, to assist him in his way down. Judith only waited -till her eyes, that had been dazzled by the light, were recovered, and -then she braced herself to resume her climb; but now it was to be up -the cliff. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -CHAINED. - - -To ascend is easier than to go down. Judith was no longer alarmed. -There was danger still, that was inevitable; but the danger was as -nothing now to what it had been. It is one thing to descend in total -darkness into an abyss where one knows that below are sharp rocks, and -a drop of two hundred feet to a thundering, raging sea, racing up the -sand, pouring over the shelves of rock, foaming where divided waves -clash. When Judith had been on the beach in the afternoon the tide was -out; now it was flowing, and had swept over all that tract of white -sand and pebble where she had walked. She could not indeed now see the -water, but she heard the thud of a billow as it smote a rock, the boil -and the hiss of the waves and spray. To step downward, groping the -way, with a depth and a wild-throbbing sea beneath, demanded courage, -and courage of no mean order; but it was other to mount, to be able to -feel with the foot the ascent in the track, and to grope upward with -the hand from one point of clutch to another, to know that every step -upward was lessening the peril, and bringing nearer to the sward and -to safety. - -Without great anxiety, therefore, Judith turned to climb. Cruel -Coppinger had allowed her to essay it unaided. Would he have done that -had he thought it involved danger, or, rather, serious danger? Judith -was sure he would not. His confidence that she could climb to the -summit unassisted made her confident. As she had descended she had -felt an interior qualm and sinking at every step she took; there was -no such sensation now as she mounted. - -She was not much inconvenienced by the wind, for the wind was not -directly on shore; but it soughed about her, and eddies caught her -cloak and jerked it. It would have been better had she left her cloak -above on the turf. It incommoded her in her climb; it caught in the -prongs of rock. - -The rain, the water running off the rock, had wet her shoes, soaked -them, and every step was in moisture that oozed out of them. She was -glad now to rest on her right hand. In descending, the left had felt -and held the rock, and it had been rubbed and cut. Probably it was -bleeding. - -Surely there was a little more light in the sky where the sky showed -between the dense masses of vapor. Judith did not observe this, for -she did not look aloft; but she could see a steely tract of sea, -fretted into foam, reflecting an illumination from above, greater than -the twilight could cast. Then she remembered that there had been a -moon a few nights before, and thought that it was probably risen by -this time. - -Something chill and wet brushed her face. It startled her for a -moment, and then she knew by the scent that it was a bunch of samphire -growing out of the side of the crag. - -Shrill in her ear came the scream of a gull that rushed by in the -darkness, and she felt, or believed she felt, the fan from the wings. -Again it screamed, and near the ear it pierced her brain like an awl, -and then again, still nearer, unnerving her. In the darkness she -fancied that this gull was about to attack her with beak and claws, -and she put up her left arm as a protection to her eyes. Then there -broke out a jabber of sea-birds' voices, laughing mockingly, at a -little distance. - -Whither had she got! - -The way was no longer easy--one step before another--there was a break -of continuity in the path, if path the track could be called. - -Judith stood still, and put forward her foot to test the rock in -front. There was no place where it could rest. Had she, bewildered by -that gull, diverged from the track? It would be well to retreat a few -steps. She endeavored to do this, and found that she encountered a -difficulty in finding the place where she had just planted her foot. - -It was but too certain that she was off the track line. How to recover -it she knew not. With the utmost difficulty she did reach a point in -her rear where she could stand, clinging to the rock; but she clung -now with both hands. There was no tuft of samphire to brush her face -as she descended. She must have got wrong before she touched that. But -where was the samphire? She cautiously felt along the surface of the -crag in quest of it, but could not find it. There was, however, a -little above her shoulder, a something that felt like a ledge, and -which might be the track. If she had incautiously crept forward at a -level without ascending rapidly enough, she was probably below the -track. Could she climb to this point--climb up the bare rock, with -sheer precipice below her? And, supposing that the shelf she felt with -her hand were not the track, could she descend again to the place -where she had been? - -Her brain spun. She lost all notion as to where she might be--perhaps -she was below the path, perhaps she was above it. She could not tell. -She stood with arms extended, clinging to the rock, and her heart beat -in bounds against the flinty surface. The clasp of her cloak was -pressing on her throat, and strangling her. The wind had caught the -garment, and was playing with the folds, carrying it out and flapping -it behind her over the gulf. It was irksome; it was a danger to her. -She cautiously slid one hand to her neck, unhasped the mantle, and it -was snatched from her shoulders and carried away. She was lighter -without it, could move with greater facility; cold she was not, wet -she might become, but what mattered that if she could reach the top of -the cliff? - -Not only on her own account was Judith alarmed. She had undertaken a -commission. She had promised to bear a message to her aunt from -Coppinger that concerned the safety of his men. What the signal meant -she did not know, but suspected that it conveyed a message of danger. - -She placed both her hands on the ledge, and felt with her knee for -some point on which to rest it, to assist her in lifting herself from -where she stood to the higher elevation. There was a small projection, -and after a moment's hesitation she drew her foot from the shelf -whereon it had rested and leaned the left knee on this hunch. Then she -clung with both hands, and with them and her knee endeavored to heave -herself up about four feet, that is, to the height of her shoulders. A -convulsive quiver seized on her muscles. She was sustained by a knee -and her hands only. If they gave way she could not trust to recover -her previous lodgement place. One desperate strain, and she was on the -ledge, on both knees, and was feeling with her hands to ascertain if -she had found the track. Her fingers touched thrift and passed over -turf. She had not reached what she sought. She was probably farther -from it than before. As all her members were quivering after the -effort, she seated herself on the shelf she had reached, leaned back -against the wet rock, and waited till her racing pulses had recovered -evenness of flow, and her muscles had overcome the first effects of -their tension. - -Her position was desperate. Rain and perspiration mingled dripped from -her brow, ran over and blinded her eyes. Her breath came in sobs -between her parted lips. Her ears were full of the booming of the -surge far below, and the scarcely less noisy throb of her blood in her -pulses. - -When she had started on her adventurous expedition she had seen some -stars that had twinkled down on her, and had appeared to encourage -her. Now, not a star was visible, only, far off on the sea, a wan -light that fell through a rent in the black canopy over an angry deep. -Beyond that all was darkness, between her and that all was darkness. - -As she recovered her self-possession, with the abatement of the tumult -in her blood she was able to review her position, and calculate her -chances of escape from it. - -Up the track from the cave the smugglers would almost certainly -escape, because that was the only way, unwatched, by which they could -leave the beach without falling into the hands of the Preventive men. - -If they came by the path--that path could not be far off, though in -which direction it lay she could not guess. She would call, and then -Coppinger or some of his men would come to her assistance. - -By this means alone could she escape. There was nothing for her to do -but to wait. - -She bent forward and looked down. She might have been looking into a -well; but a little way out she could see, or imagine she saw, the -white fringes of surf stealing in. There was not sufficient light for -her to be certain whether she really saw foam, or whether her fancy, -excited by the thunder of the tide, made her suppose she saw it. - -The shelf she occupied was narrow and inclined; if she slipped from it -she could not trust to maintain herself on the lower shelf, certainly -not if she slid down in a condition of unconsciousness. And now -reaction after the strain was setting in, and she feared lest she -might faint. In her pocket was the dog-chain that had caught her foot. -She extracted that now, and groping along the wall of rock behind her, -caught a stout tuft of coarse heather, wiry, well rooted; and she took -the little steel chain and wound it about the branches and stem of the -plant, and also about her wrist--her right wrist--so as to fasten her -to the wall. That was some relief to her to know that in the event of -her dropping out of consciousness there was something to hold her up, -though that was only the stem of an erica, and her whole weight would -rest on its rootlets. Would they suffice to sustain her? It was -doubtful; but there was nothing else on which she could depend. - -Suddenly a stone whizzed past, struck the ledge, and rebounded. Then -came a shower of earth and pebbles. They did not touch her, but she -heard them clatter down. - -Surely they had been displaced by a foot, and that a foot passing -above. - -Then she heard a shot--also overhead, and a cry. She looked aloft, and -saw against the half-translucent vapors a black struggling figure on -the edge of the cliff. She saw it but for an instant, and then was -struck on the face by an open hand, and a body crashed on to the shelf -at her side, rolled over the edge, and plunged into the gulf below. - -She tried to cry, but her voice failed her. She felt her cheek stung -by the blow she had received. A feeling as though all the rock were -sinking under her came on, as though she were sliding--not -shooting--but sliding down, down, and the sky went up higher, -higher--and she knew no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -ON THE SHINGLE. - - -The smugglers, warned by Coppinger, had crept up the path in silence, -and singly, at considerable intervals between each, and on reaching -the summit of the cliffs had dispersed to their own homes, using the -precaution to strike inland first, over the "new-take" wall. - -As the last of the party reached the top he encountered one of the -coast-guards, who, by the orders of his superior, was patrolling the -down to watch that the smugglers did not leave the cove by any other -path than the one known--that up and down which donkeys were driven. -This donkey-driving to the beach was not pursued solely for the sake -of contraband; the beasts brought up loads of sand, which the farmers -professed they found valuable as manure on their stiff soil, and also -the masses of seaweed cast on the strand after a gale, and which was -considered to be possessed of rare fertilizing qualities. - -No sooner did the coast-guard see a man ascend the cliff, or rather -come up over the edge before him, than he fired his pistol to give the -signal to his fellows, whereupon the smuggler turned, seized him by -the throat, and precipitated him over the edge. - -Of this Coppinger knew nothing. He had led the procession, and had -made his way to Pentyre Glaze by a roundabout route, so as to evade a -guard set to watch for him approaching from the cliffs, should one -have been so planted. - -On reaching his door, his first query was whether the signals had been -made. - -"What signals?" asked Miss Trevisa. - -"I sent a messenger here with instructions." - -"No messenger has been here." - -"What, no one--not--" he hesitated, and said, "not a woman?" - -"Not a soul has been here--man, woman, or child--since you left." - -"No one to see you?" - -"No one at all, Captain." - -Coppinger did not remove his hat; he stood in the doorway biting his -thumb. Was it possible that Judith had shrunk from coming to his house -to bear the message? Yet she had promised to do so. Had she been -intercepted by the Preventive men? Had--had she reached the top of the -cliff? Had she, after reaching the top, lost her way in the dark, -taken a false direction, and--Coppinger did not allow the thought to -find full expression in his brain. He turned, without another word, -and hastened to the cottage of Mr. Menaida. He must ascertain whether -she had reached home. - -Uncle Zachie had not retired to bed; Scantlebray had been gone an -hour; Zachie had drunk with Scantlebray, and he had drunk after the -departure of that individual to indemnify himself for the loss of his -company. Consequently Mr. Menaida was confused in mind and thick in -talk. - -"Where is Judith?" asked Coppinger, bursting in on him. - -"In bed, I suppose," answered Uncle Zachie, after a while, when he -comprehended the question, and had had time to get over his surprise -at seeing the Captain. - -"Are you sure? When did she come in?" - -"Come in?" said the old man, scratching his forehead with his pipe. -"Come in--bless you, I don't know; some time in the afternoon. Yes, to -be sure it was, some time in the afternoon." - -"But she has been out to-night?" - -"No--no--no," said Uncle Zachie, "it was Scantlebray." - -"I say she has--she has been to--" he paused, then said--"to see her -aunt." - -"Aunt Dunes! bless my heart, when?" - -"To-night." - -"Impossible!" - -"But I say she has. Come, Mr. Menaida. Go up to her room, knock at the -door, and ascertain if she be back. Her aunt is alarmed--there are -rough folks about." - -"Why, bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Menaida, "so there are. And--well, -wonders'll never cease. How came you here! I thought the guard were -after you. Scantlebray said so." - -"Will you go at once and see if Judith Trevisa is home?" - -Coppinger spoke with such vehemence, and looked so threateningly at -the old man, that he staggered out of his chair, and, still holding -his pipe, went to the stairs. - -"Bless me!" said he, "whatever am I about? I've forgot a candle. Would -you oblige me with lighting one? My hand shakes, and I might light my -fingers by mistake." - -After what seemed to Coppinger to be an intolerable length of time, -Uncle Zachie stumbled down the stairs again. - -"I say," said Mr. Menaida, standing on the steps, "Captain--did you -ever hear about Tincombe Lane?-- - - 'Tincombe Lane is all up-hill, - Or down hill, as you take it; - You tumble up and crack your crown, - Or tumble down and break it.' - ---It's the same with these blessed stairs. Would you mind lending me a -hand? By the powers, the banister is not firm! Do you know how it goes -on?-- - - 'Tincombe Lane is crooked and straight - As pot-hook or as arrow. - 'Tis smooth to foot, 'tis full of rut, - 'Tis wide and then 'tis narrow.' - ---Thank you, sir, thank you. Now take the candle. Bah! I've broke my -pipe--and then comes the moral-- - - 'Tincombe Lane is just like life - From when you leave your mother, - 'Tis sometimes this, 'tis sometimes that, - 'Tis one thing or the other.'" - -In vain had Coppinger endeavored to interrupt the flow of words, and -to extract from thick Zachie the information he needed, till the old -gentleman was back in his chair. - -Then Uncle Zachie observed--"Blessy'--I said so--I said so a thousand -times. No--she's not there. Tell Aunt Dunes so. Will you sit down and -have a drop? The night is rough, and it will do you good--take the -chill out of your stomach and the damp out of your chest." - -But Coppinger did not wait to decline the offer. He turned at once, -left the house, and dashed the door back as he stepped out into the -night. He had not gone a hundred paces along the road before he heard -voices, and recognized that of Mr. Scantlebray-- - -"I tell you the vessel is the Black Prince, and I know he was to have -unloaded her to-night." - -"Anyhow he is not doing so. Not a sign of him." - -"The night is too dirty." - -"Wyvill--" Coppinger knew that the Captain at the head of the -coast-guard was speaking. "Wyvill, I heard a pistol-shot. Where is -Jenkyns? If you had not been by me I should have said you had acted -wide of your orders. Has any one seen Jenkyns?" - -"No, sir." - -"Who is that?" - -Suddenly a light flashed forth, and glared upon Coppinger. The Captain -in command of the coast-guard uttered an oath. - -"You out to-night, Mr. Coppinger! Where do you come from?" - -"As you see--from Polzeath." - -"Humph! From no other direction?" - -"I'll trouble you to let me pass." - -Coppinger thrust the Preventive man aside, and went on his way. - -When he was beyond earshot, Scantlebray said--"I trust he did not -notice me along with you. You see, the night is too dirty. Let him -bless his stars, it has saved him." - -"I should like to see Jenkyns," said the officer. "I am almost certain -I heard a pistol-shot; but when I sent in the direction whence it -came, there was no one to be seen. It's a confounded dark night." - -"I hope they've not give us the slip, Captain?" said Wyvill. - -"Impossible," answered the officer. "Impossible. I took every -precaution. They did not go out to-night. As Mr. Scantlebray says, the -night was too dirty." - -Then they went on. - -In the meantime Coppinger was making the best of his way to the downs. -He knew his direction even in the dark--he had the "new-take" wall as -a guide. What the coast-guard did not suspect was that this "new-take" -had been made for the very purpose of serving as a guide by which the -smugglers could find their course in the blackest of winter's nights; -moreover, in the fiercest storm the wall served as a shelter, under -lea of which they might approach their cave. Coppinger was without a -lantern. He doubted if one would avail him, in his quest; moreover, -the night was lightening, as the moon rode higher. - -The smuggler captain stood for a moment on the edge of the cliffs to -consider what course he should adopt to find Judith. If she had -reached the summit, it was possible enough that she had lost her way -and had rambled inland among lanes and across fields, pixy-led. In -that case it was a hopeless task to search for her; moreover, there -would be no particular necessity for him to do so, as, sooner or -later, she must reach a cottage or a farm, where she could learn her -direction. But if she had gone too near the edge, or if, in her -ascent, her foot had slipped, then he must search the shore. The tide -was ebbing now, and left a margin on which he could walk. This was the -course he must adopt. He did not descend by the track to the chimney, -as the creeping down of the latter could be effected in absolute -darkness only with extreme risk; but he bent his way over the down -skirting the crescent indentation of the cove to the donkey-path, -which was now, as he knew, unwatched. By that he swiftly and easily -descended to the beach. Along the shore he crept carefully toward that -portion which was overhung by the precipice along which the way ran -from the mouth of the shaft. The night was mending, or at all events -seemed better. The moon, as it mounted, cast a glimmer through the -least opaque portions of the driving clouds. Coppinger looked up, and -could see the ragged fringe of down torn with gullies, and thrust up -into prongs, black as ink against the gray of the half-translucent -vapors. And near at hand was the long dorsal ridge that concealed the -entrance to the cave, sloping rapidly upward and stretching away -before him into shadow. - -Coppinger mused. If one were to fall from above, would he drop between -the cliff and this curtain, or would he strike and be projected over -it on to the shelving sand up which stole the waves? He knew that the -water eddying against friable sandstone strata that came to the -surface had eaten them out with the wash, and that the hard flakes of -slate and ribs of quartz stood forth, overhanging the cave. Most -certainly, therefore, had Judith fallen, her body must be sought on -the sea-face of the masking ridge. The smuggler stood at the very -point where in the preceding afternoon Jamie and the dog had scrambled -up that fin-like blade of rock and disappeared from the astonished -gaze of Judith. The moon, smothered behind clouds, and yet, in a -measure self-assertive, cast sufficient light down into the cove to -glitter on, and transmute into steel, the sea-washed and smoothed, and -still wet, ridge, sloping inland as a seawall. As Coppinger stood -looking upward he saw in the uncertain light something caught on the -fangs of this saw-ridge, moving uneasily this way, then that, -something dark, obscuring the glossed surface of the rock, as it might -be a mass of gigantic sea-tangles. - -"Judith!" he cried. "Is that you?" and he plunged through the pool -that intervened, and scrambled up the rock. - -He caught something. It was cloth. "Judith! Judith!" he almost -shrieked in anxiety. That which he had laid hold of yielded, and he -gathered to him a garment of some sort, and with it he slid back into -the pool, and waded on to the pebbles. Then he examined his capture by -the uncertain light, and by feel, and convinced himself that it was a -cloak--a cloak with clasp and hood--just such as he had seen Judith -wearing when he flashed his lantern over her on the platform at the -mouth of the shaft. - -He stood for a moment, numbed as though he had been struck on the head -with a mallet, and irresolute. He had feared that Judith had fallen -over the edge, but he had hoped that it was not so. This discovery -seemed to confirm his worst fears. - -If the cloak were there--she also would probably be there also, a -broken heap. She who had thrown him down and broken him, had been -thrown down herself, and broken also--thrown down and broken because -she had come to rescue him from danger. Coppinger put his hand to his -head. His veins were beating as though they would burst the vessels in -his temples, and suffuse his face with blood. As he stood thus -clasping his brow with his right hand, the clouds were swept for an -instant aside, and for an instant the moon sent down a weird glare -that ran like a wave along the sand, leaped impediments, scrambled up -rocks, and flashed in the pools. For one moment only--but that -sufficed to reveal to him a few paces ahead a black heap: there was no -mistaking it. The rounded outlines were not those of a rock. It was a -human body lying on the shingle half immersed in the pool at the foot -of the reef! - -A cry of intensest, keenest anguish burst from the heart of Coppinger. -Prepared though he was for what he must see by the finding of the -cloak, the sight of that motionless and wrecked body was more than he -could endure with composure. In the darkness that ensued after the -moon-gleam he stepped forward, slowly, even timidly, to where that -human wreck lay, and knelt on both knees beside it on the wet sand. - -He waited. Would the moon shine out again and show him what he dreaded -seeing? He would not put down a hand to touch it. One still clasped -his brow, the other he could not raise so high, and he held it against -his breast where it had lately been strapped. He tried to hold his -breath, to hear if any sound issued from what lay before him. He -strained his eyes to see if there were any, the slightest movement in -it. Yet he knew there could be none. A fall from these cliffs above -must dash every spark of life out of a body that reeled down them. He -turned his eyes upward to see if the cloud would pass; but no--it -seemed to be one that was all-enveloping, unwilling to grant him that -glimpse which must be had, but which would cause him acutest anguish. - -He could not remain kneeling there in suspense any longer. In -uncertainty he was not. The horror was before him--and must be faced. - -He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth tinder-box and -flint. With a hand that had never trembled before, but now shaking as -with an ague, he struck a light. The sparks flew about, and were long -in igniting the touchwood. But finally it was kindled, and glowed red. -The wind fanned it into fitful flashes, as Coppinger, stooping, held -the lurid spark over the prostrate form, and passed it up and down on -the face. Then suddenly it fell from his hand, and he drew a gasp. -The dead face was that of a bearded man. - -A laugh--a wild, boisterous laugh--rang out into the night, and was -re-echoed by the cliff, as Coppinger leaped to his feet. There was -hope still. Judith had not fallen. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -FOR LIFE OR DEATH. - - -Coppinger did not hesitate a moment now to leave the corpse on the -beach where he had found it, and to hasten to the cave. - -There was a third alternative to which hitherto he had given no -attention. Judith, in ascending the cliff, might have strayed from the -track, and be in such a position that she could neither advance nor -draw back. He would, therefore, explore the path from the chimney -mouth, and see if any token could be found of her having so done. - -He again held his smouldering tinder and by this feeble glimmer made -his way up the inclined beach within the cave, passed under the arch -of the rock where low, and found himself in that portion where was the -boat. - -Here he knew of a receptacle for sundries, such as might be useful in -an emergency, and to that he made his way, and drew from it a piece of -candle and a lantern. He speedily lighted the candle, set it in the -lantern, and then ascended the chimney. - -On reaching the platform at the orifice in the face of the rock, it -occurred to him that he had forgotten to bring rope with him. He would -not return for that, unless he found a need for it. Rope there was -below, of many yards length. Till he knew that it was required, it -seemed hardly worth his while to encumber himself with a coil that -might be too long or too short for use. He did not even know that he -would find Judith. It was a chance, that was all. It was more probable -that she had strayed on the down, and was now back at Polzeath, and -safe and warm in bed. - -From the ledge in front of the shaft Coppinger proceeded with caution -and leisure, exploring every portion of the ascent with lowered -lantern. There were plenty of impressions of feet wherever the soft -and crumbly beds had been traversed, and where the dissolved stone had -been converted into clay or mud, but these were the impressions of the -smugglers escaping from their den. Step by step he mounted, till he -had got about half-way up, when he noticed, what he had not previously -observed, that there was a point at which the track left the ledge of -stratified vertical rock that had inclined its broken edge upward, and -by a series of slips mounted to another fractured stratum, a leaf of -the story-book turned up with the record of infinite ages sealed up in -it. It was possible that one unacquainted with the course might grope -onward, following the ledge instead of deserting it for a direct -upward climb. As Coppinger now perceived, one ignorant of the way and -unprovided with a light would naturally follow the shelf. He -accordingly deserted the track, and advanced along the ledge. There -was a little turf in one place, in the next a tuft of armeria, then -mud or clay, and there--assuredly a foot had trodden. There was a mark -of a sole that was too small to have belonged to a man. - -The shelf at first was tolerably broad, and could be followed without -risk by one whose head was steady; but for how long would it so -continue? These rough edges, these laminæ of upheaved slate were -treacherous--they were sometimes completely broken down, forming gaps, -in places stridable, in others discontinuous for many yards. - -The footprints satisfied Coppinger that Judith had crept along this -terrace, and so had missed the right course. It was impossible that -she could reach the summit by this way--she must have fallen or be -clinging at some point farther ahead, a point from which she could not -advance, and feared to retreat. - -He held the lantern above his head, and peered before him, but could -see nothing. The glare of the artificial light made the darkness -beyond its radius the deeper and more impervious to the eye. He -called, but received no answer. He called again, with as little -success. He listened, but heard no other sound than the mutter of the -sea, and the wail of the wind. There was nothing for him to do but to -go forward; and he did that slowly, searchingly, with the light near -the ground, seeking for some further trace of Judith. He was obliged -to use caution, as the ledge of rock narrowed. Here it was hard, and -the foot passing over it made no impression. Then ensued a rift and a -slide of shale, and here he thought he observed indications of recent -dislodgement. - -Now the foot-hold was reduced, he could no longer stoop to examine the -soil; he must stand upright and hold to the rock with his right hand, -and move with precaution lest he should be precipitated below. - -Was it conceivable that she had passed there?--there in the dark? And -yet--if she had not, she must have been hurled below. - -Coppinger, clinging with his fingers, and thrusting one foot before -the other, then drawing forward that foot, with every faculty on the -alert, passed to where, for a short space, the ledge of rock expanded, -and there he stooped once more with the light to explore. Beyond was a -sheer fall, and the dull glare from his lantern showed him no -continuance of the shelf. As he arose from his bent position, suddenly -the light fell on a hand--a delicate, childish hand--hanging down. He -raised the lantern, and saw her whom he sought. At this point she had -climbed upward to a higher ledge, and on that she lay, one arm raised, -fastened by a chain to a tuft of heather--her head fallen against the -rock, and feet and one arm over the edge of the cliff. She was -unconscious, sustained by a dog-chain and a little bunch of ling. - -Coppinger passed the candle over her face. It was white, and the eyes -did not close before the light. - -His position was vastly difficult. She hung there chained to the -cliff, and he doubted whether he could sustain her weight if he -attempted to carry her back while she was unconscious, along the way -he and she had come. It was perilous for one alone to move along that -strip of surface; it seemed impossible for one to effect it bearing in -his arms a human burden. - -Moreover, Coppinger was well aware that his left arm had not recovered -its strength. He could not trust her weight on that. He dare not trust -it on his right arm, for to return by the way he came the right hand -would be that which was toward the void. The principal weight must be -thrown inward. - -What was to be done? This, primarily: to release the insensible girl -from her present position, in which the agony of the strain on her -shoulder perhaps prolonged her unconsciousness. - -Coppinger mounted to the shelf on which she lay, and bowing himself -over her, while holding her, so that she should not slip over the -edge, he disentangled the chain from her wrist and the stems of the -heather. Then he seated himself beside her, drew her toward him, with -his right arm about her, and laid her head on his shoulder. - -And the chain? - -That he took and deliberately passed it round her waist and his own -body, fastened it, and muttered, "For life or for death!" - -There, for a while, he sat. He had set the lantern beside him. His -hand was on Judith's heart, and he held his breath, and waited to feel -if there was pulsation there; but his own arteries were in such -agitation, the throb in his finger ends prevented his being able to -satisfy himself as to what he desired to know. - -He could not remain longer in his present position. Judith might never -revive. She had swooned through over-exhaustion, and nothing could -restore her to life but the warmth and care she would receive in a -house; he cursed his folly, his thoughtlessness, in having brought -with him no flask of brandy. He dared remain no longer where he was, -the ebbing powers in the feeble life might sink beyond recall. - -He thrust his right arm under her, and adjusted the chain about him so -as to throw some of her weight off the arm, and then cautiously slid -to the step below, and, holding her, set his back to the rocky wall. - -So, facing the Atlantic Ocean, facing the wild night sky, torn here -and there into flakes of light, otherwise cloaked in storm-gloom, with -the abyss below, an abyss of jagged rock and shingle shore, he began -to make his way along the track by which he had gained that point. - -He was at that part where the shelf narrowed to a foot, and his safety -and hers depended largely on the power that remained to him in his -left arm. With the hand of that arm he felt along and clutched every -projecting point of rock, and held to it with every sinew strained and -starting. He drew a long breath. Was Judith stirring on his arm? - -The critical minute had come. The slightest movement, the least -displacement of the balance, and both would be precipitated below. - -"Judith!" said he, hoarsely, turning his head toward her ear. -"Judith!" - -There was no reply. - -"Judith! For Heaven's sake--if you hear me--do not lift a finger. Do -not move a muscle." - -The same heavy weight on him without motion. - -"Judith! For life--or death!" - -Then suddenly from off the ocean flashed a tiny spark--far, far away. - -It was a signal from the Black Prince. - -He saw it, fixed his eyes steadily on it, and began to move sideways, -facing the sea, his back to the rock, reaching forward with his left -arm, holding Judith in the right. - -"For life!" - -He took one step sideways, holding with the disengaged hand to the -rock. The bone of that arm was but just knit. Not only so, but that of -the collar was also recently sealed up after fracture. Yet the -salvation of two lives hung on these two infirm joints. The arm was -stiff; the muscles had not recovered flexibility, nor the sinews their -strength. - -"For death!" - -A second sidelong step, and the projected foot slid in greasy marl. He -dug his heel into the wet and yielding soil, he stamped in it; then, -throwing all his weight on the left heel, aided by the left arm, he -drew himself along and planted the right beside the left. - -He sucked the air in between his teeth with a hiss. The soft soil was -sinking--it would break away. The light from the Black Prince seemed -to rise. With a wrench he planted his left foot on rock--and drew up -the right to it. - -"Judith! For life!" - -That star on the black sea--what did it mean? He knew. His mind was -clear, and though in intense concentration of all his powers on the -effort to pass this strip of perilous path, he could reason of other -things, and knew why the Black Prince had exposed her light. The -lantern that he had borne, and left on the shelf, had been seen by -her, and she supposed it to be a signal from the terrace over the -cave. - -The next step was full of peril. With his left foot advanced, -Coppinger felt he had reached the shale. He kicked into it, and kicked -away an avalanche of loose flakes that slid over the edge. But he -drove his foot deep into the slope, and rammed a dent into which he -could fix the right foot when drawn after it. - -"For death!" - -Then he crept along upon the shale. - -He could not see the star now. His sweat, rolling off his brow, had -run over his eyelids and charged the lashes with tears. In partial -blindness he essayed the next step. - -"For life!" - -Then he breathed more freely. His foot was on the grass. - -The passage of extreme danger was over. From the point now reached the -ledge widened, and Coppinger was able to creep onward with less stress -laid on the fractured bones. The anguish of expectation of death was -lightened; and as it lightened nature began to assert herself. His -teeth chattered as in an ague fit, and his breath came in sobs. - -In ten minutes he had attained the summit--he was on the down above -the cliffs. - -"Judith," said he, and he kissed her cheeks and brow and hair. "For -life--for death--mine, only mine." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -UNA. - - -When Judith opened her eyes, she found herself in a strange room, but -as she looked about her she saw Aunt Dionysia with her hands behind -her back looking out of the window. - -"Oh, aunt! Where am I!" - -Miss Trevisa turned. - -"So you have come round at last, or pleased to pretend to come round. -It is hard to tell whether or not dissimulation was here." - -"Dissimulation, aunt?" - -"There's no saying. Young folks are not what they were in my day. They -have neither the straightforwardness nor the consideration for their -elders and betters." - -"But--where am I?" - -"At the Glaze; not where I put you, but where you have put yourself." - -"I did not come here, auntie, dear." - -"Don't auntie dear me, and deprive me of my natural sleep." - -"Have I?" - -"Have you not? Three nights have I had to sit up. And natural sleep is -as necessary to me at my age as is stays. I fall abroad without one or -the other. Give me my choice--whether I'd have nephews and nieces -crawling about me or erysipelas, and I'd choose the latter." - -"But, aunt--I'm sorry if I am a trouble to you." - -"Of course you are a trouble. How can you be other? Don't burs stick? -But that is neither here nor there." - -"Aunt, how came I to Pentyre Glaze!" - -"I didn't invite you, and I didn't bring you--you may be sure of that. -Captain Coppinger found you somewhere on the down at night, when you -ought to have been at home. You were insensible, or pretended to be -so--it's not for me to say which." - -"Oh, aunt, I don't want to be here." - -"Nor do I want you here--and in my room, too. Hoity-toity! nephews and -nieces are just like pigs--you want them to go one way and they run -the other." - -"But I should like to know where Captain Coppinger found me, and all -about it. I don't remember anything." - -"Then you must ask him yourself." - -"I should like to get up; may I?" - -"I can't say till the doctor comes. There's no telling--I might be -blamed. I shall be pleased enough when you are shifted to your own -room," and she pointed to a door. - -"My room, auntie?" - -"I suppose so; I don't know whose else it is." - -Then Miss Trevisa whisked out of the room. - -Judith lay quietly in bed trying to collect her thoughts and recall -something of what had happened. She could recollect fastening her -wrist to the shrub by her brother's dog-chain; then, with all the -vividness of a recurrence of the scene--the fall of the man, the -stroke on her cheek, his roll over and plunge down the precipice. The -recollection made a film come over her eyes and her heart stand still. -After that she remembered nothing. She tried hard to bring to mind one -single twinkle of remembrance, but in vain. It was like looking at a -wall and straining the eyes to see through it. - -Then she raised herself in bed to look about her. She was in her -aunt's room, and in her aunt's bed. She had been brought there by -Captain Coppinger. He, therefore, had rescued her from the position of -peril in which she had been. So far she could understand. She would -have liked to know more, but more, probably, her aunt could not tell -her, even if inclined to do so. - -Where was Jamie? Was he at Uncle Zachie's? Had he been anxious and -unhappy about her? She hoped he had got into no trouble during the -time he had been free from her supervision. Judith felt that she must -go back to Mr. Menaida's and to Jamie. She could not stay at the -Glaze. She could not be happy with her ever-grumbling, ill-tempered -aunt. Besides, her father would not have wished her to be there. - -What did Aunt Dunes mean when she pointed to a door and spoke of her -room? - -Judith could not judge whether she were strong till she tried her -strength. She slipped her feet to the floor, stood up and stole over -the floor to that door which her aunt had indicated. She timidly -raised the latch, after listening at it, opened and peeped into a -small apartment. To her surprise she saw the little bed she had -occupied at her dear home, the rectory, her old wash-stand, her -mirror, the old chairs, the framed pictures that had adorned her -walls, the common and trifling ornaments that had been arranged on her -chimney-piece. Every object with which she had been familiar at the -parsonage for many years, and to which she had said good-by, never -expecting to have a right to them any more--all these were there, -furnishing the room that adjoined her aunt's apartment. - -She stood looking around in surprise, till she heard a step on the -stair outside, and, supposing it was that of Aunt Dionysia, she ran -back to bed, and dived under the clothes and pulled the sheets over -her golden head. - -Aunt Dunes entered the room, bringing with her a bowl of soup. Her eye -at once caught the opened door into the little adjoining chamber. - -"You have been out of bed!" - -Judith thrust her head out of its hiding-place, and said, frankly, -"Yes, auntie! I could not help myself. I want to see. How have you -managed to get all my things together?" - -"I? I have had nothing to do with it." - -"But--who did it, auntie?" - -"Captain Coppinger; he was at the sale." - -"Is the sale over, aunt?" - -"Yes, whilst you have been ill." - -"Oh, I am so glad it is over, and I knew nothing about it." - -"Oh, exactly! Not a thought of the worry you have been to me; deprived -of my sleep--of my bed--of my bed," repeated Aunt Dunes, grimly. "How -can you expect a bulb to flower if you take it out of the earth and -stick it on a bedroom chair stirring broth? I have no patience with -you young people. You are consumed with selfishness." - -"But, auntie! Don't be cross. Why did Captain Coppinger buy all my -dear crinkum-crankums?" - -Aunt Dionysia snorted and tossed her head. - -Judith suddenly flushed; she did not repeat the question, but said -hastily, "Auntie, I want to go back to Mr. Menaida." - -"You cannot desire it more than I do," said Miss Trevisa, sharply. -"But whether _he_ will let you go is another matter." - -"Aunt Dunes, if I want to go, I will go!" - -"Indeed!" - -"I will go back as soon as ever I can." - -"Well, that can't be to-day, for one thing." - -The evening of that same day Judith was removed into the adjoining -room, "her room," as Miss Trevisa designated it. "And mind you sleep -soundly, and don't trouble me in the night. Natural sleep is as -suitable to me as green peas to duck." - -When, next morning, the girl awoke, her eyes ranged round and lighted -everywhere on familiar objects. The two mezzotints of Happy and -Deserted Auburn, the old and battered pieces of Dresden ware, vases -with flowers encrusted round them, but with most of the petals broken -off--vases too injured to be of value to a purchaser, valuable to her -because full of reminiscences--the tapestry firescreen, the painted -fans with butterflies on them, the mirror blotched with damp, the -inlaid wafer-box and ruler, the old snuffer-tray. Her eyes filled with -tears. A gathering together into one room of old trifles did not make -that strange room to be home. It was the father, the dear father, who, -now that he was taken away, made home an impossibility, and the whole -world, however crowded with old familiar odds and ends, to be desert -and strange. The sight of all her old "crinkum-crankums," as she had -called them, made Judith's heart smart. It was kindly meant by -Coppinger to purchase all these things and collect them there; but it -was a mistake of judgment. Grateful she was, not gratified. - -In the little room there was an ottoman with a woolwork cover -representing a cluster of dark red, pink, and white roses; and at each -corner of the ottoman was a tassel, which had been a constant source -of trouble to Judith, as the tassels would come off, sometimes because -the cat played with them, sometimes because Jamie pulled them off in -mischief, sometimes because they caught in her dress. Her father had -embroidered those dreadful roses on a buff ground one winter when -confined to the house by a heavy cold and cough. She valued that -ottoman for his sake, and would not have suffered it to go into the -sale had she possessed any place she could regard as her own where to -put it. She needed no such article to remind her of the dear -father--the thought of him would be forever present to her without the -assistance of ottomans to refresh her memory. - -On this ottoman, when dressed, Judith seated herself, and let her -hands rest in her lap. She was better; she would soon be well; and -when well would take the first opportunity to depart. - -The door was suddenly thrown open by her aunt, and in the doorway -stood Coppinger looking at her. He raised his hand to his hat in -salutation, but said nothing. She was startled and unable to speak. In -another moment the door was shut again. - -That day she resolved that nothing should detain her longer than she -was forced. Jamie--her own dear Jamie--came to see her, and the twins -were locked in each other's arms. - -"Oh, Ju! darling Ju! You are quite well, are you not! And Captain -Coppinger has given me a gray donkey instead of Tib; and I'm to ride -it about whenever I choose!" - -"But, dear, Mr. Menaida has no stable, and no paddock." - -"Oh, Ju! that's nothing. I'm coming up here, and we shall be -together--the donkey and you and me and Aunt Dunes!" - -"No, Jamie. Nothing of the sort. Listen to me. You remain at Mr. -Menaida's. I am coming back." - -"But I've already brought up my clothes." - -"You take them back. Attend to me. You do not come here. I go back to -Mr. Menaida's immediately." - -"But, Ju! you've got all your pretty things from the parsonage here!" - -"They are not mine. Mr. Coppinger bought them for himself." - -"But--the donkey?" - -"Leave the donkey here. Pay attention to my words. I lay a strict -command on you. As you love me, Jamie, do not leave Mr. Menaida's; -remain there till my return." - -That night there was a good deal of noise in the house. Judith's room -lay in a wing, nevertheless she heard the riot, for the house was not -large, and the sounds from the hall penetrated every portion of it. -She was frightened, and went into Miss Trevisa's room. - -"Aunt! what is this dreadful racket about?" - -"Go to sleep--you cannot have every one shut his mouth because of -you." - -"But what is it, auntie!" - -"It is nothing but the master has folk with him, if you wish -particularly to know. The whole cargo of the Black Prince has been -run, and not a finger has been laid by the coast-guard on a single -barrel or bale. So they are celebrating their success. Go to bed and -sleep. It is naught to you." - -"I cannot sleep, aunt. They are singing now." - -"Why should they not; have you aught against it? You are not mistress -here, that I am aware of." - -"But, auntie, are there many down-stairs?" - -"I do not know. It is no concern of mine--and certainly none of -yours." - -Judith was silenced for a while by her aunt's ill-humor; but she did -not return to her room. Presently she asked-- - -"Are you sure, aunt, that Jamie is gone back to Polzeath?" - -Miss Trevisa kicked the stool from under her feet, in her impatience. - -"Really! you drive me desperate. I did not bargain for this. Am I to -tear over the country on post-horses to seek a nephew here and a niece -there? I can't tell where Jamie is, and what is more, I do not care. -I'll do my duty by you both. I'll do no more; and that has been forced -on me, it was not sought by me. Heaven be my witness." - -Judith returned to her room. The hard and sour woman would afford her -no information. - -In her room she threw herself on her bed and began to think. She was -in the very home and head-quarters of contrabandism. But was smuggling -a sin? Surely not that, or her father would have condemned it -decidedly. She remembered his hesitation relative to it, in the last -conversation they had together. Perhaps it was not actually a sin--she -could recall no text in Scripture that denounced it--but it was a -thing forbidden, and though she did not understand why it was -forbidden, she considered that it could not be an altogether -honorable and righteous traffic. Judith was unable to rest. It was not -the noise that disturbed her so much as her uneasiness about Jamie. -Had he obeyed her and gone back to Uncle Zachie? Or had he neglected -her injunction, and was he in the house, was he below along with the -revellers? - -She opened the door gently, and stole along the passage to the head of -the stairs, and listened. She could smell the fumes of tobacco; but to -these she was familiar. The atmosphere of Mr. Menaida's cottage was -redolent of the Virginian weed. The noise was, however, something to -which she was utterly unaccustomed: the boisterous merriment, the -shouts, and occasional oaths. Then a fiddle was played. There was -disputation, a pause, then the fiddle recommenced; it played a jig; -there was a clatter of feet, then a roar of laughter--and then--she -was almost sure she heard the voice of her brother. - -Regardless of herself, thinking only of him, without a moment's -consideration, she ran down the stairs and threw open the door into -the great kitchen or hall. - -It was full of men--wild, rough fellows--drinking and smoking; there -were lights and a fire. The atmosphere was rank with spirits and -tobacco; on a chair sat a sailor fiddling, and in the midst of the -room, on a table, was Jamie dancing a jig, to the laughter and -applause of the revellers. - -The moment Judith appeared silence ensued--the men were surprised to -see a pale and delicate girl stand before them, with a crown of gold -like a halo round her ivory-white face. But Judith took no notice of -anyone there--her eyes were on her brother, and her hand raised to -attract his attention. Judith had been in bed, but, disturbed by the -uproar, had risen and drawn on her gown; her feet, however, were bare, -and her magnificent hair poured over her shoulders unbound. Her whole -mind, her whole care, was for Jamie; on herself not a thought rested; -she had forgotten that she was but half clothed. - -"Jamie! Jamie!" she cried. "My brother! my brother!" - -The fiddler ceased, lowered his violin, and stared at her. - -"Ju, let me alone! It is such fun," said the boy. - -"Jamie! this instant you shall come with me. Get down off the table!" - -As he hesitated, and looked round to the men who had been applauding -him for support against his sister, she went to the table, and caught -him by the feet. - -"Jamie! in pity to me! Jamie! think--papa is but just dead." - -Then tears of sorrow, shame, and entreaty filled her eyes. - -"No, Ju! I'm not tied to your apron-strings," said the lad, -disengaging himself. - -But in an instant he was caught from the table by the strong arm of -Coppinger, and thrust toward the door. - -"Judith, you should not have come here." - -"Oh, Mr. Coppinger--and Jamie! why did you let him--" - -Coppinger drew the girl from the room into the passage. - -"Judith, not for the world would I have had you here," said he, in an -agitated voice. "I'll kill your aunt for letting you come down." - -"Mr. Coppinger, she knew nothing of my coming. Come I must--I heard -Jamie's voice." - -"Go," said the Captain, shaking the boy. He was ashamed of himself and -angry. "Beware how you disobey your sister again." - -Coppinger's face was red as fire. He turned to Judith-- - -"Your feet are bare. Let me carry you up-stairs--carry you once more." - -She shook her head. "As I came down so I can return." - -"Will you forgive me?" he said, in a low tone. - -"Heaven forgive you," she answered, and burst into tears. "You will -break my heart, I foresee it." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -A GOLDFISH. - - -Next day--just in the same way as the day before--when Judith was -risen and dressed, the door was thrown open, and again Coppinger was -revealed, standing outside, looking at her with a strange expression, -and saying no word. - -But Judith started up from her chair and went to him in the passage, -put forth her delicate white hand, laid it on his cuff, and said: "Mr. -Coppinger, may I speak to you?" - -"Where?" - -"Where you like--down-stairs will be best, in the hall if no one be -there." - -"It is empty." - -He stood aside and allowed her to precede him. - -The staircase was narrow, and it would have been dark but for a small -dormer-window through which light came from a squally sky covered with -driving white vapors. But such light as entered from a white and wan -sun fell on her head as she descended--that head of hair was like the -splendor of a beech-tree touched by frost before the leaves fall. - -Coppinger descended after her. - -When they were both in the hall, he indicated his arm-chair by the -hearth for her to sit in, and she obeyed. She was weak, and now also -nervous. She must speak to the smuggler firmly, and that required all -her courage. - -The room was tidy; all traces of the debauch of the preceding night -had disappeared. - -Coppinger stood a few paces from her. He seemed to know that what she -was going to say would displease him, and he did not meet her clear -eyes, but looked with a sombre frown upon the floor. - -Judith put the fingers of her right hand to her heart to bid it cease -beating so fast, and then rushed into what she had to say, fearing -lest delay should heighten the difficulty of saying it. - -"I am so--so thankful to you, sir, for what you have done for me. My -aunt tells me that you found and carried me here. I had lost my way on -the rocks, and but for you I would have died." - -"Yes," he said, raising his eyes suddenly and looking piercingly into -hers, "but for me you would have died." - -"I must tell you how deeply grateful I am for this and for other -kindnesses. I shall never forget that this foolish, silly, little life -of mine I owe to you." - -Again her heart was leaping so furiously as to need the pressure of -her fingers on it to check it. - -"We are quits," said Coppinger, slowly. "You came--you ran a great -risk to save me. But for you I might be dead. So this rude and -worthless--this evil life of mine," he held out his hands, both palms -before her, and spoke with quivering voice--"I owe to you." - -"Then," said Judith, "as you say, we are quits. Yet no. If one account -is cancelled, another remains unclosed. I threw you down and broke -your bones. So there still remains a score against me." - -"That I have forgiven long ago," said he. "Throw me down, break me, -kill me, do with me what you will--and--I will kiss your hand." - -"I do not wish to have my hand kissed," said Judith, hastily, "I let -you understand that before." - -He put his elbow against the mantel-shelf, and leaned his brow against -his open hand, looking down at her, so she could not see his face -without raising her eyes, but he could rest his on her and study her, -note her distress, the timidity with which she spoke, the wince when -he said a word that implied his attachment to her. - -"I have not only to thank you, Captain Coppinger, but I have to say -good-by." - -"What--go?" - -"Yes--I shall go back to Mr. Menaida to-day." - -He stamped, and his face became blood-red. "You shall not. I will -it--here you stay." - -"It cannot be," said Judith, after a moment's pause to let his passion -subside. "You are not my guardian, though very generously you have -undertaken to be valuer for me in dilapidations. I must go, I and -Jamie." - -He shook his head. He feared to speak, his anger choked him. - -"I cannot remain here myself, and certainly I will not let Jamie be -here." - -"Is it because of last night's foolery you say that?" - -"I am responsible for my brother. He is not very clever; he is easily -led astray. There is no one to think for him, to care for him, but -myself. I could never let him run the risk of such a thing happening -again." - -"Confound the boy!" burst forth Coppinger. "Are you going to bring him -up as a milk-sop? You are wrong altogether in the way you manage him." - -"I can but follow my conscience." - -"And is it because of him that you go?" - -"Not because of him only." - -"But I have spoken to your aunt; she consents." - -"But I do not," said Judith. - -He stamped again, passionately. - -"I am not the man who will bear to be disobeyed and my will crossed. I -say--Here you shall stay." - -Judith waited a moment, looking at him steadily out of her clear, -glittering iridescent eyes, and said slowly, "I am not the girl to be -obliged to stay where my common-sense and my heart say Stay not." - -He folded his arms, lowered his chin on his breast, and strode up and -down the room. Then, suddenly, he stood still opposite her and asked, -in a threatening tone: - -"Do you not like your room? Does that not please your humor?" - -"It has been most kind of you to collect all my little bits of rubbish -there. I feel how good you have been, how full of thought for me; but, -for all that, I cannot stay." - -"Why not?" - -"I have said, on one account, because of Jamie." - -He bit his lips--"I hate that boy." - -"Then most certainly he cannot be here. He must be with those who love -him." - -"Then stay." - -"I cannot--I will not. I have a will as well as you. My dear papa -always said that my will was strong." - -"You are the only person who has ever dared to resist me." - -"That may be; I am daring--because you have been kind." - -"Kind to you. Yes--to you only." - -"It may be so, and because kind to me, and me only, I, and I only, -presume to say No when you say Yes." - -He came again to the fireplace and again leaned against the -mantel-shelf. He was trembling with passion. - -"And what if I say that, if you go, I will turn old Dunes--I mean your -aunt--out of the house?" - -"You will not say it, Mr. Coppinger; you are too noble, too generous, -to take a mean revenge." - -"Oh! you allow there is some good in me?" - -"I thankfully and cheerfully protest there is a great deal of good in -you--and I would there were more." - -"Come--stay here and teach me to be good--be my crutch; I will lean on -you, and you shall help me along the right way." - -"You are too great a weight, Mr. Coppinger," said she, smiling--but it -was a frightened and a forced smile. "You would bend and break the -little crutch." - -He heaved a long breath. He was looking at her from under his hand and -his bent brows. - -"You are cruel--to deny me a chance. And what if I were to say that I -am hungry, sick at heart, and faint. Would you turn your back and -leave me?" - -"No, assuredly not." - -"I am hungry." - -She looked up at him, and was frightened by the glitter in his eyes. - -"I am hungry for the sight of you, for the sound of your voice." - -She did not say anything to this, but sat, with her hands on her lap, -musing, uncertain how to deal with this man, so strange, impulsive, -and yet so submissive to her, and even appealing to her pity. - -"Mr. Coppinger, I have to think of and care for Jamie, and he takes up -all my thoughts and engrosses all my time." - -"Jamie, again!" - -"So that I cannot feed and teach another orphan." - -"Put off your departure--a week. Grant me that. Then you will have -time to get quite strong, and also you will be able to see whether it -is not possible for you to live here. Here is your aunt--it is natural -and right that you should be with her. She has been made your guardian -by your father. Do you not bow to his directions." - -"Mr. Coppinger, I cannot stay here." - -"I am at a disadvantage," he exclaimed. "Man always is when carrying -on a contest with a woman. Stay--stay here and listen to me." He put -out his hand and pressed her back into the chair, for she was about to -rise. "Listen to what I say. You do not know--you cannot know--how -near death you and I--yes, you and I were, chained together." His deep -voice shook. "You and I were on the face of the cliff. There was but -one little strip, the width of my hand"--he held out his palm before -her--"and that was not secure. It was sliding away under my feet. -Below was death, certain death--a wretched death. I held you. That -little chain tied us two--us two together. All your life and mine hung -on was my broken arm and broken collar-bone. I held you to me with my -right arm and the chain. I did not think we should live. I thought -that together--chained together, I holding you--so we would die--so we -would be found--and my only care, my only prayer was, if so, that so -we might be washed to sea and sink together, I holding you and chained -to you, and you to me. I prayed that we might never be found; for I -thought if rude hands were laid on us that the chain would be -unloosed, my arm unlocked from about you, and that we should be -carried to separate graves. I could not endure that thought. Let us go -down together--bound, clasped together--into the depths of the deep -sea, and there rest. But it was not to be so. I carried you over that -stage of infinite danger. An angel or a devil--I cannot say -which--held me up. And then I swore that never in life should you be -loosed from me, as I trusted that in death we should have remained -bound together. See!" He put his hand to her head and drew a lock of -her golden hair and wound it about his hand and arm. "You have me fast -now--fast in a chain of gold--of gold infinitely precious to -me--infinitely strong--and you will cast me off, who never thought to -cast you off when tied to you with a chain of iron. What say you? Will -you stand in safety on your cliff of pride and integrity and unloose -the golden band and say, 'Go down--down. I know nothing in you to -love. You are naught to me but a robber, a wrecker, a drunkard, a -murderer--go down into Hell?'" - -In his quivering excitement he acted the whole scene, unconscious that -he was so doing, and the drops of agony stood on his brow and -rolled--drip--drip--drip from it. Man does not weep; his tears exude -more bitter than those that flow from the eyes, and they distil from -his pores. - -Judith was awed by the intensity of passion in the man, but not -changed in her purpose. His vehemence reacted on her, calming her, -giving her determination to finish the scene decisively and finally. - -"Mr. Coppinger," she said, looking up to him, who still held her by -the hair wound about his hand and arm, "it is you who hold me in -chains, not I you. And so I--your prisoner--must address a gaoler. Am -I to speak in chains, or will you release me?" - -He shook his head, and clenched his hand on the gold hair. - -"Very well," said she, "so it must be; I, bound, plead my cause with -you--at a disadvantage. This is what I must say at the risk of hurting -you; and, Heaven be my witness, I would not wound one who has been so -good to me--one to whom I owe my life, my power now to speak and -entreat." She paused a minute to gain breath and strengthen herself -for what she had to say. - -"Mr. Coppinger--do you not yourself see that it is quite impossible -that I should remain in this house--that I should have anything more -to do with you? Consider how I have been brought up--what my thoughts -have been. I have had, from earliest childhood, my dear papa's example -and teachings, sinking into my heart till they have colored my very -life-blood. My little world and your great one are quite different. -What I love and care for is folly to you, and your pursuits and -pleasures are repugnant to me. You are an eagle--a bird of prey." - -"A bird of prey," repeated Coppinger. - -"And you soar and fight, and dive, and rend in your own element; -whereas I am a little silver trout----" - -"No"--he drew up his arm wound round with her hair--"No--a goldfish." - -"Well, so be it; a goldfish swimming in my own crystal element, and -happy in it. You would not take me out of it to gasp and die. Trust -me, Captain Coppinger, I could not--even if I would--live in your -world." - -She put up her hands to his arm and drew some of the hair through his -fingers, and unwound it from his sleeve. He made no resistance. He -watched her, in a dream. He had heard every word she had said, and he -knew that she spoke the truth. They belonged to different realms of -thought and sensation. He could not breathe--he would stifle--in hers, -and it was possible--it was certain--that she could not endure the -strong, rough quality of his. - -Her delicate fingers touched his hand, and sent a spasm to his heart. -She was drawing away another strand of hair, and untwisting it from -about his arm, passing the wavy, fire-gold from one hand to the other. -And as every strand was taken off, so went light and hope from him, -and despair settled down on his dark spirit. - -He was thinking whether it would not have been better to have thrown -himself down when he had her in his arms, and bound to him by the -chain. - -Then he laughed. - -She looked up, and caught his wild eye. There was a timid inquiry in -her look, and he answered it. - -"You may unwind your hair from my arm, but it is woven round and round -my heart, and you cannot loose it thence." - -She drew another strand away, and released that also from his arm. -There remained now but one red-gold band of hair fastening her to him. -He looked entreatingly at her, and then at the hair. - -"It must indeed be so," she said, and released herself wholly. - -Then she stood up, a little timidly, for she could not trust him in -his passion and his despair. But he did not stir; he looked at her -with fixed, dreamy eyes. She left her place, and moved toward the -door. She had gone forth from Mr. Menaida's without hat or other cover -for her head than the cloak with its hood, and that she had lost. She -must return bare-headed. She had reached the door; and there she waved -him a farewell. - -"Goldfish!" he cried. - -She halted. - -"Goldfish, come here; one--one word only." - -She hesitated whether to yield. The man was dangerous. But she -considered that with a few strides he might overtake her if she tried -to escape. Therefore she returned toward him, but came not near enough -for him to touch her. - -"Hearken to me," said he. "It may be as you say. It is as you say. You -have your world; I have mine. You could not live in mine, nor I in -yours." But his voice thrilled. "Swear to me--swear to me now--that -while I live no other shall hold you, as I would have held you, to his -side; that no other shall take your hair and wind it round him, as I -have--I could not endure that. Will you swear to me that?--and you -shall go." - -"Indeed I will; indeed, indeed I will." - -"Beware how you break this oath. Let him beware who dares to seek -you." He was silent, looking on the ground, his arms folded. So he -stood for some minutes, lost in thought. Then suddenly he cried out, -"Goldfish!" - -He had found a single hair, long--a yard long--of the most intense -red-gold, lustrous as a cloud in the west over the sunken sun. It had -been left about his arm and hand. - -"Goldfish!" - -But she was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -BOUGHT AND SOLD. - - -Cruel Coppinger remained brooding in the place where he had been -standing, and as he stood there his face darkened. He was a man of -imperious will and violent passions; a man unwont to curb himself; -accustomed to sweep out of his path whoever or whatever stood between -him and the accomplishment of his purpose; a man who never asked -himself whether that purpose were good or bad. He had succumbed, in a -manner strange and surprising to himself, to the influence of -Judith--a sort of witchery over him that subdued his violence and awed -him into gentleness and modesty. But when her presence was withdrawn -the revolt of the man's lawless nature began. Who was this who had -dared to oppose her will to his? a mere child of eighteen. Women were -ever said to be a perverse generation, and loved to domineer over men; -and man was weak to suffer it. So thinking, chafing, he had worked -himself into a simmering rage when Miss Trevisa entered the hall, -believing it to be empty. Seeing him, she was about to withdraw, when -he shouted to her to stay. - -"I beg your pardon for intruding, sir; I am in quest of my niece. -Those children keep me in a whirl like a teetotum." - -"Your niece is gone." - -"Gone! where to?" - -"Back--I suppose to that old fool, Menaida. He is meet to be a -companion for her and that idiot, her brother; not I--I am to be -spurned from her presence." - -Miss Trevisa was surprised, but she said nothing. She knew his moods. - -"Stand there, Mother Dunes!" said Coppinger, in his anger and -humiliation, glad to have some one on whom he could pour out the lava -that boiled up in his burning breast. "Listen to me. She has told me -that we belong to different worlds--she and I--and to different races, -kinds of being, and that there can be no fellowship betwixt us. Where -I am she will not be. Between me and you there is a great gulf -fixed--see you? and I am as Dives tormented in my flame, and she -stands yonder, serene, in cold and complacent blessedness, and will -not cross to me with her finger dipped in cold water to cool my -tongue; and as for my coming near to her"--he laughed fiercely--"that -can never be." - -"Did she say all that?" asked Miss Trevisa. - -"She looked it; she implied it, if she did not say it in these naked -words. And, what is more," shouted he, coming before Aunt Dionysia, -threateningly, so that she recoiled, "it is true. When she sat there -in yonder chair, and I stood here by this hearthstone, and she spoke, -I knew it was true; I saw it all--the great gulf unspanned by any -bridge. I knew that none could ever bridge it, and there we were, -apart for ever, I in my fire burning, she in Blessedness--indifferent." - -"I am very sorry," said Miss Trevisa, "that Judith should so have -misconducted herself. My brother brought her up in a manner to my -mind, most improper for a young girl. He made her read Rollin's -'Ancient History,' and Blair's 'Chronological Tables,' and really upon -my word, I cannot say what else." - -"I do not care how it was," said Coppinger. "But here stands the -gulf." - -"Rollin is in sixteen octavo volumes," said Aunt Dionysia; "and they -are thick also." - -Coppinger strode about the room, with his hands in his deep coat -pockets, his head down. - -"My dear brother," continued Miss Trevisa, apologetically, "made of -Judith his daily companion, told her all he thought, asked her -opinion, as though she were a full-grown woman, and one whose opinion -was worth having, whereas he never consulted me, never cared to talk -to me about anything, and the consequence is the child has grown up -without that respect for her elders and betters, and that deference -for the male sex which the male sex expects. I am sure when I was a -girl, and of her age, I was very different, very different indeed." - -"Of that I have not the smallest doubt," sneered Coppinger. "But never -mind about yourself. It is of her I am speaking. She is gone, has -left me, and I cannot endure it. I cannot endure it," he repeated. - -"I beg your pardon," said Aunt Dionysia, "you must excuse me saying -it, Captain Coppinger, but you place me in a difficult position. I am -the guardian of my niece, though, goodness knows, I never desired it, -and I don't know what to think. It is very flattering and kind, and I -esteem it great goodness in you to speak of Judith with such warmth, -but----" - -"Goodness! kindness!" exclaimed Coppinger. "I am good and kind to her! -She forced me to it. I can be nothing else, and she throws me at her -feet and tramples on me." - -"I am sure your sentiments, sir, are--are estimable; but, feeling as -you seem to imply toward Judith, I hardly know what to say. Bless me! -what a scourge to my shoulders these children are: nettles stinging -and blistering my skin, and not allowing me a moment's peace!" - -"I imply nothing," said Coppinger. "I speak out direct and plain what -I mean. I love her. She has taken me, she turns me about, she gets my -heart between her little hands and tortures it." - -"Then surely, Captain, you cannot ask me to let her be here. You are -most kind to express yourself in this manner about the pert hussy, -but, as she is my niece, and I am responsible for her, I must do my -duty by her, and not expose her to be--talked about. Bless me!" gasped -Aunt Dunes, "when I was her age I never would have put myself into -such a position as to worry my aunt out of her seven senses, and bring -her nigh to distraction." - -"I will marry her, and make her mistress of my house and all I have," -said Coppinger. - -Miss Trevisa slightly courtesied, then said, "I am sure you are -over-indulgent, but what is to become of me? I have no doubt it will -be very comfortable and acceptable to Judith to hear this, but--what -is to become of me? It would not be very delightful for me to be -housekeeper here under my own niece, a pert, insolent, capricious -hussy. You can see at once, Captain Coppinger, that I cannot consent -to that." - -The woman had the shrewdness to know that she could be useful to -Coppinger, and the selfishness that induced her to make terms with -him to secure her own future, and to show him that she could stand in -his way till he yielded to them. - -"I never asked to have these children thrust down my throat, like the -fish-bone that strangled Lady Godiva--no, who was it? Earl Godiva; but -I thank my stars I never waded through Rollin, and most certainly kept -my hands off Blair. Of course, Captain Coppinger, it is right and -proper of you to address yourself to me, as the guardian of my niece, -before speaking to her." - -"I have spoken to her and she spurns me." - -"Naturally, because you spoke to her before addressing me on the -subject. My dear brother--I will do him this justice--was very -emphatic on this point. But you see, sir, my consent can never be -given." - -"I do not ask your consent." - -"Judith will never take you without it." - -"Consent or no consent," said Coppinger, "that is a secondary matter. -The first is, she does not like me, whereas I--I love her. I never -loved a woman before. I knew not what love was. I laughed at the -fools, as I took them to be, who sold themselves into the hands of -women; but now, I cannot live without her. I can think of nothing but -her all day. I am in a fever, and cannot sleep at night--all because -she is tormenting me." - -All at once, exhausted by his passion, desperate at seeing no chance -of success, angry at being flouted by a child, he threw himself into -the chair, and settled his chin on his breast, and folded his arms. - -"Go on," said he. "Tell me what is my way out of this." - -"You cannot expect my help or my advice, Captain, so as to forward -what would be most unsatisfactory to me." - -"What! do you grudge her to me?" - -"Not that; but, if she were here, what would become of me? Should I be -turned out into the cold at my age by this red-headed hussy, to find a -home for myself with strangers? Here I never would abide with her as -mistress, never." - -"I care naught about you." - -"No, of that I am aware, to my regret, sir; but that makes it all the -more necessary for me to take care for myself." - -"I see," said Coppinger, "I must buy you. Is your aid worth it? Will -she listen to you?" - -"I can make her listen to me," said Aunt Dunes, "if it be worth my -while. At my age, having roughed it, having no friends, I must think -of myself and provide for the future, when I shall be too old to -work." - -"Name your price." - -Miss Trevisa did not answer for a while; she was considering the terms -she would make. To her coarse and soured mind there was nothing to -scruple at in aiding Coppinger in his suit. The Trevisas were of a -fine old Cornish stock, but then Judith took after her mother, the -poor Scottish governess, and Aunt Dunes did not feel toward her as -though she were of her own kin. The girl looked like her mother. She -had no right, in Miss Trevisa's eyes, to bear the name of her father, -for her father ought to have known better than stoop to marry a -beggarly, outlandish governess. Not very logical reasoning, but what -woman, where her feelings are engaged, does reason logically? Aunt -Dunes had never loved her niece; she felt an inner repulsion, such as -sprang from encountering a nature superior, purer, more refined than -her own, and the mortification of being forced to admit to herself -that it was so. Judith, moreover, was costing her money, and Miss -Trevisa parted with her hard-earned savings as reluctantly as with her -heart's blood. She begrudged the girl and her brother every penny she -was forced, or believed she would be forced, to expend upon them. And -was she doing the girl an injury in helping her to a marriage that -would assure her a home and a comfortable income? - -Aunt Dionysia knew well enough that things went on in Pentyre Glaze -that were not to be justified, that Coppinger's mode of life was not -one calculated to make a girl of Judith's temperament happy, -but--"Hoity-toity!" said Miss Trevisa to herself, "if girls marry, -they must take men as they find them. Beggars must not be choosers. -You must not look a gift horse in the mouth. No trout can be eaten -apart from its bones, nor a rose plucked that is free from thorns." -She herself had accommodated herself to the ways of the house, to the -moods and manners of Coppinger; and if she could do that, so could a -mongrel Trevisa. What was good enough for herself was over-good for -Judith. - -She had been saddled with these children, much against her wishes, -and if she shifted the saddle to the shoulders of one willing to bear -it, why not? She had duties to perform to her own self as well as to -those thrust on her by the dead hand of that weak, that inconsiderate -brother of hers, Peter Trevisa. - -Would her brother have approved of her forwarding this union? That was -a question that did not trouble her much. Peter did what he thought -best for his daughter when he was alive, stuffing her head with Rollin -and Blair, and now that he was gone, she must do the best she could -for her, and here was a chance offered that she would be a fool not to -snap at. - -Nor did she concern herself greatly whether Judith's happiness were at -stake. Hoity-toity! girls' happiness! They are bound to make -themselves happy when they find themselves. The world was not made to -fit them, but they to accommodate themselves to the places in which -they found themselves in the world. - -Miss Trevisa had for some days seen the direction matters were taking, -she had seen clearly enough the infatuation--yes, infatuation she said -it was--that had possessed Coppinger. What he could see in the girl -passed her wits to discover. To her, Judith was an odious little -minx--very like her mother. Miss Trevisa, therefore, had had time to -weigh the advantages and the disadvantages that might spring to her, -should Coppinger persist in his suit and succeed; and she had -considered whether it would be worth her while to help or to hinder -his suit. - -"You put things," said Aunt Dionysia, "in a blunt and a discourteous -manner, such as might offend a lady of delicacy, like myself, who am -in delicacy a perfect guava jelly; but, Captain, I know your ways, as -I ought to, having been an inmate of this house for many years. It is -no case of buying and selling, as you insinuate, but the case is -plainly this: I know the advantage it will be to my niece to be -comfortably provided for. She and Jamie have between them but about a -thousand pounds, a sum to starve, and not to live, upon. They have no -home and no relative in the world but myself, who am incapable of -giving them a home and of doing anything for them except at an -excruciating sacrifice. If Judith be found, through your offer, a -home, then Jamie also is provided for." - -He said nothing to this, but moved his feet impatiently. She went on: -"The boy _must_ be provided for. And if Judith become your wife, not -only will it be proper for you to see that he is so, but Judith will -give neither you nor me our natural rest until the boy is comfortable -and happy." - -"Confound the boy!" - -"It is all very well to say that, but he who would have anything to -say to Judith must reckon to have to consider Jamie also. They are -inseparable. Now, I assume that by Judith's marriage Jamie is cared -for. But how about myself? Is every one to lie in clover and I in -stubble? Am I to rack my brains to find a home for my nephew and -niece, only that I may be thrust out myself? To find for them places -at your table, that I may be deprived of a crust and a bone under it? -If no one else will consider me, I must consider myself. I am the last -representative of an ancient and honorable family--" She saw Coppinger -move his hand, and thought he expressed dissent. She added hastily, -"As to Judith and Jamie, they take after their Scotch mother. I do not -reckon them as Trevisas." - -"Come--tell me what you want," said Coppinger, impatiently. - -"I want to be secure for my old age, that I do not spend it in the -poor-house." - -"What do you ask?" - -"Give me an annuity of fifty pounds for my life, and Othello Cottage -that is on your land." - -"You ask enough." - -"You will never get Judith without granting me that." - -"Well--get Judith to be mine, and you shall have it." - -"Will you swear to it?" - -"Yes." - -"And give me--I desire that--the promise in writing." - -"You shall have it." - -"Then I will help you." - -"How?" - -"Leave that to me. I am her guardian." - -"But not of her heart?" - -"Leave her to me. You shall win her." - -"How!" - -"Through Jamie." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -OTHELLO COTTAGE. - - -To revert to the old life as far as possible under changed -circumstances, to pass a sponge over a terrible succession of -pictures, to brush out the vision of horrors from her eyes, and shake -the burden of the past off her head--if for a while only--was a joy to -Judith. She had been oppressed with nightmare, and now the night was -over, her brain clear, and should forget its dreams. - -She and Jamie were together, and were children once more; her anxiety -for her brother was allayed, and she had broken finally with Cruel -Coppinger. Her heart bounded with relief. Jamie was simple and docile -as of old; and she rambled with him through the lanes, along the -shore, upon the downs, avoiding only one tract of common and one cove. - -A child's heart is elastic; eternal droopings it cannot bear. Beaten -down, bruised and draggled by the storm, it springs up when the sun -shines, and laughs into flower. It is no eucalyptus that ever hangs -its leaves; it is a sensitive plant, wincing, closing, at a trifle, -feeling acutely, but not for long. - -And now Judith had got an idea into her head, that she communicated to -Jamie, and her sanguine anticipations kindled his torpid mind. She had -resolved to make little shell baskets and other chimney ornaments, not -out of the marine shells cast up by the sea, for on that coast none -came ashore whole, but out of the myriad snail-shells that strew the -downs. They were of all sizes, from a pin's head to a gooseberry, and -of various colors--salmon-pink, sulphur-yellow, rich brown and pure -white. By judicious arrangement of sizes and of colors, with a little -gum on cardboard, what wonderful erections might be made, certain to -charm the money out of the pocket, and bring in a little fortune to -the twins. - -"And then," said Jamie, "I can build a linney, and rent a paddock, and -keep my Neddy at Polzeath." - -"And," said Judith, "we need be no longer a burden to Auntie." - -The climax of constructive genius would be exhibited in the formation -of a shepherd and shepherdess, for which Judith was to paint faces and -hands; but their hats, their garments, their shoes, were to be made of -shells. The shepherdess was to have a basket on her arm, and in this -basket were to be flowers, not made out of complete shells, but out of -particles of sea-shells of rainbow colors. - -What laughter, what exultation there was over the shepherd and -shepherdess! How in imagination they surpassed the fascinations of -Dresden china figures. And the price at which they were to be sold was -settled. Nothing under a pound would be accepted, and that would be -inadequate to represent the value of such a monument of skill and -patience! The shepherd and shepherdess would have to be kept under -glass bells, on a drawing-room mantel-shelf. - -Judith's life had hitherto been passed between her thoughtful, -cultured father and her thoughtless, infantile brother. In some -particulars she was old for her age, but in others she was younger -than her years. As the companion of her father, she had gained powers -of reasoning, a calmness in judging, and a shrewdness of sense which -is unusual in a girl of eighteen. But as also the associate of Jamie -in his play, she had a childish delight in the simplest amusements, -and a readiness to shake off all serious thought and fretting care in -an instant, and to accommodate herself to the simplicity of her -brother. - -Thus--a child with a child--Judith and Jamie were on the common one -windy, showery day, collecting shells, laughing, chattering, rejoicing -over choice snail-shells, as though neither had passed through a wave -of trouble, as though life lay serene before them. - -Judith had no experience of the world. With her natural wit and -feminine instinct she had discovered that Cruel Coppinger loved her. -She had also no hesitation in deciding that he must be repulsed. -Should he seek her, she must avoid him. They could not possibly unite -their lives. She had told him this, and there the matter ended. He -must swallow his disappointment, and think no more about her. No one -could have everything he wanted. Other people had to put up with -rejection, why not Coppinger? It might be salutary to him to find that -he could not have his way in all things. So she argued, and then she -put aside from her all thought of the Captain, and gave herself up to -consideration of snail-shell boxes, baskets, and shepherds and -shepherdesses. - -Jamie was developing a marvellous aptitude for bird-stuffing. Mr. -Menaida had told Judith repeatedly that if the boy would stick to it, -he might become as skilful as himself. He would be most happy, -thankful to be able to pass over to him some of the work that -accumulated, and which he could not execute. "I am not a professional; -I am an amateur. I only stuff birds to amuse my leisure moments. -Provokingly enough, gentlemen do not believe this. They write to me as -if I were a tradesman, laying their commands upon me, and I resent it. -I have a small income of my own, and am not forced to slave for my -bread and 'baccy. Now, if Jamie will work with me and help me, I will -cheerfully share profits with him. I must be director--that is -understood." - -But it was very doubtful whether poor Jamie could be taught to apply -himself regularly to the work, and that under a desultory master, who -could not himself remain at a task many minutes without becoming -exhausted and abandoning it. Jamie could be induced to work only by -being humored. He loved praise. He must be coaxed and flattered to -undertake any task that gave trouble. Fortunately, taxidermy did not -require any mental effort, and it was the straining of his imperfect -mental powers that irritated and exhausted the boy. - -With a little cajolery he might be got to do as much as did Uncle -Zachie, and if Mr. Menaida were as good as his word--and there could -be little doubt that so kind, amiable, and honorable a man would be -that--Jamie would really earn a good deal of money. Judith also hoped -to earn more with her shell-work, and together she trusted they would -be able to support themselves without further tax on Miss Trevisa. - -And what a childish pleasure they found in scheming their future, what -they would do with their money, where they would take a house, how -furnish it! They laughed over their schemes, and their pulses -fluttered at the delightful pictures they conjured up. And all their -rosy paradise was to rise out of the proceeds of stuffed birds and -snail-shell chimney ornaments. - -"Ju! come here, Ju!" cried Jamie. - -Then again impatiently, "Ju! come here, Ju!" - -"What is it, dear?" - -"Here is the very house for us. Do come and see." - -On the down, nestled against a wall that had once enclosed a garden, -but was now ruinous, stood a cottage. It was built of wreck-timber, -thatched with heather and bracken, and with stones laid on the -thatching, which was bound with ropes, as protection against the wind. -A quaint, small house, with little windows under the low eaves; one -story high, the window-frames painted white; the glass frosted with -salt blown from the sea, so that it was impossible to look through the -small panes, and discover what was within. The door had a gable over -it, and the centre of the gable was occupied by a figure-head of -Othello. The Moor of Venice was black and well battered by storm, so -that the paint was washed and bitten off him. There was a strong brick -chimney in the midst of the roof, but no smoke issued from it, nor had -the house the appearance of being inhabited. There were no blinds to -the windows, there were no crocks, no drying linen about the house; it -had a deserted look, and yet was in good repair. - -"Oh, Ju!" said Jamie, "we will live here. Will it not be fun? And I -shall have a gun and shoot birds." - -"Whose house can it be?" asked Judith. - -"I don't know. Ju, the door is open; shall we go in?" - -"No, Jamie, we have no right there." - -A little gate was in the wall, and Judith looked through. There had at -one time certainly been a garden there, but it had been neglected, and -allowed to be overrun with weeds. Roses, escallonica, and lavender had -grown in untrimmed luxuriance. Marigolds rioted over the space like a -weed. Pinks flourished, loving the sandy soil, but here and there the -rude blue thistle had intruded and asserted its right to the -sea-border land as its indigenous home. - -Down came the rain, so lashing that Judith was constrained to seek -shelter, and, in spite of her protest that she had no right to enter -Othello Cottage, she passed the threshold. - -No one was within but Jamie, who had not attended to her objection; -led by curiosity, and excusing himself by the rain, he had opened the -door and gone inside. - -The house was unoccupied, and yet was not in a condition of neglect -and decay. If no one lived there, yet certainly some one visited it, -for it had not that mouldy atmosphere that pervades a house long shut -up, nor were dust and sand deep on floor and table. There was -furniture, though scanty. The hearth showed traces of having had a -fire in it at no very distant period. There were benches. There were -even tinder-box and candle on the mantle-shelf. - -Jamie was in high excitement and delight. This was the ogre's cottage -to which Jack had climbed up the bean-stalk. He was sure to find -somewhere the hen that laid golden eggs, and the harp that played of -itself. - -Judith seated herself on one of the benches and sorted her shells, -leaving Jamie to amuse himself. As the house was uninhabited, it did -not seem to her that any gross impropriety existed in allowing him to -run in and out and peep round the rooms, and into the corners. - -"Judith," he exclaimed, coming to her from an adjoining room, "there -is a bed in here, and there are crooks in the wall!" - -"What are the crooks for, dear?" - -"For climbing, I think." - -Then he ran back, and she saw no more of him for a while, but heard -him scrambling. - -She rose and went to the door into the adjoining apartment to see that -he was after no mischief. She found that this apartment was intended -for sleeping in. There was a bedstead with a mattress on it, but no -clothes. Jamie had found some crooks in the wall, and was scrambling -up these, with hands and feet, toward the ceiling, where she perceived -an opening, apparently into the attic. - -"Oh, Jamie! what are you doing there?" - -"Ju, I want to see whether there is anything between the roof and the -ceiling. There may be the harp there, or the hen that lays golden -eggs." - -"The shower is nearly over; I shall not wait for you." - -She seated herself on the bed and watched him. He thrust open a -sliding board, and crawled through into the attic. He would soon tire -of exploring among the rafters, and would return dirty, and have to -be cleared of cobwebs and dust. But it amused the boy. He was ever -restless, and she would find it difficult to keep him occupied sitting -by her below till the rain ceased, so she allowed him to scramble and -search as he pleased. Very few minutes had passed before Judith heard -a short cough in the main room, and she at once rose and stepped back -into it to apologize for her intrusion. To her great surprise she -found her aunt there, at the little window, measuring it. - -"A couple of yards will do--double width," said Miss Trevisa. - -"Auntie!" exclaimed Judith. "Who ever would have thought of seeing you -here?" - -Miss Trevisa turned sharply round, and her lips tightened. - -"And who would have thought of seeing you here," she answered, curtly. - -"Auntie, the rain came on; I ran in here so as not to be wet through. -To whom does this house belong?" - -"To the master--to whom else? Captain Coppinger." - -"Are you measuring the window for blinds for him?" - -"I am measuring for blinds, but not for him." - -"But--who lives here?" - -"No one as yet." - -"Is any one coming to live here?" - -"Yes--I am." - -"Oh, auntie! and are we to come here with you?" - -Miss Trevisa snorted, and stiffened her back. - -"Are you out of your senses, like Jamie, to ask such a question? What -is the accommodation here? Two little bedrooms, one large kitchen, and -a lean-to for scullery--that is all--a fine roomy mansion for three -people indeed!" - -"But, auntie, are you leaving the Glaze?" - -"Yes, I am. Have you any objection to that?" - -"No, aunt, only I am surprised. And Captain Cruel lets you have this -dear little cottage?" - -"As to its being dear, I don't know, I am to have it; and that is how -you have found it open to poke and pry into. I came up to look round -and about me, and then found I had not brought my measuring tape with -me, so I returned home for that, and you found the door open and -thrust yourself in." - -"I am very sorry if I have given you annoyance." - -"Oh, it's no annoyance to me. The place is not mine yet." - -"But when do you come here, Aunt Dunes?" - -"When?" Miss Trevisa looked at her niece with a peculiar expression in -her hard face that Judith noticed, but could not interpret. "That," -said Miss Trevisa, "I do not know yet." - -"I suppose you will do up that dear little garden," said Judith. - -Miss Trevisa did not vouchsafe an answer; she grunted, and resumed her -measuring. - -"Has this cottage been vacant for long, auntie?" - -"Yes." - -"But, auntie, some one comes here. It is not quite deserted." - -Miss Trevisa said to herself, "Four times two and one breadth torn in -half to allow for folds will do it. Four times two is eight, and one -breadth more is ten." - -Just then Jamie appeared, shyly peeping through the door. He had heard -his aunt's voice, and was afraid to show himself. Her eye, however, -observed him, and in a peremptory tone she ordered him to come -forward. - -But Jamie would not obey her willingly, and he deemed it best for him -to make a dash through the kitchen to the open front door. - -"That boy!" growled Miss Trevisa, "I'll be bound he has been at -mischief." - -"Auntie, I think the rain has ceased, I will say good-by." - -Then Judith left the cottage. - -"Ju," said Jamie, when he was with his sister beyond earshot of the -aunt, "such fun--I have something to tell you." - -"What is it, Jamie?" - -"I won't tell you till we get home." - -"Oh, Jamie, not till we get back to Polzeath?" - -"Well, not till we get half-way home--to the white gate. Then I will -tell you." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -JAMIE'S RIDE. - - -"Now, Jamie! the white gate." - -"The white gate!--what about that?" He had forgotten his promise. - -"You have a secret to tell me." - -Then the boy began to laugh and to tap his pockets. - -"What do you think, Ju! look what I have found. Do you know what is in -the loft of the cottage we were in? There are piles of tobacco, all up -hidden away in the dark under the rafters. I have got my pockets -stuffed as full as they will hold. It is for Uncle Zachie. Won't he be -pleased?" - -"Oh, Jamie! you should not have done that." - -"Why not? Don't scold, Ju!" - -"It is stealing." - -"No, it is not. No one lives there." - -"Nevertheless it belongs to some one, by whatever means it was got, -and for whatever purpose stowed away there. You had no right to touch -it." - -"Then why do you take snail-shells?" - -"They belong to no one, no one values them. It is other with this -tobacco. Give it up. Take it back again." - -"What--to Aunt Dunes? I daren't, she's so cross." - -"Well, give it to me, and I will take it to her. She is now at the -cottage, and the tobacco can be replaced." - -"Oh, Ju, I should like to see her scramble up the wall!" - -"I do not think she will do that; but she will contrive somehow to -have the tobacco restored. It is not yours, and I believe it belongs -to Captain Cruel. If it be not given back now he may hear of it and be -very angry." - -"He would beat me," said the boy, hastily emptying his pockets. "I'd -rather have Aunt Dunes' jaw than Captain Cruel's stick." He gave the -tobacco to his sister, but he was not in a good humor. He did not see -the necessity for restoring it. But Jamie never disobeyed his sister, -when they were alone, and she was determined with him. Before others -he tried to display his independence, by feeble defiances never long -maintained, and ending in a reconciliation with tears and kisses, and -promises of submission without demur for the future. With all, even -the most docile children, there occur epochs when they try their -wings, strut and ruffle their plumes, and crow very loud--epochs of -petulance or boisterous outbreak of self-assertion in the face of -their guides and teachers. If the latter be firm, the trouble passes -away to be renewed at a future period till manhood or womanhood is -reached, and then guide and teacher who is wise falls back, lays down -control, and lets the pupils have their own way. But if at the first -attempts at mastery, those in authority, through indifference or -feebleness or folly, give way, then the fate of the children is -sealed, they are spoiled for ever. - -Jamie had his rebellious fits, and they were distressing to Judith, -but she never allowed herself to be conquered. She evaded provoking -them whenever possible; and as much as possible led him by his -affection. He had a very tender heart, was devotedly attached to his -sister, and appeals to his better nature were usually successful, not -always immediately, but in the long run. - -Her association with Jamie had been of benefit to Judith; it had -strengthened her character. She had been forced from earliest -childhood to be strong where he was weak, to rule because he was -incapable of ruling himself. This had nurtured in her a decision of -mind, a coolness of judgment, and an inflexibility of purpose unusual -in a girl of her years. - -Judith walked to Othello Cottage, carrying the tobacco in her skirt, -held up by both hands; and Jamie sauntered back to Polzeath, carrying -his sister's basket of shells, stopping at intervals to add to the -collection, then ensconcing himself in a nook of the hedge to watch a -finch, a goldhammer, or a blackbird, then stopped to observe and -follow a beetle of gorgeous metallic hues that was running across the -path. - -Presently he emerged into the highway, the parish road; there was no -main road in those parts maintained by toll-gates, and then observed a -gig approach in which sat two men, one long and narrow-faced, the -other tall, but stout and round-faced. He recognized the former at -once as Mr. Scantlebray, the appraiser. Mr. Scantlebray, who was -driving, nudged his companion, and with the butt-end of the whip -pointed to the boy. - -"Heigh! hi-up! Gaffer!" called Mr. Scantlebray, flapping his arms -against his sides, much as does a cock with his wings. "Come along; I -have something of urgent importance to say to you--something so good -that it will make you squeak; something so delicious that it will make -your mouth water." - -This was addressed to Jamie, as the white mare leisurely trotted up to -where the boy stood. Then Scantlebray drew up, with his elbows at -right angles to his trunk. - -"Here's my brother thirsting, ravening to make your acquaintance--and, -by George! you are in luck's way, young hopeful, to make his. Obadiah! -this here infant is an orphing. Orphing! this is Obadiah Scantlebray, -whom I call Scanty because he is fat. Jump up, will y', into the gig." - -Jamie looked vacantly about him. He had an idea that he ought to wait -for Judith or go directly home. But she had not forbidden him to have -a ride, and a ride was what he dearly loved. - -"Are you coming?" asked Scantlebray; "or do you need a more -ceremonious introduction to Mr. Obadiah, eh?" - -"I've got a basket of shells," said Jamie. "They belong to Ju." - -"Well, put Ju's basket in--the shells won't hurt--and then in with -you. There's a nice little portmantle in front, on which you can sit -and look us in the face, and if you don't tumble off with laughing, it -will be because I strap you in. My brother is the very comicalest -fellow in Cornwall. It's a wonder I haven't died of laughter. I should -have, but our paths diverged; he took up the medical line, and I the -valuation and all that, so my life was saved. Are you comfortable -there?" - -"Yes, sir," said Jamie, seated himself where advised. - -"Now for the strap round ye," said Scantlebray. "Don't be alarmed; -it's to hold you together, lest you split your sides with merriment, -and to hold you in, lest you tumble overboard convulsed with -laughter. That brother of mine is the killingest man in Great -Britain. Look at his face. Bless me! in church I should explode when I -saw him, but that I am engrossed in my devotions. On with you, Juno!" - -That to the gray mare, and a whip applied to make the gray mare trot -along, which she did, with her head down lost in thought, or as if -smelling the road, to make sure that she was on the right track. - -"'Tisn't what he says," remarked Mr. Scantlebray, seeing a questioning -expression on Jamie's innocent face, "it's the looks of him. And when -he speaks--well, it's the way he says it more than what he says. I was -at a Charity Trust dinner, and Obadiah said to the waiter, 'Cutlets, -please!' The fellow dropped the dish, and I stuffed my napkin into my -mouth, ran out, and went into a fit. Now, Scanty, show the young -gentleman how to make a rabbit." - -Then Mr. Scantlebray tickled up the mare with the lash of his whip, -cast some objurgations at a horse-fly that was hovering and then -darting at Juno. - -Mr. Obadiah drew forth a white but very crumpled kerchief from his -pocket, and proceeded to fold it on his lap. - -"Just look at him," said the agent, "doing it in spite of the motion -of the gig. It's wonderful. But his face is the butchery. I can't look -at it for fear of letting go the reins." - -The roads were unfrequented; not a person was passing as the party -jogged along. Mr. Scantlebray hissed to the mare between his front -teeth, which were wide apart; then, turning his eye sideways, observed -what his brother was about. - -"That's his carcase," said he, in reference to the immature rabbit. - -Then a man was sighted coming along the road, humming a tune. It was -Mr. Menaida. - -"How are you? Compliments to the young lady orphing, and say we're -jolly--all three," shouted Scantlebray, urging his mare to a faster -pace, and keeping her up to it till they had turned a corner, and -Menaida was no more in sight. - -"Just look at his face, as he's a folding of that there -pockyhandkercher," said the appraiser. "It's exploding work." - -Jamie looked into the stolid features of Mr. Obadiah, and -laughed--laughed heartily, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. -Not that he saw aught humorous there, but that he was told it was -there, he ought to see it, and would be a fool if he were not -convulsed by it. - -Precisely the same thing happens with us. We look at and go into -raptures over a picture, because it is by a Royal Academician who has -been knighted on account of his brilliant successes. We are charmed at -a cantata, stifling our yawns, because we are told by the art critics -who are paid to puff it, that we are fools, and have no ears if we do -not feel charmed by it. We rush to read a new novel, and find it -vastly clever, because an eminent statesman has said on a postcard it -has pleased him. - -We laugh when told to laugh, condemn when told to condemn, and would -stand on our heads if informed that it was bad for us to walk on our -feet. - -"There!" said Mr. Scantlebray, the valuer. "Them's ears." - -"Crrrh!" went Mr. Obadiah, and the handkerchief, converted into a -white bunny, shot from his hand up his sleeve. - -"I can't drive, 'pon my honor; I'm too ill. You have done me for -to-day," said Scantlebray the elder, the valuer. "Now, young hopeful, -what say you? Will you make a rabbit, also? I'll give you a shilling -if you will." - -Thereupon Jamie took the kerchief and spread it out, and began to fold -it. Whenever he went wrong Mr. Obadiah made signs, either by elevation -of his brows and a little shake of his head, or by pointing, and his -elder brother caught him at it and protested. Obadiah was the drollest -fellow, he was incorrigible, as full of mischief as an egg is full of -meat. There was no trusting him for a minute when the eye was off him. - -"Come, Scanty! I'll put you on your honor. Look the other way." But a -moment after--"Ah, for shame! there you are at it again. Young -hopeful, you see what a vicious brother I have; perfectly -untrustworthy, but such a comical dog. Full of tricks up to the ears. -You should see him make shadows on the wall. He can represent a pig -eating out of a trough. You see the ears flap, the jaws move, the eye -twinkle in appreciation of the barley-meal. It is to the life, and all -done by the two hands--by one, I may say, for the other serves as -trough. What! Done the rabbit! First rate! Splendid! Here is the -shilling. But, honor bright, you don't deserve it; that naughty Scanty -helped you." - -"Please," said Jamie, timidly, "may I get out now and go home?" - -"Go home! What for?" - -"I want to show Ju my shilling." - -"By ginger! that is too rich. Not a bit of it. Do you know Mistress -Polgrean's sweetie shop?" - -"But that's at Wadebridge." - -"At Wadebridge; and why not? You will spend your shilling there. But -look at my brother. It is distressing; his eyes are alight at the -thoughts of the tartlets, and the sticks of peppermint sugar, and the -almond rock. Are you partial to almond rock, orphin?" - -Jamie's mind was at once engaged. - -"Which is it to be? Gingerbreads or tartlets, almond rock or -barley-sugar?" - -"I think I'll have the peppermint," said Jamie. - -"Then peppermint it shall be. And you will give me a little bit, and -Scanty a bit, and take a little bit home to Ju, eh?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"He'll take a little bit home to Ju, Obadiah, old man." - -The funny brother nodded. - -"And the basket of shells?" asked the elder. - -"Yes, she is making little boxes with them to sell," said Jamie. - -"I suppose I may have the privilege of buying some," said Mr. -Scantlebray, senior. "Oh, look at that brother of mine! How he is -screwing his nose about! I say, old man, are you ill? Upon my life, I -believe he is laughing." - -Presently Jamie got restless. - -"Please, Mr. Scantlebray, may I get out? Ju will be frightened at my -being away so long." - -"Poor Ju!" said Scantlebray, the elder. "But no--don't you worry your -mind about that. We passed Uncle Zachie, and he will tell her where -you are, in good hands, or rather, nipped between most reliable -knees--my brother's and mine. Sit still. I can't stop Juno; we're -going down-hill now, and if I stopped Juno she would fall. You must -wait--wait till we get to Mrs. Polgrean's." Then, after chuckling-to -himself, Scantlebray, senior, said: "Obadiah, old man, I wonder what -Missie Ju is thinking? I wonder what she will say, eh?" Again he -chuckled. "No place in your establishment for that party, eh?" - -The outskirts of Wadebridge were reached. - -"Now may I get out?" said Jamie. - -"Bless my heart! Not yet. Wait for Mrs. Polgrean's." - -But presently Mrs. Polgrean's shop-window was passed. - -"Oh, stop! stop!" cried Jamie. "We have gone by the sweetie shop." - -"Of course we have," answered Scantlebray, senior. "I daren't trust -that brother of mine in there; he has such a terrible sweet tooth. -Besides, I want you to see the pig eating out of the trough. It will -kill you. If it don't I'll give you another shilling." - -Presently he drew up at the door of a stiff, square-built house, with -a rambling wing thrown out on one side. It was stuccoed and painted -drab--drab walls, drab windows, and drab door. - -"Now, then, young man," said Scantlebray, cheerily, "I'll unbuckle the -strap and let you out. You come in with me. This is my brother's -mansion, roomy, pleasant, and comprehensive. You shall have a dish of -tea." - -"And then I may go home?" - -"And then--we shall see; shan't we, Obadiah, old man?" - -They entered the hall, and the door was shut and fastened behind them; -then into a somewhat dreary room, with red flock paper on the walls, -no pictures, leather-covered, old, mahogany chairs, and a book or two -on the table--one of these a Bible. - -Jamie looked wonderingly about him, a little disposed to cry. He was a -long way from Polzeath, and Judith would be waiting for him and -anxious, and the place into which he was ushered was not cheery, not -inviting. - -"Now, then," said Mr. Scantlebray, "young hopeful, give me my -shilling." - -"Please, I'm going to buy some peppermint and burnt almonds for Ju and -me as I go back." - -"Oh, indeed! But suppose you do not have the chance?" - -Jamie looked vacantly in his face, then into that of the stolid -brother, who was not preparing to show him the pig feeding out of a -trough, nor was he calling for tea. - -"Come," said Scantlebray, the elder; "suppose I take charge of that -shilling till you have the chance of spending it, young man." - -"Please, I'll spend it now." - -"Not a bit. You won't have the chance. Do you know where you are!" - -Jamie looked round in distress. He was becoming frightened at the -altered tone of the valuer. - -"My dear," said Mr. Scantlebray, "you're now an honorable inmate of my -brother's Establishment for Idiots, which you don't leave till cured -of imbecility. That shilling, if you please?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -ALL IS FOR THE BEST IN THE BEST OF WORLDS. - - -Judith returned to the cottage of Mr. Menaida, troubled in mind, for -Aunt Dunes had been greatly incensed at the taking of the tobacco by -Jamie, and not correspondingly gratified by the return of it so -promptly by Judith. Miss Trevisa was a woman who magnified and -resented any wrong done, but minimized and passed over as unworthy of -notice whatever was generous, and every attempt made to repay an evil. -Such attempts not only met with no favor from her, but were perverted -in her crabbed mind into fresh affronts or injuries. That the theft of -Jamie would not have been discovered had not Judith spoken of it and -brought back what had been taken, was made of no account by Aunt -Dionysia; she attacked Judith with sharp reproach for allowing the boy -to be mischievous, for indulging him and suffering him to run into -danger through his inquisitiveness and thoughtlessness. "For," said -Aunt Dionysia, "had the master or any of his men found out what Jamie -had done there is no telling how he might have been served." Then she -had muttered: "If you will not take precautions, other folk must, and -the boy must be put where he can be properly looked after and kept -from interfering with the affairs of others." - -On reaching Mr. Menaida's cottage, Judith called her brother, but as -she did not receive an answer, she went in quest of him, and was met -by the servant, Jump. "If you please, miss," said Jump, "there's been -two gen'lemen here, as said they was come from Mrs. Trevisa, and said -they was to pack and take off Master Jamie's clothes. And please miss, -I didn't know what to do--they was gen'lemen, and the master--he was -out, and you was out, miss--and Master Jamie, he wasn't to home -n'other." - -"Taken Jamie's clothes!" repeated Judith, in amazement. - -"Yes, miss, they brought a portmantle a-purpose; and they'd a gig at -the door; and they spoke uncommon pleasant, leastwise one o' them -did." - -"And where is Jamie? Has he not come home?" - -"No, miss." - -At that moment Mr. Menaida came in. - -"What is it, Judith? Jamie? Where Jamie is?--why, having a ride, -seated between the two Scantlebrays, in their gig. That is where he -is." - -"Oh, Mr. Menaida, but they have taken his clothes!" - -"Whose clothes?" - -"Jamie's." - -"I do not understand." - -"The two gentlemen came to this house when you and I were out, and -told Jump that they were empowered by my aunt to pack up and carry off -all Jamie's clothing, which they put into a portmanteau they had -brought with them." - -"And then picked up Jamie. He was sitting on the portmanteau," said -Uncle Zachie; then his face became grave. "They said that they acted -under authority from Mrs. Trevisa?" - -"So Jump says." - -"It can surely not be that he has been moved to the asylum." - -"Asylum, Mr. Menaida?" - -"The idiot asylum." - -Judith uttered a cry, and staggered back against the wall. - -"Jamie! my brother Jamie!" - -"Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray has such a place at Wadebridge." - -"But Jamie is not an idiot." - -"Your aunt authorized them--," mused Uncle Zachie. "Humph! you should -see her about it. That is the first step, and ascertain whether she -has done it, or whether they are acting with a high hand for -themselves. I'll look at my law-books--if the latter it would be -actionable." - -Judith did not hesitate for a moment. She hastened to Pentyre. That -her aunt had left Othello Cottage she was pretty sure, as she was -preparing to leave it when Judith returned with the tobacco. -Accordingly she took the road to Pentyre at once. Tears of shame and -pain welled up in her eyes at the thought of her darling brother -being beguiled away to be locked up among the imbecile in a private -establishment for the insane. Then her heart was contracted with anger -and resentment at the scurvy trick played on her and him: She did not -know that the Scantlebrays had been favored by pure accident. She -conceived that men base enough to carry off her brother would watch -and wait for the opportunity when to do it unobserved and unopposed. -She hardly walked. She ran till her breath failed her, and the rapid -throbbing of her heart would no longer allow her to run. Her dread of -approaching the Glaze after the declaration made by Captain Cruel was -overwhelmed in her immediate desire to know something about Jamie, in -her anguish of fear for him. On Coppinger she did not cast a -thought--her mind was so fully engrossed in her brother. - -She saw nothing of the Captain. She entered the house, and proceeded -at once to her aunt's apartment. She found Miss Trevisa there, seated -near the window, engaged on some chintz that she thought would do for -the window at Othello Cottage, when she took possession of it. She had -measured the piece, found that it was suitable, and was turning down a -hem and tacking it. It was a pretty chintz, covered with sprigs of -nondescript pink and blue flowers. - -Judith burst in on her, breathless, her brow covered with dew, her -bosom heaving, her face white with distress, and tears standing on her -eyelashes. She threw herself on her knees before Miss Trevisa, half -crying out and half sobbing: - -"Oh, aunt! they have taken him!" - -"Who have taken whom?" asked the elderly lady, coldly. - -She raised her eyes and cast a look full of malevolence at Judith. She -never had, did not, never would feel toward that girl as a niece. She -hated her for her mother's sake, and now she felt an unreasonable -bitterness against her, because she had fascinated Coppinger--perhaps, -also, because in a dim fashion she was aware that she herself was -acting toward the child in an unworthy, unmerciful manner, and we all -hate those whom we wrong. - -"Auntie! tell me it is not so. Mr. Scantlebray and his brother have -carried my darling Jamie away." - -"Well, and what of that!" - -"But--will they let me have him back?" - -Miss Trevisa pulled at the chintz. "I will trouble you not to crumple -this," she said. - -"Aunt! dear aunt! you did not tell Mr. Scantlebray to take Jamie away -from me?" - -The old lady did not answer, she proceeded to release the material at -which she was engaged from under the knees of Judith. The girl, in her -vehemence, put her hands to her aunt's arms, between the elbows and -shoulders, and held and pressed them back, and with imploring eyes -looked into her hard face. - -"Oh, auntie! you never sent Jamie to an asylum?" - -"I must beg you to let go my arms," said Miss Trevisa. "This conduct -strikes me as most indecorous toward one of my age and relationship." - -She avoided Judith's eye, her brow wrinkled, and her lips contracted. -The gall in her heart rose and overflowed. - -"I am not ashamed of what I have done." - -"Auntie!" with a cry of pain. Then Judith let go the old lady's arms, -and clasped her hands over her eyes. - -"Really," said Miss Trevisa, with asperity, "you are a most -exasperating person. I shall do with the boy what I see fit. You know -very well that he is a thief." - -"He never took anything before to-day--never--and you had settled this -before you knew about the tobacco!" burst from Judith, in anger and -with floods of tears. - -"I knew that he has always been troublesome and mischievous, and he -must be placed where he can be properly managed by those accustomed to -such cases." - -"There is nothing the matter with Jamie." - -"You have humored and spoiled him. If he is such a plague to all who -know him, it is because he has been treated injudiciously. He is now -with men who are experienced, and able to deal with the like of -Jamie." - -"Aunt, he must not be there. I promised my papa to be ever with him, -and to look after him." - -"Then it is a pity your father did not set this down in writing. -Please to remember that I, and not you, am constituted his guardian, -by the terms of the will." - -"Oh, aunt! aunt! let him come back to me!" - -Miss Trevisa shook her head. - -"Then let me go to him!" - -"Hoity-toity! here's airs and nonsense. Really, Judith, you are almost -imbecile enough to qualify for the asylum. But I cannot afford the -cost of you both. Jamie's cost in that establishment will be £70 in -the year, and how much do you suppose that you possess?" - -Judith remained kneeling upright, with her hands clasped, looking -earnestly through her tears at her aunt. - -"You have in all, between you, but £45 or £50. When the dilapidations -are paid, and the expenses of the funeral, and the will-proving, and -all that, I do not suppose you will be found to have a thousand pounds -between you, and that put out to interest will not bring you more than -I have said; so I shall have to make up the deficiency. That is not -pleasing to me, you may well suppose. But I had rather pay £25 out of -my poor income, than have the name of the family disgraced by Jamie." - -"Jamie will never, never disgrace the name. He is too good. And--it is -wicked, it is cruel to put him where you have. He is not an idiot." - -"I am perhaps a better judge than you; so also is Mr. Obadiah -Scantlebray, who has devoted his life to the care and study of the -imbecile. Your brother has weak intellects." - -"He is not clever; that is all. With application----" - -"He cannot apply his mind. He has no mind that can be got to be -applied." - -"Aunt, he's no idiot. He must not be kept in that place." - -"You had best go back to Polzeath. I have decided on what I considered -right. I have done my duty." - -"It cannot be just. I will see what Mr. Menaida says. He must be -released; if you will not let him out, I will." - -Miss Trevisa looked up at her quickly between her half-closed lids; a -bitter, cruel smile quivered about her lips. "If any one can deliver -him, it will be you." - -Judith did not understand her meaning, and Aunt Dionysia did not care -at that time to further enlighten her thereon. Finding her aunt -inflexible, the unhappy girl left Pentyre Glaze and hurried back to -Polzeath, where she implored Mr. Menaida to accompany her to -Wadebridge. Go there she would--she must--that same evening. If he -would not attend her, she would go alone. She could not rest, she -could not remain in the house, till she had been to the place where -Jamie was, and seen whether she could not release him thence by her -entreaties, her urgency. - -Mr. Menaida shook his head. But he was a kind-hearted old man, and was -distressed at the misery of the girl, and would not hear of her making -the expedition alone, as she could not well return before dark. So he -assumed his rough and shabby beaver hat, put on his best cravat, and -sallied forth with Judith upon her journey to Wadebridge, one that he -assured her must be fruitless, and had better be postponed till the -morrow. - -"I cannot! I cannot!" she cried. "I cannot sleep, thinking of my -darling brother in that dreadful place, with such people about him, he -crying, frightened, driven mad by the strangeness of it all, and being -away from me. I must go. If I cannot save him and bring him back with -me, I can see him and console him, and bid him wait in patience and -hope." - -Mr. Menaida with a soft heart and a weak will, was hung about with -scraps of old-world polish, scraps only. In him nothing was -complete--here and there a bare place of rustic uncouthness, there -patches of velvet courtesy of the Queen Anne age; so, also, was he -made up of fine culture, of classic learning alternating with boorish -ignorance--here high principle, there none at all--a picture worked to -a miniature in points, and in others rudely roughed in and neglected. -Now he was moved as he had not been moved for years by the manifest -unhappiness of the girl, and he was willing to do his utmost to assist -her, but that utmost consisted in little more than accompanying her to -Wadebridge and ringing at the house-bell of Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray's -establishment. When it came to the interview that ensued with the -proprietor of the establishment and jailer of Jamie, he failed -altogether. Judith and Uncle Zachie were shown into the dreary parlor -without ornaments, and presently to them entered Mr. Obadiah. - -"Oh, sir, is he here?--have you got Jamie here?" - -Mr. Scantlebray nodded his head, then went to the door and knocked -with his fists against the wall. A servant maid appeared. "Send -missus," said he, and returned to the parlor. - -Again Judith entreated to be told if her brother were there with all -the vehemence and fervor of her tattered heart. - -Mr. Obadiah listened with stolid face and vacant eyes that turned from -her to Mr. Menaida, and then back to her again. Presently an idea -occurred to him and his face brightened. He went to a sideboard, -opened a long drawer, brought out a large book, thrust it before -Judith, and said, "Pictures." Then, as she took no notice of the book, -he opened it. - -"Oh, please sir," pleaded Judith, "I don't want that. I want to know -about Jamie. I want to see him." - -Then in at the door came a lady in black silk, with small curls about -her brow. She was stout, but not florid. - -"What!" said she, "my dear, are you the young lady whose brother is -here? Don't you fret yourself. He is as comfortable as a chick in a -feathered nest. Don't you worry your little self about him now. Now -your good days have begun. He will not be a trouble and anxiety to you -any more. He is well cared for. I dare be sworn he has given you many -an hour of anxiety. Now, O be joyful! that is over, and you can dance -and play with a light heart. I have lifted the load off you, I and Mr. -Scantlebray. Here he will be very comfortable and perfectly happy. I -spare no pains to make my pets snug, and Scantlebray is inexhaustible -in his ability to amuse them. He has a way with these innocents that -is quite marvellous. Wait a while--give him and me a trial, and see -what the result is. You may believe me as one of long and tried -experience. It never does for amateurs--for relations--to undertake -these cases; they don't know when to be firm, or when to yield. We -do--it is our profession. We have studied the half-witted." - -"But my brother is _not_ half-witted." - -"So you say, and so it becomes you to say. Never admit that there is -imbecility or insanity in the family. You are quite right, my dear; -you look forward to being married some day, and you know very well it -might stand in the way of an engagement, were it supposed that you had -idiocy in the family blood. It is quite right. I understand all that -sort of thing. We call it nervous debility, and insanity we term -nervous excitement. Scantlebray, my poppet, isn't it so!" - -Mr. Obadiah nodded. - -"You leave all care to us; thrust it upon our shoulders. They will -bear it; and never doubt that your brother will be cared for in body -and in soul. In body--always something nice and light for supper, -tapioca, rice-pudding, batter; to-night, rolly-poly. After that, -prayers. We don't feed high, but we feed suitably. If you like to pay -a little extra, we will feed higher. Now, my dear, you take all as for -the best, and rely on it everything is right." - -"But Jamie ought not to be locked up." - -"My dear, he is at school under the wisest and most experienced of -teachers. You have mismanaged him. Now he will be treated -professionally; and Mr. Scantlebray superintends not the studies only, -but the amusements of the pupils. He has such a fund of humor in him." -Obadiah at once produced his pocket-handkerchief and began to fold it. -"No, dear, no ducky, no rabbit now! You fond thing, you! always -thinking of giving entertainment to some one. No, nor the parson -preaching either." He was rolling his hands together and thrusting up -his thumb as the representative of a sacred orator in his pulpit. "No, -ducky darling! another time. My husband is quite a godsend to the -nervously prostrate. He can amuse them by the hour; he never wearies -of it; he is never so happy as when he is entertaining them. You -cannot doubt that your brother will be content in the house of such a -man. Take my word for it; there is nothing like believing that all is -for the best as it is. Our pupils will soon be going to bed. -Rolly-poly and prayers, and then to bed--that is the order." - -"Oh, let me see Jamie now." - -"No, my dear. It would be injudicious. He is settling in; he is -becoming reconciled, and it would disturb him, and undo what has -already been done. Don't you say so, poppet?" - -The poppet nodded his head. - -"You see, this great authority agrees with me. Now, this evening -Jamie and the others shall have an extra treat. They shall have the -pig eating out of the trough. There--what more can you desire? As soon -as lights are brought in, then rolly-poly, prayers, and the pig and -the trough. Another time you shall see him. Not to-night. It is -inadvisable. Take my word for it, your brother is as happy as a boy -can be. He has found plenty of companions of the same condition as -himself." - -"But he is _not_ an idiot." - -"My dear, we know all about that; very nice and sweet for you to say -so--isn't it duckie?" - -The duckie agreed it was so. - -"There is the bell. My dear, another time. You will promise to come -and see me again? I have had such a delightful talk with you. -Good-night, good-night. 'All is for the best in the best of worlds.' -Put that maxim under your head and sleep upon it." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -A NIGHT EXCURSION. - - -Some people are ever satisfied with what is certain to give themselves -least trouble, especially if that something concerns other persons. - -Mr. Menaida was won over by the volubility of Mrs. Scantlebray and the -placidity of Mr. Scantlebray to the conviction that Jamie was in the -very best place he could possibly be in. A lady who called Judith "my -dear" and her husband "duckie" must have a kindly heart, and a -gentleman like Mr. Obadiah, so full of resources, could not fail to -divert and gratify the minds of those under his charge, and banish -care and sorrow. And as Mr. Menaida perceived that it would be a -difficult matter to liberate Jamie from the establishment where he -was, and as it was an easy matter to conclude that the establishment -was admirably adapted to Jamie, he was content that Aunt Dionysia had -chosen the wisest course in putting him there, and that it would be to -the general advantage to cherish this opinion. For, in the first -place, it would pacify Judith, and then, by pacifying her, would give -himself none of that inconvenience, that running to and fro between -Polzeath and Wadebridge, that consultation of law-books, that -correspondence, that getting of toes and fingers into hot water, -likely to result from the impatience, the unflagging eagerness of -Judith to liberate her brother. - -Accordingly Uncle Zachie used his best endeavors to assure Judith that -Jamie certainly was happy, had never been so happy in his life before, -and that, under the treatment of so kind and experienced a man as Mr. -Obadiah Scantlebray, there was reason to believe that in a short time -Jamie would issue from under his tuition a light so brilliant as to -outshine the beacon on Trevose Head. - -Judith was unconvinced. Love is jealous and timorous. She feared lest -all should not be as was represented. There was an indefinable -something in Mrs. Scantlebray that roused her suspicion. She could not -endure that others should step into the place of responsibility toward -Jamie she had occupied so long, and which she had so solemnly assured -her father she would never abandon. Supposing that Scantlebray and his -wife were amiable and considerate persons, might they not so influence -the fickle Jamie as to displace her from his affections and insinuate -themselves in her room? - -But it was not this mainly that troubled her. She was tormented with -the thought of the lonely, nervous child in the strange house, among -strange people, in desolation of heart and deadly fear. - -Whenever he had become excited during the day he was sleepless at -night, and had to be soothed and coaxed into slumber. On such -occasions she had been wont, with the infinite, inexhaustible patience -of true love, to sit by his bed, pacifying his alarms, allaying his -agitation, singing to him, stroking his hair, holding his hand, till -his eyes closed. And how often, just as he seemed about to drop -asleep, had he become again suddenly awake, through some terror, or -some imagined discomfort? then all the soothing process had to be gone -through again, and it had always been gone through without a murmur or -an impatient word. - -Now Jamie was alone--or perhaps worse than alone--in a dormitory of -idiots, whose strange ways filled him with terror, and his dull mind -would be working to discover how he came to be there, how it was that -his Ju was not with him. Who would lull his fears, who sing to him old -familiar strains? Would any other hand rest on the hot brow and hold -it down on the pillow? - -Judith looked up to heaven, to the stars already glimmering there. She -was not hearkening to the talk of Uncle Zachie: she was thinking her -own thoughts. She was indeed walking back to Polzeath; but her mind -was nailed to that dull drab house in the suburbs of Wadebridge with -the brass plate on the door, inscribed, "Mr. Scantlebray, Surgeon." As -her eyes were raised to the stars, she thought of her father. He was -above, looking down on her, and it seemed to her that in the flicker -of the stars she saw the trouble in her father's face at the knowledge -that his children were parted, and his poor little half-bright boy -was fallen among those who had no love for him, might have no patience -with his waywardness, would not make allowance for his infirmities. - -She sobbed, and would not be comforted by Mr. Menaida's assurances. -Tired, foot-weary, but more tired and weary in heart and mind, she -reached the cottage. She could not sleep; she was restless. She sought -Jamie's room, and seated herself on the chair by his little bed, and -sobbed far on into the night. Her head ached, as did her burning and -blistered feet; and as she sat she dozed off, then awoke with a start, -so distinctly did she seem to hear Jamie's voice--his familiar tone -when in distress--crying, "Ju! Come to me, Ju!" So vividly did the -voice sound to her that she could not for a moment or two shake off -the conviction that she had in reality heard him. She thought that he -must have called her. He must be unhappy. What were those people doing -to him? Were they tormenting the poor little frightened creature? Were -they putting him into a dark room by himself, and was he nearly mad -with terror? Were they beating him, because he cried out in the night -and disturbed the house? - -She imagined him sitting up on a hard bed, shivering with fear, -looking round him in the dark, and screaming for her--and she could -not help him. - -"Oh, Jamie!" she cried, and threw herself on her knees and put her -hands over her eyes to shut out the horrible sight, over her ears to -close them to the piercing cry. "They will drive him mad! Oh, papa! my -papa! what will you say to me? Oh, my Jamie! what can I do for you?" - -She was half mad herself, mad with fancies, conjured up by the fever -of distress into which she had worked herself. What could she do? She -could not breathe in that room. She could not breathe in the house. -She could not remain so far from Jamie--and he crying for her. His -voice rang still in her ears. It sounded in her heart, it drew her -irresistibly away. If she could but be outside that drab establishment -in the still night, to listen, and hear if all were quiet within, or -whether Jamie were calling, shrieking for her. He would cry himself -into fits. He would become really deranged, unless he were pacified. -Oh! those people!--she imagined they were up, not knowing what to do -with the boy, unable to soothe him, and were now wishing that she -were there, wishing they had not sent her away. - -Judith was in that condition which is one of half craze through -brooding on her fears, through intense sympathy with the unhappy boy -so ruthlessly spirited away, through fever of the blood, caused by -long-protracted nervous strain, through over-weariness of mind and -body. Jamie's distress, his need for her became an idea that laid hold -of her, that could not be dispelled, that tortured her into -recklessness. She could not lie on her bed, she could not rest her -head for one moment. She ran to the window, panting, and smoked the -glass with her burning breath, so that she could not see through it. - -The night was still, the sky clear, and there were stars in it. Who -would be abroad at that time? What danger would ensue to her if she -went out and ran back to Wadebridge? If any foot were to be heard on -the road, she could hide. She had gone out at night in storm to save -Cruel Coppinger--should she not go out in still starlight to aid her -own twin-brother, if he needed her? Providence had shielded her -before--it would shield her now. - -The house was quiet. Mr. Menaida had long ago gone to bed, and was -asleep. His snores were usually audible at night through the cottage. -Jump was asleep, sound in sleep as any hard-worked sewing-wench. -Judith had not undressed, had not taken off her shoes; she had -wandered, consumed by restlessness, between her own room and that of -her brother. - -It was impossible for her to remain there. She felt that she would die -of imaginings of evil unless she were near Jamie, unless there were -naught but a wall between him and her. - -Judith descended the stairs and once again went forth alone into the -night, not now to set her face seaward, but landward; before she had -gone with a defined aim in view, to warn Coppinger of his danger, now -she was moved by a vague suspicion of evil. - -The night was calm, but there was summer lightning on the horizon, -attended by no thunder, a constant flicker, sometimes a flare, as -though some bonfire were kindled beyond the margin of the world, that -was being stirred and added to. The air was close. - -Judith had no one to look to in the world to help her and Jamie--not -her aunt, her sole relative, it was she who had sent her brother to -this place of restraint; not Mr. Menaida, he had not the moral courage -and energy of purpose to succor her in her effort to release Jamie; -not Captain Coppinger--him she dare not ask, lest he should expect too -much in return. The hand of misfortune was heavy on the girl; if -anything was to be done to relieve the pressure, she must do it -herself. - -As she was going hastily along the lane she suddenly halted. She heard -some one a little way before her. There was no gate near by which she -could escape. The lane was narrow, and the hedges low, so as not to -afford sufficient shadow to conceal her. By the red summer flashes she -saw a man reeling toward her round the corner. His hat was on one side -of his head, and he lurched first to one side of the lane, then to the -other. - - "There went three trav'llers over the moor-- - Ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he. - Three trav'llers over the moor so green, - The one sang high, the third sang low, - Ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he, - And the second he trolled between." - -Then he stood still. - -"Huph! huph!" he shouted. "Some one else go on, I'm done -for--'Ri-tiddle-de.'" - -He saw Judith by the starlight and by the flicker of the lightning, -and put his head on one side and capered toward her with arms -extended, chirping--"'Ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he.'" - -Judith started on one side, and the drunken man pursued her, but in so -doing, stumbled, and fell sprawling on the ground. He scrambled to his -feet again, and began to swear at her and sent after her a volley of -foul and profane words. Had he contented himself with this it would -have been bad enough, but he also picked up a stone and threw it. -Judith felt a blow on her head, and the lightning flashes seemed to be -on all sides of her, and then great black clouds to be rising like -smoke out of the earth about her. She staggered into the hedge, and -sank on her knees. - -But fear lest the tipsy ruffian should pursue her nerved her to make -an effort to escape. She quickly rose and ran along the lane, turned -the corner, and ran on till her feet would no longer bear her, and -her breath failed. Then, looking back, and seeing that she was not -followed, she seated herself, breathless, and feeling sick, in the -hedge, where a glow-worm was shining, with a calm, steady light, very -different from the flicker of the stars above. - -As she there sat, she was conscious of something warm on her neck, and -putting her hand up, felt that it was moist. She held her fingers to -the faint glow of the worm in the grass; there was a dark stain on her -hand, and she was sure that it was blood. - -She felt her head swim, and knew that in another moment she would lose -consciousness, unless she made an effort to resist. Hastily she bound -a white handkerchief about her head where wounded by the stone, to -stay the flow, and walked resolutely forward. - -There was now a shadow stealing up the sky to the south, and obscuring -the stars, a shadow behind which danced and wavered the electrical -light, but Judith heard no thunder, she had not the leisure to listen -for it; all her anxiety was to reach Wadebridge. But the air, the -oppressively sultry air, was charged with sound, the mutter and growl -of the Atlantic. The ocean, never at rest, ever gives forth a voice, -but the volume of its tone varies. Now it was loud and threatening, -loud and threatening as it had been on that afternoon when Judith sat -with her father in the rectory garden, tossing guelder-roses. Then, -the air had been still, but burdened with the menace of the sea. So it -was now at midnight; the ocean felt the influence of the distant storm -that was playing far away to the south. - -Judith could not run now. Her feet were too sore, her strength had -given way. Resolute though her will might be, it could not inspire -with masculine strength the fragile little body, recently recovered -from sickness. But it carried her into the suburbs of Wadebridge, and -in the starlight she reached the house of Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray, and -stood before it, looking up at it despairingly. It was not drab in -color now, it was lampblack against a sky that flashed in the -russet-light. The kerchief she had tied about her head had become -loose. Still looking at the ugly, gloomy house, she put up her arms -and rebound it, knotting the ends more tightly, using care not to -cover her ears, as she was intent to hear the least sound, that -issued from the asylum. But for some time she could hear nothing save -the rush of her blood in her ears, foaming, hissing, like the tide -entering a bay over reefs. With this was mingled the mutter of the -Atlantic, beyond the hills--and now--yes, certainly now--the rumble of -remote thunder. - -Judith had stood on the opposite side of the street looking up at -Scantlebray's establishment; she saw no light anywhere. Now she drew -near and crept along the walls. There was a long wing, with its back -to the street, without a window in the wall, and she thought it -probable that the inmates of the asylum were accommodated therein, a -dormitory up-stairs, play or school-rooms below. There Jamie must be. -The only windows to this wing opened into the garden; and consequently -Judith stole along the garden wall, turned the angle, down a little -lane, and stood listening. The wall was high, and the summit encrusted -with broken glass. She could see the glass prongs by the flicker of -the lightning. She could not possibly see over the wall; the lane was -too narrow for her to go back far, and the wall on the further side -too high to climb. Not a sound from within reached her ears. - -In the still night she stood holding her breath. - -Then a scream startled her. - -It was the cry of a gull flying inland. - -If a gull's cry could be heard, then surely that of her brother, were -he awake and unhappy, and wanting her. - -She went further down the wall, and came on a small garden gate in it, -fastened, locked from within. It had a stone step. On that she sank, -and laid her head in her hands. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -FOUND. - - -Strange mystery of human sympathy! inexplicable, yet very real. -Irrational, yet very potent. The young mother has accepted an -invitation to a garden-party. She knows that she never looked better -than at present, with a shade of delicacy about her. She has got a new -bonnet that is particularly becoming, and which she desires to wear in -public. She has been secluded from society for several months, and she -longs to meet her friends again. She knows that she is interesting, -and believes herself to be more interesting than she really is. So she -goes. She is talking, laughing, a little flushed with pleasure, when -suddenly she becomes grave, the hand that holds the plate of -raspberries and cream trembles. All her pleasure is gone. She knows -that baby is crying. Her eye wanders in quest of her husband, she runs -to him, touches his arm, says-- - -"Do order the carriage; baby is crying." - -It is all fiddle-de-dee. Baby has the best of nurses, the snuggest, -daintiest little cot; has a fresh-opened tin of condensed Swiss milk. -Reason tells her that; but no! and nurse cannot do anything to pacify -the child, baby is crying, nurse is in despair. - -In like manner now did Judith argue with herself, without being able -to convince her heart. Her reason spoke and said to her-- - -No sound of cries comes from the asylum. There is no light in any -window. Every inmate is asleep, Jamie among them. He does not need you. -He is travelling in dreamland. The Scantlebrays have been kind to him. -The lady is a good, motherly body; the gentleman's whole soul is -devoted to finding amusement and entertainment for the afflicted -creatures under his care. He has played tricks before Jamie, made -shadow-pictures on the wall, told funny stories, made jacks-in-the-box -with his hands, and Jamie has laughed till he was tired, and his heavy -eyes closed with a laugh not fully laughed out on his lips. The -Scantlebrays are paid £70 for taking care of Jamie, and £70 in Judith's -estimation was a very princely sum. The £70 per annum Mr. Scantlebray -would corruscate into his richest fun, and Mrs. Scantlebray's heart -overflowed with warmest maternal affection. - -But it was in vain that Judith thus reasoned, her heart would not be -convinced. An indescribable unrest was in her, and would not be laid. -She knew by instinct that Jamie wanted her, was crying for her, was -stretching out his hands in the dark for her. - -As she sat on the step not only did reason speak, but judgment also. -She could do nothing there. She had acted a foolish part in coming all -that way in the dark, and without a chance of effecting any -deliverance to Jamie now she had reached her destination. She had -committed an egregious error in going such a distance from home, from -anyone who might serve as protector to her in the event of danger, and -there were other dangers she might encounter than having stones thrown -at her by drunken men. If the watch were to find her there, what -explanation of her presence could she give? Would they take her away -and lock her up for the rest of the night? They could not leave her -there. Large, warm drops, like tears from angels' eyes, fell out of -heaven upon her folded hands, and on her bowed neck. - -She began to feel chilled after having been heated by her walk, so she -rose, and found that she had become stiff. She must move about, -however sore and weary her feet might be. - -She had explored the lane as far as was needful. She could not see -from it into the house, the garden, and playground. Was it possible -that there was a lane on the further side of the house which would -give her the desired opportunity? - -Judith resolved to return by the way she had come, down the lane into -the main street, then to walk along the front of the house, and -explore the other side. As she was descending the lane she noticed, -about twenty paces from the door, on the further side, a dense mass of -Portugal laurel that hung over the opposite wall, casting a shadow of -inky blackness into the lane. This she considered might serve her as -shelter when the threatening storm broke and the rain poured down. She -walked through this shadow, and would have entered the street, but -that she perceived certain dark objects passing noiselessly along it. -By the flashes of lightning she could distinguish men with laden -asses, and one she saw turn to enter the lane where she was. She drew -back hastily into the blot cast by the bush that swung its luxuriance -over the wall, and drew as closely back to the wall as was possible. -Thus she could not be seen, for the reflection of the lightning would -not fall on her; every glare made the shadow seem the deeper. Though -concealed herself, and wholly invisible, she was able to distinguish a -man with an ass passing by, and then halting at the door in the wall -that surrounded Mr. Obadiah's tenement. There the man knocked, and -uttered a peculiar whistle. As there ensued no immediate answer he -knocked and whistled again, whereupon the door was opened; and a word -or two was passed. - -"How many do you want, sir?" - -"Four." - -"Any to help to carry the half-ankers!" - -"No." - -"Well, no odds. I'll carry one and you the t'other. We'll make two -journeys, that's all. I can't leave Neddy for long, but I'll go with -you to your house-door." - -Probably the person addressed nodded a reply in the darkness; he made -no audible answer. - -"Which is it, Mr. Obadiah, rum or brandy?" - -"Brandy." - -"Right you are, then. These are brandy. You won't take three brandies -and one rum?" - -"Yes." - -"All right, sir; lead the way. It's deuced dark." - -Judith knew what this signified. Some of the householders of -Wadebridge were taking in their supplies of spirits from the -smugglers. Owing to the inconvenience of it being unlawful to deal -with these men for such goods, they had to receive their purchases at -night, and with much secrecy. There were watchmen at Wadebridge, but -on such nights they judiciously patrolled another quarter of the town -than that which received its supplies. The watchmen were municipal -officials, and were not connected with the excise, had no particular -regard for the inland revenue, anyhow, owed no duties to the officers -of the coast-guard. Their superior was the mayor, and the mayor was -fond of buying his spirits at the cheapest market. - -Both men disappeared. The door was left open behind them. The -opportunity Judith had desired had come. Dare she seize it? For a -moment she questioned her heart, then she resolutely stepped out of -the shadow of the Portugal laurel, brushed past the patient ass, -entered the grounds of Mr. Scantlebray's establishment through the -open garden-door, and drew behind a syringa bush to consider what -further step she should take. In another moment both men were back. - -"You are sure you don't mind one rum?" - -"No." - -"Right you are, then; I'll have it for you direct. The other kegs are -at t'other end of the lane. You come with me, and we'll have 'em down -in a jiffy." - -Judith heard both men pass out of the door. She looked toward the -house. There was a light low down in a door opening into the garden or -yard where she was. - -Not a moment was to be lost. As soon as the last kegs were brought in -the house-door would be locked, and though she had entered the garden -she would be unable to penetrate to the interior of the asylum. -Without hesitation, strong in her earnest purpose to help Jamie to the -utmost of her power, and grasping at every chance that offered, she -hastened, cautiously indeed, but swiftly, to the door whence the light -proceeded. The light was but a feeble one, and cast but a fluttering -ray upon the gravel. Judith was careful to walk where it could not -fall on her dress. - -The whole garden front of the house was now before her. She was in a -sort of gravelled yard, with some bushes against the walls. The main -block of the house lay to her right, and the view of it was -intercepted by a wall. Clearly the garden space was divided, one -portion for the house, and another, that into which she had entered, -for the wing. That long wing rose before her with its windows all dark -above, and the lower or ground floor also dark. Only from the door -issued the light, and she saw that a guttering tallow candle was set -there on the floor. - -Hastily she drew back. She heard feet on the gravel. The men were -returning, Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray and the smuggler, each laden with a -small cask of spirits. - -"Right you are," said the man, as he set his keg down in the passage, -"that's yours, and I could drink your health, sir." - -"You wouldn't--prefer?--" Mr. Scantlebray made contortions with his -hands between the candle and the wall, and threw a shadow on the -surface of plaster. - -"No, thanks sir, I'd prefer a shilling." - -Mr. Scantlebray fumbled in his pockets, grunted "Humph! purse -up-stairs." Felt again, "No," groped inside the breast of his -waistcoat, "another time--not forget." - -The man muttered something not complimentary, and turned to go through -the yard. - -"Must lock door," said Mr. Obadiah, and went after him. Now was -Judith's last chance. She took it at once; the moment the backs of the -two men were turned she darted into the passage and stood back against -the door out of the flare of the candle. - -The passage was a sort of hall with slated floor, the walls plastered -and whitewashed at one time, but the wash and plaster had been picked -off to about five feet from the floor wherever not strongly adhesive, -giving a diseased and sore look to the wall. The slates of the floor -were dirty and broken. - -Judith looked along the hall for a place to which she could retreat on -the return of the proprietor of the establishment. She had entered -that portion of the building tenanted by the unhappy patients. The -meanness of the passage, the picked walls, the situation on one side -of the comfortable residence showed her this. A door there was on the -right, ajar, that led into the private dwelling-house, but into that -Judith did not care to enter. One further down on the left probably -gave access to some apartment devoted to the "pupils," as Mrs. -Scantlebray called the patients. - -There was, however, another door that was open, and from it descended -a flight of brick steps to what Judith conjectured to be the cellars. -At the bottom a second candle, in a tin candlestick, was guttering and -flickering in the draught that blew in at the yard door, and descended -to this underground story. It was obvious to the girl that Mr. -Scantlebray was about to carry or roll his kegs just acquired down the -brick steps to his cellar. For that purpose he had set a candle there. -It would not therefore do for her, to attempt to avoid him, to descend -to this lower region. She must pass the door that gave access to the -cellars, a door usually locked, as she judged, for a large iron key -stood in the lock, and enter the room, the door of which opened -further down the passage. - -She was drawing her skirts together, so as to slip past the candle on -the passage floor for this purpose, when her heart stood still as -though she had received a blow on it. She heard--proceeding from -somewhere beneath down those steps--a moan, then a feeble cry of "Ju! -Where are you? Ju! Ju! Ju!" - -She all but did cry out herself. A gasp of pain and horror did escape -her, and then, without a thought of how she could conceal herself, how -avoid Scantlebray, she ran down the steps to the cellar. - -On reaching the bottom she found that there were four doors, two of -which had square holes cut in them, but with iron bars before these -openings. The door of one of the others, one on the left, was open, -and she could see casks and bottles. It was a wine and spirit cellar, -and the smell of wine issued from it. - -She stood panting, frightened, fearing what she might discover, -doubting whether she had heard her brother's voice or whether she was -a prey to fancy. Then again she heard a cry and a moan. It issued from -the nearest cell on her right hand. - -"Jamie! my Jamie!" she cried. - -"Ju! Ju!" - -The door was hasped, with a crook let into a staple so that it might, -if necessary, be padlocked. But now it was simply shut and a wooden -peg was thrust through the eye of the crook. - -She caught up the candle, and with trembling hand endeavored to -unfasten the door, but so agitated was she, so blinded with horror, -that she could not do so till she had put down the candle again. Then -she forced the peg from its place and raised the crook. She stooped -and took up the candle once more, and then, with a short breath and a -contraction of the breast, threw open the door, stepped in, and held -up the light. - -The candle flame irradiated what was but a cellar compartment vaulted -with brick, once whitewashed, now dirty with cobwebs and accumulated -dust and damp stains. It had a stone shelf on one side, on which lay a -broken plate and some scraps of food. - -Against the further wall was a low truckle bed, with a mattress on it -and some rags of blanket. Huddled on this lay Jamie, his eyes dilated -with terror, and yet red with weeping. His clothes had been removed, -except his shirt. His long red-gold hair had lost all its gloss and -beauty, it was wet with sweat and knotted. The boy's face was ghastly -in the flickering light. - -Judith dropped the candle on the floor, and rushed with outstretched -arms, and a cry--piercing, but beaten back on her by the walls and -vault of the cell--and caught the frightened boy to her heart. - -"Jamie! O my Jamie! my Jamie!" - -She swayed herself, crying, in the bed, holding him to her, with no -thought, her whole being absorbed in a spasm of intensest, most -harrowing pain. The tallow candle was on the slate floor, fallen, -melting, spluttering, flaming. - -And in the door, holding the brandy keg upon his shoulders, stood, -with open eyes and mouth, Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -AN UNWILLING PRISONER. - - -Mr. Obadiah stood open-mouthed staring at the twins clasped in each -other's arms, unable at first to understand what he saw. Then a -suspicion entered his dull brain, he uttered a growl, put down the -keg, his heavy brows contracted, he shut his mouth, drawing in his -lips so that they disappeared, and he clenched his hands. - -"Wait--I'll beat you!" he said. - -The upset candle was on the floor, now half molten, with a pond of -tallow burning with a lambent blue flicker trembling on extinction, -then shooting up in a yellow flame. - -In that uncertain, changeful, upward light the face of the man looked -threatening, remorseless, so that Judith, in a paroxysm of fear for -her brother and herself dropped, on her knee, and caught at the tin -candlestick as the only weapon of defence accessible. It was hot and -burnt her fingers, but she did not let go; and as she stood up the -dissolved candle fell from it among some straw that littered the -pavement. This at once kindled and blazed up into golden flame. - -For a moment the cell was full of light. Mr. Obadiah at once saw the -danger. His casks of brandy were hard by--the fume of alcohol was in -the air--if the fire spread and caught his stores a volume of flame -would sweep up the cellar stair and set his house on fire. He hastily -sprang in, and danced about the cell stamping furiously at the ignited -wisps. Judith, who saw him rush forward, thought he was about to -strike her and Jamie, and raised the tin candlestick in self-defence; -but when she saw him engaged in trampling out the fire, tearing at the -bed to drag away the blankets with which to smother the embers, she -drew Jamie aside from his reach, sidled, with him clinging to her, -along the wall, and by a sudden spring reached the passage, slammed -the door, fastened the hasp, and had the gaoler secured in his own -gaol. - -For a moment Mr. Scantlebray was unaware that he was a prisoner, so -busily engaged was he in trampling out the fire, but the moment he did -realize the fact he slung himself with all his force against the door. - -Judith looked round her. There was now no light in the cellar but the -feeble glimmer that descended the stair from the candle above. The -flame of that was now burning steadily, for the door opening into the -yard was shut, and the draught excluded. - -In dragging Jamie along with her, Judith had drawn forth a scanty -blanket that was about his shoulders. She wrapped it round the boy. - -"Let me out!" roared Scantlebray. "Don't understand. Fun--rollicking -fun." - -Judith paid no attention to his bellow. She was concerned only to -escape with Jamie. She was well aware that her only chance was by -retaining Mr. Obadiah where he was. - -"Let me out!" again shouted the prisoner; and he threw himself -furiously against the door. But though it jarred on its hinges and -made the hasp leap, he could not break it down. Nevertheless, so big -and strong was the man that it was by no means improbable that his -repeated efforts might start a staple or snap a hinge band, and he and -the door might come together crashing down into the passage between -the cells. - -Judith drew Jamie up the steps, and on reaching the top shut the -cellar door. Below, Mr. Scantlebray roared, swore, shouted, and beat -against the door; but now his voice, and the sound of his blows were -muffled, and would almost certainly be inaudible in the -dwelling-house. No wonder that Judith had not heard the cries of her -brother. It had never occurred to her that the hapless victim of the -keeper of the asylum might be chastised, imprisoned, variously -maltreated in regions underground, whence no sounds of distress might -reach the street, and apprise the passers-by that all was not laughter -within. Standing in the passage or hall above, Judith said: - -"Oh, Jamie! where are your clothes?" - -The boy looked into her face with a vacant and distressed expression. -He could not answer, he did not even understand her question, so -stupefied was he by his terrors, and the treatment he had undergone. - -Judith took the candle from the floor and searched the hall. Nothing -was there save Mr. Scantlebray's coat, which he had removed and cast -across one of the kegs when he prepared to convey them down to his -cellar. Should she take that? She shook her head at the thought. She -would not have it said that she had taken anything out of the house, -except only--as that was an extreme necessity, the blanket wrapped -about Jamie. She looked into the room that opened beyond the cellar -door. It was a great bare apartment, containing only a table and some -forms. - -"Jamie!" she said, "we must get away from this place as we are. There -is no help for it. Do you not know where your clothes were put?" - -He shook his head. He clung to her with both arms, as though afraid, -if he held by but one that she would slip away and vanish, as one -drowning, clinging to the only support that sustained him from -sinking. - -"Come, Jamie! It cannot be otherwise!" She set down the candle, opened -the door into the yard, and issued forth into the night along with the -boy. The clouds had broken, and poured down their deluge of warm -thunder rain. In the dark Judith was unable to find her direction at -once, she reached the boundary wall where was no door. - -Jamie uttered a cry of pain. - -"What is it, dear?" - -"The stones cut my feet." - -She felt along the wall with one hand till she touched the jamb, then -pressed against the door itself. It was shut. She groped for the lock. -No key was in it. She could as little escape from that enclosure as -she could enter into it from without. The door was very solid, and the -lock big and secure. What was to be done? Judith considered for a -moment, standing in the pouring rain through which the lightning -flashed obscurely, illumining nothing. It seemed to her that there was -but one course open to her, to return and obtain the key from Mr. -Obadiah Scantlebray. But it would be no easy matter to induce him to -surrender it. - -"Jamie! will you remain at the door? Here under the wall is some -shelter. I must go back." - -But the boy was frightened at the prospect of being deserted. - -"Then--Jamie, will you come back with me to the house?" - -No, he would not do that. - -"I must go for the key, dearest," she said, coaxingly. "I cannot open -the door, so that we can escape, unless I have the key. Will you do -something for Ju? Sit here, on the steps, where you are somewhat -screened from the rain, and sing to me something, one of our old -songs--A jolly hawk and his wings were gray? sing that, that I may -hear your voice and find my way back to you. Oh--and here, Jamie, your -feet are just the size of mine, and so you shall pull on my shoes. -Then you will be able to run alongside of me and not hurt your soles." - -With a little persuasion she induced him to do as she asked. She took -off her own shoes and gave them to him, then went across the yard to -where was the house, she discovered the door by a little streak of -light below it and the well trampled and worn threshold stone. She -opened the door, took up the candle and again descended the steps to -the cellar floor. On reaching the bottom, she held up the light and -saw that the door was still sound; at the square barred opening was -the red face of Mr. Scantlebray. - -"Let me out," he roared. - -"Give me the key of the garden door." - -"Will you let me out if I do?" - -"No; but this I promise, as soon as I have escaped from your premises -I will knock and ring at your front door till I have roused the house, -and then you will be found and released. By that time we shall have -got well away." - -"I will not give you the key." - -"Then here you remain," said Judith, and began to reascend the steps. -It had occurred to her, suddenly, that very possibly the key she -desired was in the pocket of the coat Mr. Scantlebray had cast off -before descending to the cellar. She would hold no further -communication with him till she had ascertained this. He yelled after -her "Let me out, and you shall have the key." But she paid no -attention to his promise. On reaching the top of the stairs, she again -shut the door, and took up his coat. She searched the pockets. No key -was within. - -She must go to him once more. - -He began to shout as he saw the flicker of the candle approach. "Here -is the key, take it, and do as you said." His hand, a great coarse -hand, was thrust through the opening in the door, and in it was the -key she required. - -"Very well," said she, "I will do as I undertook." - -She put her hand, the right hand, up to receive the key. In her left -was the candlestick. Suddenly he let go the key that clinked down on -the floor outside, and made a clutch at her hand and caught her by the -wrist. She grasped the bar in the little window, or he would have -drawn her hand in, dragged her by the arm up against the door, and -broken it. He now held her wrist and with his strong hand strove to -wrench her fingers from their clutch. - -"Unhasp the door!" he howled at her. - -She did not answer other than with a cry of pain, as he worked with -his hand at her wrist, and verily it seemed as though the fragile -bones must snap under his drag. - -"Unhasp the door!" he roared again. - -With his great fingers and thick nails he began to thrust at and -ploughed her knuckles; he had her by the wrist with one hand, and he -was striving to loosen her hold of the bar with the other. - -"Unhasp the door!" he yelled a third time, "or I'll break every bone -in your fingers!" and he brought his fist down on the side of the door -to show how he would pound them by a blow. If he did not do this at -once it was because he dreaded by too heavy a blow to strike the bar -and wound himself while crushing her hand. - -She could not hold the iron stanchion for more than another -instant--and then he would drag her arm in, as a lion in its cage when -it had laid hold of the incautious visitor, tears him to itself -through the bars. - -Then she brought the candle-flame up against his hand that grasped her -wrist, and it played round it. He uttered a scream of pain, and let go -for a moment. But that moment sufficed. She was free. The key was on -the floor. She stooped to pick it up; but her fingers were as though -paralyzed, she was forced to take it with the left hand and leave the -candle on the floor. Then, holding the key she ran up the steps, ran -out into the yard, and heard her brother wailing, "Ju! I want you! -Where are you, Ju?" - -Guided by his cries she reached the door. The key she put into the -lock, and with a little effort turned it. The door opened, she and -Jamie were free. - -The door shut behind them. They were in the dark lane, under a pouring -rain. But Judith thought nothing of the darkness, nothing of the rain. -She threw her arms round her brother, put her wet cheek against his, -and burst into tears. - -"My Jamie! O my Jamie!" - -But the deliverance of her brother was not complete; she must bring -him back to Polzeath. She could allow herself but a moment for the -relief of her heart, and then she caught him to her side, and pushed -on with him along the lane till they entered the street. Here she -stood for a moment in uncertainty. Was she bound to fulfil her -engagement to Mr. Obadiah? She had obtained the key, but he had -behaved to her with treachery. He had not intended the key to be other -than a bait to draw her within his clutch, that he might torture her -into opening the door of his cell. Nevertheless, she had the key, and -Judith was too honorable to take advantage of him. - -With Jamie still clinging to her she went up the pair of steps to the -front door, rang the night-bell, and knocked long and loud. Then, all -at once her strength that had lasted gave way, and she sank on the -doorsteps, without indeed losing consciousness, but losing in an -instant all power of doing or thinking, of striving any more for Jamie -or for herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -A RESCUE. - - -A window overhead was thrown open, and a voice that Judith recognized -as that of Mrs. Obadiah Scantlebray, called: "Who is there?--what is -wanted?" - -The girl could not answer. The power to speak was gone from her. It -was as though all her faculties, exerted to the full, had at once -given way. She could not rise from the steps on which she had sunk: -the will to make the effort was gone. Her head was fallen against the -jamb of the door and the knot of the kerchief was between her head and -the wood, and hurt her, but even the will to lift her hands and shift -the bandage one inch was not present. - -The mill-wheel revolves briskly, throwing the foaming water out of its -buckets, with a lively rattle, then its movement slackens, it strains, -the buckets fill and even spill, but the wheel seems to be reduced to -statuariness. That stress point is but for a moment, then the weight -of the water overbalances the strain, and whirr! round plunges the -wheel, and the bright foaming water is whisked about, and the buckets -disgorge their contents. - -It is the same with the wheel of human life. It has its periods of -rapid and glad revolutions, and also its moments of supreme tension, -when it is all but overstrung--when its movement is hardly -perceptible. The strain put on Judith's faculties had been excessive, -and now those faculties failed her, failed her absolutely. The -prostration might not last long--it might last forever. It is so -sometimes when there has been overexertion; thought stops, will ceases -to act, sensation dies into numbness, the heart beats slow, slower, -then perhaps stops finally. - -It was not quite come to that with Judith. She knew that she had -rushed into danger again, the very danger from which she had just -escaped, she knew it, but she was incapable of acting on the -knowledge. - -"Who is below?" was again called from an upper window. - -Judith, with open eyes, heard that the rain was still falling heavily, -heard the shoot of water from the roof plash down into the runnel of -the street, felt the heavy drops come down on her from the architrave -over the door, and she saw something in the roadway: shadows stealing -along the same as she had seen before, but passing in a reversed -direction. These were again men and beasts, but their feet and hoofs -were no longer inaudible, they trod in the puddles and splashed and -squelched the water and mud about, at each step. The smugglers had -delivered the supplies agreed on, at the houses of those who dealt -with them, and were now returning, the asses no longer laden. - -And Judith heard the door behind her unbarred and unchained and -unlocked. Then it was opened, and a ray of light was cast into the -street, turning falling rain-drops into drops of liquid gold, and -revealing, ghostly, a passing ass and its driver. - -"Who is there? _Is_ anyone there?" - -Then the blaze of light was turned on Judith, and her eyes shut with a -spasm of pain. - -In the doorway stood Mrs. Scantlebray half-garmented, that is to say -with a gown on, the folds of which fell in very straight lines from -the waist to her feet, and with a night-cap on her head, and her curls -in papers. She held a lamp in her hand, and this was now directed upon -the girl, lying, or half-sitting in the doorway, her bandaged head -leaning against the jamb, one hand in her lap, the fingers open, the -other falling at her side, hanging down the steps, the fingers in the -running current of the gutter, in which also was one shoeless foot. - -"Why--goodness! mercy on us!" exclaimed Mrs. Scantlebray, -inconsiderately thrusting the lamp close into the girl's face. "It can -never be--yet--surely it is----" - -"Judith!" exclaimed a deep voice, the sound of which sent a sudden -flutter through the girl's nerves and pulses. "Judith!" and from out -the darkness and falling rain plunged a man in full mantle wrapped -about him and overhanging broad-brimmed hat. Without a word of excuse -he snatched the light from Mrs. Scantlebray and raised it above -Judith's head. - -"Merciful powers!" he cried, "what is the meaning of this! What has -happened? There is blood here--blood! Judith--speak. For heaven's -sake, speak!" - -The light fell on his face, his glittering eyes--and she slightly -turned her head and looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but -could form no words, but the appeal in those dim eyes went to his -heart, he thrust the lamp roughly back into Mrs. Scantlebray's hand, -knelt on the steps, passed an arm under the girl, the other about her -waist, lifted and carried her without a word inside the house. There -was a leather-covered ottoman in the hall, and he laid her on that, -hastily throwing off his cloak, folding it, and placing it as a pillow -beneath her head. - -Then, on one knee at her side, he drew a flask from his breast pocket, -and poured some drops of spirit down her throat. The strength of the -brandy made her catch her breath, and brought a flash of red to her -cheek. It had served its purpose, helped the wheel of life to turn -beyond the stress point at which it threatened to stay wholly. She -moved her head, and looked eagerly about her for Jamie. He was not -there. She drew a long breath, a sigh of relief. - -"Are you better?" he asked, stooping over her, and she could read the -intensity of his anxiety in his face. - -She tried to smile a reply, but the muscles of her lips were too stiff -for more than a flutter. - -"Run!" ordered Captain Coppinger, standing up, "you woman, are you a -fool? Where is your husband? He is a doctor, fetch him. The girl might -die." - -"He--Captain--he is engaged, I believe, taking in his stores." - -"Fetch him! Leave the lamp here." - -Mrs. Scantlebray groped about for a candle, and having found one, -proceeded to light it. - -"I'm really shocked to appear before you, Captain, in this state of -undress." - -"Fetch your husband!" said Coppinger, impatiently. - -Then she withdrew. - -The draught of spirits had acted on Judith and revived her. Her breath -came more evenly, her heart beat regularly, and the blood began to -circulate again. As her bodily powers returned, her mind began to work -once more, and again anxiously she looked about her. - -"What is it you want?" asked Captain Cruel. - -"Where is Jamie?" - -He muttered a low oath. Always Jamie. She could think of no one but -that silly boy. - -Then suddenly she recalled her position--in Scantlebray's house, and -the wife was on the way to the cellars, would find him, release -him--and though she knew that Coppinger would not suffer Obadiah to -injure her, she feared, in her present weakness, a violent scene. She -sat up, dropped her feet on the floor, and stretched both her hands to -the smuggler. - -"Oh, take me! take me from here." - -"No, Judith," he answered. "You must have the doctor to see you--after -that----" - -"No! no! take me before he comes. He will kill me." - -Coppinger laughed. He would like to see the man who would dare to lay -a finger on Judith while he stood by. - -Now they heard a noise from the wings of the house at the side that -communicated with the dwelling by a door that Mrs. Scantlebray had -left ajar. There were exclamations, oaths, a loud, angry voice, and -the shrill tones of the woman mingled with the bass notes of her -husband. The color that had risen to the girl's cheeks left them; she -put her hands on Coppinger's breast and looking him entreatingly in -the eyes, said: - -"I pray you! I pray you!" - -He snatched her up in his arms, drew her close to him, went to the -door, cast it open with his foot, and bore her out into the rain. -There stood his mare, Black Bess, with a lad holding her. - -"Judith, can you ride?" - -He lifted her into the saddle. - -"Boy," said he, "lead on gently; I will stay her lest she fall." - -Then they moved away, and saw through the sheet of falling rain the -lighted door, and Scantlebray in it, in his shirt sleeves shaking his -fists, and his wife behind him, endeavoring to draw him back by the -buckle and strap of his waistcoat. - -"Oh, where is Jamie? I wonder where Jamie is?" said Judith, looking -round her in the dark, but could see no sign of her brother. - -There were straggling houses for half a mile--a little gap of garden -or paddock, then a cottage, then a cluster of trees, and an alehouse, -then hedges and no more houses. A cooler wind was blowing, dispelling -the close, warm atmosphere, and the rain fell less heavily. There was -a faint light among the clouds like a watering of satin. It showed -that the storm was passing away. The lightning flashes were, moreover, -at longer intervals, fainter, and the thunder rumbled distantly. With -the fresher air, some strength and life came back to Judith. The wheel -though on the turn was not yet revolving rapidly. - -Coppinger walked by the horse, he had his arm up, holding Judith, for -he feared lest in her weakness she might fall, and indeed, by her -weight upon his hand, he was aware that her power to sustain herself -unassisted was not come. He looked up at her; he could hardly fail to -do so, standing, striding so close to her, her wet garments brushing -his face; but he could not see her, or saw her indistinctly. He had -thrust her little foot into the leather of his stirrup, as the strap -was too long for her to use, and he did not tarry to shorten it. - -Coppinger was much puzzled to learn how Judith had come at such an -hour to the door of Mrs. Obadiah Scantlebray, shoeless, and with -wounded head, but he asked no questions. He was aware that she was not -in a condition to answer them. - -He held her up with his right hand in the saddle, and with his left he -held her foot in the leather. Were she to fall she might drag by the -foot, and he must be on his guard against that. Pacing in the -darkness, holding her, his heart beat, and his thoughts tossed and -boiled within him. This girl so feeble, so childish, he was coming -across incessantly, thrown in her way to help her, and he was bound to -her by ties invisible, impalpable, and yet of such strength that he -could not break through them and free himself. - -He was a man of indomitable will, of iron strength, staying up this -girl, who had flickered out of unconsciousness and might slide back -into it again at any moment, and yet he felt, he knew that he was -powerless before her--that if she said to him, "Lie down that I may -trample on you," he would throw himself in the foul road without a -word to be trodden under by these shoeless feet. There was but one -command she could lay on him that he would not perform, and that was -"Let me go by myself! Never come near me!" That he could not obey. The -rugged moon revolves about the earth. Could the moon fly away into -space were the terrestrial orb to bid it cease to be a satellite? And -if it did, whither would it go? Into far off space, into outer -darkness and deathly cold, to split and shiver into fragments in the -inconceivable frost in the abyss of blackness. And Judith threw a sort -of light and heat over this fierce, undisciplined man, that trembled -in his veins and bathed his heart, and was to him a spring of beauty, -a summer of light. Could he leave her? To leave her would be to be -lost to everything that had now begun to transform his existence. The -thought came over him now, as he walked along in silence--that she -might bid him let go, and he felt that he could not obey. He must hold -her, he must hold her not _from_ him on the saddle, not as merely -staying her up, but to himself, to his heart, as his own, his own -forever. - -Suddenly an exclamation from Judith: "Jamie! Jamie!" - -Something was visible in the darkness, something whitish in the hedge. -In another moment it came bounding up. - -"Ju! oh, Ju! I ran away!" - -"You did well," she said. "Now I am happy. You are saved." - -Coppinger looked impatiently round and saw by the feeble light that -the boy had come close to him, and that he was wrapped up in a -blanket. - -"He has nothing on him," said Judith. "Oh, poor Jamie!" - -She had revived; she was almost herself again. She held herself more -firmly in the saddle and did not lean so heavily on Coppinger's hand. - -Coppinger was vexed at the appearance of the boy, Jamie; he would fain -have paced along in silence by the side of Judith. If she could not -speak it mattered not so long as he held her. But that this fool -should spring out of the darkness and join company with him and her, -and at once awake her interest and loosen her tongue, irritated him. -But as she was able to speak he would address her, and not allow her -to talk over his head with Jamie. - -"How have you been hurt?" he asked. "Why have you tied that bandage -about your head?" - -"I have been cut by a stone." - -"How came that?" - -"A drunken man threw it at me." - -"What was his name?" - -"I do not know." - -"That is well for him." Then, after a short pause, he asked further, -"And your unshod feet?" - -"Oh! I gave my shoes to Jamie." - -Coppinger turned sharply round on the boy. "Take off those shoes -instantly and give them back to your sister." - -"No--indeed, no," said Judith. "He is running and will cut his poor -feet--and I, through your kindness, am riding." - -Coppinger did not insist. He asked: "But how comes the boy to be -without clothes?" - -"Because I rescued him, as he was, from the Asylum." - -"You--! Is that why you are out at night?" - -"Yes. I knew he had been taken by the two Mr. Scantlebrays at -Wadebridge, and I could not rest. I felt sure he was miserable, and -was dying for me." - -"So--in the night you went to him?" - -"Yes." - -"But how did you get him his freedom?" - -"I found him locked in the black-hole, in the cellar." - -"And did Scantlebray look on passively while you released him?" - -"Oh, no, I let Jamie out, and locked him in, in his place." - -"You--Scantlebray in the black-hole!" - -"Yes." - -Then Coppinger laughed, laughed long and boisterously. His hand that -held Judith's foot and the stirrup leather shook with his laughter. - -"By Heaven!--You are wonderful, very wonderful. Any one who opposes -you is ill-treated, knocked down and broken, or locked into a black -hole in the dead of night." - -Judith, in spite of her exhaustion, was obliged to smile. - -"You see, I must do what I can for Jamie." - -"Always Jamie." - -"Yes, Captain Coppinger, always Jamie. He is helpless and must be -thought for. I am mother, nurse, sister to him." - -"His providence," sneered Coppinger. - -"The means under Providence of preserving him," said Judith. - -"And me--would you do aught for me?" - -"Did I not come down the cliffs for you?" asked the girl. - -"Heaven forgive me that I forgot that for one moment," he answered, -with vehemence. "Happy--happy--happiest of any in this vile world is -the man for whom you will think, and scheme and care and dare--as you -do for Jamie." - -"There is none such," said Judith. - -"No--I know that," he answered, gloomily, and strode forward with his -head down. - -Ten minutes had elapsed in silence, and Polzeath was approached. Then -suddenly Coppinger let go his hold of Judith, caught the rein of Black -Bess, and arrested her. Standing beside Judith, he said, in a peevish, -low tone: - -"I touched your hand, and said I was subject to a queen." He bent, -took her foot and kissed it. "You repulsed me as subject; you are my -mistress!--accept me as your slave." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -AN EXAMINATION. - - -Some days had elapsed. Judith had not suffered from her second night -expedition as she had from the first, but the intellectual abilities -of Jamie had deteriorated. The fright he had undergone had shaken his -nerves, and had made him more restless, timid, and helpless than -heretofore, exacting more of Judith's attention and more trying her -endurance. But she trusted these ill effects would pass away in time. -From his rambling talk she had been able to gather some particulars, -which to a degree modified her opinion relative to the behavior of Mr. -Obadiah Scantlebray. It appeared from the boy's own account that he -had been very troublesome. After he had been taken into the wing of -the establishment that was occupied by the imbeciles, his alarm and -bewilderment had grown. He had begun to cry and to clamor for his -release, or for the presence of his sister. As night came on, -paroxysms of impotent rage had alternated with fits of whining. The -appearance of his companions in confinement, some of them complete -idiots, with half-human gestures and faces, had enhanced his terrors. -He would eat no supper, and when put to bed in the common dormitory -had thrown off his clothes, torn his sheets, and refused to lie down; -had sat up and screamed at the top of his voice. Nothing that could be -done, no representations would pacify him. He prevented his fellow -inmates of the asylum from sleeping, and he made it not at all -improbable that his cries would be overheard by passers-by in the -street, or those occupying neighboring houses, and thus give rise to -unpleasant surmises, and perhaps inquiry. Finally, Scantlebray had -removed the boy to the place of punishment, the Black Hole, a -compartment of the cellars, there to keep him till his lungs were -exhausted, or his reason gained the upper hand, and Judith supposed, -with some justice, that Scantlebray had done this only, or chiefly, -because he himself would be up, and about the cellars, engaged in -housing his supplies of brandy, and that he had no intention of -locking the unhappy boy up for the entire night, in solitude, in his -cellars. He had not left him in complete darkness, for a candle had -been placed on the ground outside the Black Hole door. - -As Judith saw the matter now, it seemed to her that though Scantlebray -had acted with harshness and lack of judgment there was some -palliation for his conduct. That Jamie could be most exasperating, she -knew full well by experience. When he went into one of his fits of -temper and crying, it took many hours and much patience to pacify him. -She had spent long time and exhausted her efforts to bring him to a -subdued frame of mind on the most irrational and trifling occasions, -when he had been angered. Nothing answered with him then save infinite -forbearance and exuberant love. On this occasion there was good excuse -for Jamie's fit, he had been frightened, and frightened out of his few -wits. As Judith said to herself--had she been treated in the same -manner, spirited off, without preparation, to a strange house, -confined among afflicted beings, deprived of every familiar -companion--she would have been filled with terror, and reasonably so. -She would not have exhibited it, however, in the same manner as Jamie. - -Scantlebray had not acted with gentleness, but he had not, on the -other hand, exhibited wanton cruelty. That he was a man of coarse -nature, likely on provocation to break through the superficial veneer -of amiability, she concluded from her own experience, and she did not -doubt that those of the unfortunate inmates of the asylum who -overstrained his forbearance met with very rough handling. But that he -took a malignant pleasure in harassing and torturing them, that she -did not believe. - -On the day following the escape from the asylum, Judith sent Mr. -Menaida to Wadebridge with the blanket that had been carried off round -the shoulders of her brother, and with a request to have Jamie's -clothes surrendered. Uncle Zachie returned with the garments, they -were not refused him, and Judith and her brother settled down into the -routine of employment and amusement as before. The lad assisted Mr. -Menaida with his bird skins, talking a little more childishly than -before, and sticking less assiduously to his task; and Judith did her -needlework and occasionally played on the piano the pieces of music at -which Uncle Zachie had hammered ineffectually for many years, and she -played them to the old man's satisfaction. - -At last the girl ventured to induce Jamie to recommence his lessons. -He resisted at first, and when she did, on a rainy day, persuade him -to set to his school tasks, she was careful not to hold him to them -for more than a few minutes, and to select those lessons which made -him least impatient. - -There was a "Goldsmith's Geography," illustrated with copper-plates of -Indians attacking Captain Cook, the geysers, Esquimaux fishing, etc., -that always amused the boy. Accordingly, more geography was done -during these first days of resumption of work than history, -arithmetic, or reading. Latin had not yet been attempted, as that was -Jamie's particular aversion. However, the Eton Latin grammar was -produced, and placed on the table, to familiarize his mind with the -idea that it had to be tackled some day. - -Judith had spread the table with lesson-books, ink, slate, and -writing-copies, one morning, when she was surprised at the entry of -four gentlemen, two of whom she recognized immediately as the Brothers -Scantlebray. The other two she did not know. One was thin faced, with -red hair, a high forehead extending to the crown, with the hair drawn -over it, and well pomatumed, to keep it in place, and conceal the -baldness; the other a short man, in knee-breeches and tan-boots, with -a red face, and with breath that perfumed the whole room with spirits. - -Mr. Scantlebray, senior, came up with both hands extended. "This is -splendid! How are you? Never more charmed in my life, and ready to -impart knowledge, as the sun diffuses light. Obadiah, old man, look at -your pupil--better already for having passed through your hands. I can -see it at a glance; there's a brightness, a _Je ne sais quoi_ about -him that was not there before. Old man, I congratulate you. You have a -gift--shake hands." - -The gentlemen seated themselves without invitation. Surprise and -alarm made Judith forget her usual courtesy. She feared lest the sight -of his gaolers might excite Jamie. But it was not so. Whether, in his -confused mind, he did not associate Mr. Obadiah with his troubles on -that night of distress, or whether his attention was distracted by the -sight of so many, was doubtful, but Jamie did not seem to be -disconcerted; rather, on the contrary, he was glad of some excuse for -escape from lessons. - -"We are come," said the red-headed man, "at Miss Trevisa's desire--but -really, Mr. Scantlebray, for shame of you. Where are your manners? -Introduce me." - -"Mr. Vokins," said Scantlebray, "and the accomplished and charming -Miss Judith Trevisa, orphing." - -"And now, dear young lady," said the red-headed man, "now, positively, -it is my turn--my friend, Mr. Jukes. Jukes, man! Miss Judith Trevisa." - -Then Mr. Vokins coughed into his thin white hand, and said, "We are -come, naturally--and I am sure you wish what Miss Trevisa wishes--to -just look at your brother, and give our opinion on his health." - -"Oh, he is quite well," said Judith. - -"Ah! you think so, naturally, but we would decide for ourselves, -dearest young lady, though--not for the world would we willingly -differ from you. But, you know, there are questions on which varieties -of opinions are allowable, and yet do not disturb the most heartfelt -friendship. It is so, is it not, Jukes?" - -The rubicund man in knee-breeches nodded. - -"Shall I begin, Jukes? Why, my fine little man! What an array of -books! What scholarship! And at your age, too--astounding! What age -did you say you were?" This to Jamie in an insinuating tone. Jamie -stared, looked appealingly at Judith, and said nothing. - -"We are the same age, we are twins," said Judith. - -"Oh! it is not the right thing to appear anxious to know a lady's age. -We will put it another way, eh, Jukes?" - -The red-faced man leaned his hands on his stick, his chin on his -hands, and winked, as in that position he could not nod. - -"Now, my fine little man! When is your birthday? When you have your -cake--raisin-cake, eh?" - -Jamie looked questioningly at his sister. - -"Ah! Come, not the day of the month--but the month, eh?" - -Jamie could not answer. - -"Come now," said the red-headed levy man, stretching his legs before -him, legs vested in white trousers, strapped down tight. "Come now, my -splendid specimen of humanity! In which quarter of the year? Between -sickle and scythe, eh?" He waited, and receiving no answer, pulled out -a pocket-book and made a note, after having first wetted the end of -his pencil. "Don't know when he was born. What do you say to that, -Jukes? Will you take your turn?" - -The man with an inflamed face was gradually becoming purple, as he -leaned forward on his stick, and said, "Humph! a Latin grammar. -Propria quæ maribus. I remember it, but it was a long time ago I -learned it. Now, whipper-snapper! How do you get on? Propria quæ -maribus--Go on." He waited. Jamie looked at him in astonishment. -"Come! Tribu--" again he waited. "Come! _Tribuntur mascula dicas._ Go -on." Again a pause. Then with an impatient growl. "Ut sunt divorum, -Mars, Bacchus, Apollo. This will never do. Go on with the Scaramouch, -Vokins. I'll make my annotations." - -"He's too hard on my little chap, ain't he?" asked the thin man in -ducks. "We won't be done. We are not old enough----" - -"He is but eighteen," said Judith. - -"He is but eighteen," repeated the red-headed man. "Of course he has -not got so far as that, but musa, musæ." - -Jamie turned sulky. - -"Not musa, musæ--and eighteen years! Jukes, this is serious, Jukes; -eh, Jukes?" - -"Now look here, you fellows," said Scantlebray, senior. "You are too -exacting. It's holiday time, ain't it, Orphing? We won't be put upon, -not we. We'll sport, and frolic, and be joyful. Look here, Scanty, old -man, take the slate and draw a pictur' to my describing. Now then, -Jamie, look at him and hearken to me. He's the funniest old man that -ever was, and he'll surprise you. Are you ready, Scanty?" Mr. Obadiah -drew the slate before him, and signed with the pencil to Jamie to -observe him. The boy was quite ready to see him draw. - -"There was once upon a time," began Mr. Scantlebray, senior, "a man -that lived in a round tower. Look at him, draw it, there you are. That -is the tower. Go on. And in the tower was a round winder. Do you see -the winder, Orphing? This man every morning put his hand out of the -winder to ascertain which way the wind blew. He put it in thus, and -drew it out thus. No! don't look at me, look at the slate and then -you'll see it all. Now this man had a large pond, preserved full of -fish." Scratch, scratch went the pencil on the slate. "Them's the -fish," said Scantlebray, senior. "Now below the situation of that -pond, in two huts, lived a pair of thieves. You see them pokey things -my brother has drawn? Them's the 'uts. When night set in, these wicked -thieves came walking up to the pond, see my brother drawing their -respective courses! And on reaching the pond, they opened the sluice, -and whish! whish! out poured the water." Scratch, scratch, squeak, -squeak, went the pencil on the slate. "There now! the naughty robbers -went after fish, and got a goose! Look! a goo-oose." - -"Where's the goose?" asked Jamie. - -"Where? Before your eyes--under your nose. That brilliant brother of -mine has drawn one. Hold the slate up, Scanty." - -"That's not a goose," said Jamie. - -"Not a goose! You don't know what geese are." - -"Yes, I do," retorted the boy, resentfully, "I know the wild goose and -the tame one--which do you call that?" - -"Oh, wild goose, of course." - -"It's not one. A goose hasn't a tail like that, nor such legs," said -Jamie, contemptuously. - -Mr. Scantlebray, senior, looked at Messrs. Vokins and Jukes and shook -his head. "A bad case. Don't know a goose when he sees it--and he is -eighteen." - -Both Vokins and Jukes made an entry in their pocket-books. - -"Now Jukes," said Vokins, "will you take a turn, or shall I?" - -"Oh, you, Vokins," answered Jukes, "I haven't recovered _propria quæ -maribus_, yet." - -"Very well, my interesting young friend. Suppose now we change the -subject and try arithmetic." - -"I don't want any arithmetic," said Jamie, sulkily. - -"No--come--now we won't call it by that name; suppose some one were -to give you a shilling." - -Jamie looked up interested. - -"And suppose he were to say. There--go and buy sweeties with this -shilling. Tartlets at three for two pence, and barley-sugar at three -farthings a stick, and----" - -"I want my shilling back," said Jamie, looking straight into the face -of Mr. Scantlebray, senior. - -"And that there were burnt almonds at two pence an ounce." - -"I want my shilling," exclaimed the boy, angrily. - -"Your shilling, puff! puff!" said the red-headed man. "This is ideal, -an ideal shilling, and ideal jam-tarts, almond rock, burnt almonds or -what you like." - -"Give me back my shilling. I won it fair," persisted Jamie. - -Then Judith, distressed, interfered. "Jamie, dear! what do you mean? -You have no shilling owing to you." - -"I have! I have!" screamed the boy. "I won it fair of that man there, -because I made a rabbit, and he took it from me again." - -"Hallucinations," said Jukes. - -"Quite so," said Vokins. - -"Give me my shilling. It is a cheat!" cried Jamie, now suddenly roused -into one of his fits of passion. - -Judith caught him by the arm, and endeavored to pacify him. - -"Let go, Ju! I will have my shilling. That man took it away. He is a -cheat, a thief. Give me my shilling." - -"I am afraid he is excitable," said Vokins. - -"Like all irrational beings," answered Jukes. "I'll make a note. -Rising out of hallucinations." - -"I will have my shilling," persisted Jamie. "Give me my shilling or -I'll throw the ink at you." - -He caught up the ink-pot, and before Judith had time to interfere had -flung it across the table, intending to hit Mr. Scantlebray, senior, -but not hurt him, and the black fluid was scattered over Mr. Vokins's -white trousers. - -"Bless my life!" exclaimed this gentleman, springing to his feet, -pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away the ink, and only smearing -it the more over his "ducks" and discoloring as well, his kerchief. -"Bless my life--Jukes! a dangerous lunatic. Note at once. Clearly -comes within the act. Clearly." - -In a few minutes all had left, and Judith was endeavoring to pacify -her irritated brother. His fingers were blackened, and finally she -persuaded him to go up-stairs and wash his hands clear of the ink. - -Then she ran into the adjoining room to Mr. Menaida. "Oh, dear Mr. -Menaida!" she said, "what does this mean? Why have they been here?" - -Uncle Zachie looked grave and discomposed. - -"My dear," said he. "Those were doctors, and they have been here, sent -by your aunt, to examine into the condition of Jamie's intellect, and -to report on what they have observed. There was a little going beyond -the law, perhaps, at first. That is why they took it so easily when -you carried Jamie off. They knew you were with an old lawyer; they -knew that you or I could sue for a writ of Habeas Corpus." - -"But do you really think--that Aunt Dionysia is going to have Jamie -sent back to that man at Wadebridge?" - -"I am certain of it. That is why they came here to-day." - -"Can I not prevent it?" - -"I do not think so. If you go to law----" - -"But if they once get him, they will make an idiot or a madman of -him." - -"Then you must see your aunt and persuade her not to send him there." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -ON A PEACOCK'S FEATHER. - - -As Mr. Menaida spoke, Miss Dionysia Trevisa entered, stiff, hard, and -when her eyes fell on Judith, they contracted with an expression of -antipathy. In the eyes alone was this observable, for her face was -immovable. - -"Auntie!" exclaimed Judith, drawing her into the sitting-room, and -pressing her to take the arm chair. - -"Oh, Auntie! I have so longed to see you--there have been some -dreadful men here--doctors I think--and they have been teasing Jamie, -till they had worked him into one of his temper fits." - -"I sent them here, and for good reasons. Jamie is to go back to -Wadebridge." - -"No--indeed no! auntie! do not say that. You would not say it if you -knew all." - -"I know quite enough. More than is pleasing to me. I have heard of -your outrageous and unbecoming conduct. Hoity! toity! To think that a -Trevisa--but there you are one only in name--should go out at night, -about the streets and lanes, like a common stray. Bless me! you might -have knocked me down with a touch, when I was told of it." - -"I did nothing outrageous and unbecoming, aunt. You may be sure of -that. I am quite aware that I am a Trevisa, and a gentlewoman, and -something higher than that, aunt--a Christian. My father never let me -forget that." - -"Your conduct was--well I will give it no expletive." - -"Aunt, I did what was right. I was sure that Jamie was unhappy and -wanted me. I cannot tell you how I knew it, but I was certain of it, -and I had no peace till I went; and, as I found the garden door open, -I went in, and as I went in I found Jamie locked up in the cellars, -and I freed him. Had you found him there, you would have done the -same." - -"I have heard all about it. I want no repetition of a very scandalous -story. Against my will I am burdened with an intolerable obligation, -to look after an idiot nephew and a niece that is a self-willed and -perverse Miss." - -"Jamie is no idiot," answered Judith, firmly. - -"Jamie is what those pronounce him to be, who by their age, their -profession, and their inquiries are calculated to judge better than an -ignorant girl, not out of her teens." - -"Auntie I believe you have been misinformed. Listen to me, and I will -tell you what happened. As for those men----" - -"Those men were doctors. Perhaps they were misinformed when they went -through the College of Surgeons, were misinformed by all the medical -books they have read, were misdirected by all the study of the mental -and bodily maladies of men they have made, in their professional -course." - -"I wish, dear Aunt Dionysia, you would take Jamie to be with you a few -weeks, talk to him, play with him, go walks with him, and you will -never say that he is an idiot. He needs careful management, and also a -little application----" - -"Enough of that theme," interrupted Miss Trevisa, "I have not come -here to be drawn into an argument, or to listen to your ideas of the -condition of that unhappy, troublesome, that provoking boy. I wish to -heaven I had not the responsibility for him, that has been thrust on -me, but as I have to exercise it, and there is no one to relieve me of -it, I must do my best, though it is a great expense to me. Seventy -pounds is not seventy shillings, nor is it seventy pence." - -"Aunt, he is not to go back to the asylum. He _must not_ go." - -"Hoity-toity! _must not_ indeed. You, a minx of eighteen to dictate to -me! Must not, indeed! You seem to think that you, and not I, are -Jamie's guardian." - -"Papa entrusted him to me with his last words." - -"I know nothing about last words. In his will I am constituted his -guardian and yours, and as such I shall act as my convenience--conscience -I mean, dictates." - -"But, Aunt! Jamie is not to go back to Wadebridge. Aunt! I entreat -you! I know what that place is. I have been inside it, you have not. -And just think of Jamie on the very first night being locked up -there." - -"He richly deserved it, I will be bound." - -"Oh, Aunt! How could he? How could he?" - -"Of that Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray was the best judge. Why he had to be -punished you do not know." - -"Indeed I do. He cried because the place was strange, and he was among -strange faces. Aunt--if you were whipped off to Timbuctoo, and -suddenly found yourself among savages, and in a rush apron, as the -squaw of a black chief, or whatever they call their wives in Timbuctoo -land, would you not scream?" - -"Judith," said Miss Trevisa, bridling up. "You forget yourself." - -"No, Aunt! I am only pleading for Jamie, trying to make you feel for -him, when he was locked up in an asylum. How would you like it, Aunt, -if you were snatched away to Barthelmy fair, and suddenly found -yourself among tight-rope dancers, and Jack Puddings?" - -"Judith, I insist on you holding your tongue. I object to being -associated even in fancy, with such creatures." - -"Well--but Jamie was associated, not in fancy, but in horrible -reality, with idiots." - -"Jamie goes to Scantlebray's Asylum to-day." - -"Auntie!" - -"He is already in the hands of the brothers Scantlebray." - -"Oh, Auntie--no--no!" - -"It is no pleasure to me to have to find the money, you may well -believe. Seventy pounds is not, as I said, seventy pence, it is not -seventy farthings. But duty is duty, and however painful and -unpleasant and costly, it must be performed." - -Then from the adjoining room, "the shop," came Mr. Menaida. - -"I beg pardon for an interruption and for interference," said he. "I -happen to have overheard what has passed, as I was engaged in the next -room, and I believe that I can make a proposal which will perhaps be -acceptable to you, Miss Trevisa, and grateful to Miss Judith." - -"I am ready to listen to you," said Aunt Dionysia, haughtily. - -"It is this," said Uncle Zachie. "I understand that pecuniary matters -concerning Jamie are a little irksome. Now the boy, if he puts his -mind to it, can be useful to me. He has a remarkable aptitude for -taxidermy. I have more orders on my hands than I can attend to. I am a -gentleman, not a tradesman, and I object to be oppressed--flattened -out--with the orders piled on top of me. But if the boy will help, he -can earn sufficient to pay for his living here with me." - -"Oh, Mr. Menaida, dear Mr. Menaida! thank you so much," exclaimed -Judith. - -"Perhaps you will allow me to speak," said Miss Trevisa, with -asperity. "I am guardian, and not you, whatever you may think from -certain vague expressions breathed casually from my poor brother's -lips, and to which you have attached an importance he never gave to -them." - -"Aunt, I assure you, my dear papa----" - -"That question is closed. We will not reopen it. I am a Trevisa. I -can't for a moment imagine where you got those ideas. Not from your -father's family, I am sure. Tight-rope dancers and Timbuctoos, -indeed!" Then she turned to Mr. Menaida, and said, in her hard, -constrained voice, as though she were exercising great moral control -to prevent herself from snapping at him with her teeth. "Your proposal -is kind and well intentioned, but I cannot accept it." - -"Oh, Aunt! why not?" - -"That you shall hear. I must beg you not to interrupt me. You are so -familiar with the manners of Timbuctoo and of Barthelmy Fair, that you -forget those pertaining to England and polished society." Then, -turning to Mr. Menaida, she said: "I thank you for your -well-intentioned proposal, which, however, it is not possible for me -to close with. I must consider the boy's ulterior advantage, not the -immediate relief to my sorely-taxed purse. I have thought proper to -place Jamie with a person, a gentleman of experience, and highly -qualified to deal with those mentally afflicted. However much I may -value you, Mr. Menaida, you must excuse me for saying that firmness is -not a quality you have cultivated with assiduity. Judith, my niece, -has almost ruined the boy by humoring him. You cannot stiffen a jelly -by setting it in the sun, or in a chair before the fire, and that is -what my niece has been doing. The boy must be isinglassed into -solidity by those who know how to treat him. Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray -is the man----" - -"To manufacture idiots, madam, out of simple innocents, it is worth -his while at seventy pounds a year," said Uncle Zachie, petulantly. - -Miss Trevisa looked at him stonily, and said: "Sir! I suppose you know -best. But it strikes me that such a statement, relative to Mr. Obadiah -Scantlebray, is actionable. But you know best, being a solicitor." - -Mr. Menaida winced and drew back. - -Judith leaned against the mantel-shelf, trembling with anxiety and -some anger. She thought that her aunt was acting in a heartless manner -toward Jamie, that there was no good reason for refusing the generous -offer of Uncle Zachie. In her agitation, unable to keep her fingers at -rest, the girl played with the little chimney ornaments. She must -occupy her nervous, twitching hands about something; tears of -distressed mortification were swelling in her heart, and a fire was -burning in two flames in her cheeks. What could she do to save Jamie? -What would become of the boy at the asylum? It seemed to her that he -would be driven out of his few wits, by terror and ill-treatment, and -distress at leaving her and losing his liberty to ramble about the -cliffs where he liked. In a vase on the chimney-piece was a bunch of -peacock's feathers, and in her agitation, not thinking what she was -about, desirous only of having something to pick at and play with in -her hands, to disguise the trembling of the fingers, she took out one -of the plumes and trifled with it, waving it and letting the light -undulate over its wondrous surface of gold and green and blue. - -"As long as I have responsibility for the urchin----" said Miss -Dionysia. - -"Urchin!" muttered Judith. - -"As long as I have the charge I shall do my duty according to my -lights, though they may not be those of a rush-aproned squaw in -Timbuctoo, nor of a Jack Pudding balancing a feather on his nose." -There was here a spiteful glance at Judith. "When my niece has a home -of her own--is settled into a position of security and comfort--then I -wash my hands of the responsibility; she may do what she likes -then--bring her brother to live with her if she chooses and her -husband consents--that will be naught to me." - -"And in the mean time," said Judith, holding the peacock's feather -very still before her, "in the mean time Jamie's mind is withered and -stunted--his whole life is spoiled. Now--now alone can he be given a -turn aright and toward growth." - -"That entirely depends on you," said Miss Trevisa, coldly. "You know -best what opportunities have offered----" - -"Aunt, what do you mean?" - -"Wait," said Uncle Zachie, rubbing his hands. "My boy Oliver is coming -home. He has written his situation is a good one now." - -Miss Trevisa turned on him with a face of marble. "I entirely fail to -see what your son Oliver has to do with the matter, more than the man -in the moon. May I trouble you, as you so deeply interest yourself in -our concerns, to step outside to Messrs. Scantlebray and that boy, and -ask them to bring him in here. I have told them what the circumstances -are, and they are prepared." - -Mr. Menaida left the room, not altogether unwilling to escape. - -"Now," said Aunt Dionysia, "I am relieved to find that for a minute, -we are by ourselves, not subjected to the prying and eavesdropping of -the impertinent and meddlesome. Mr. Menaida is a man who never did -good to himself or to anyone else in his life, though a man with the -best intentions under the sun. Now, Judith, I am a plain woman--that -is to say--not plain, but straightforward--and I like to have -everything above board. The case stands thus. I, in my capacity as -guardian to that boy, am resolved to consign him immediately to the -asylum, and to retain him there as long as my authority lasts, though -it will cost me a pretty sum. You do not desire that he should go -there. Well and good. There is but one way, but that is effectual, by -means of which you can free Jamie from restraint. Let me tell you he -is now in the hands of Mr. Obadiah, and gagged that he may not rouse -the neighborhood with his screams." Miss Trevisa fixed her hard eyes -on Judith. "As soon as you take the responsibility off me, and on to -yourself, you do with the boy what you like." - -"I will relieve you at once." - -"You are not in a condition to do so. As soon as I am satisfied that -your future is secure, that you will have a house to call your own, -and a certainty of subsistence for you both--then I will lay down my -charge." - -"And you mean----" - -"I mean that you must first accept Captain Coppinger, who has been -good enough to find you not intolerable. He is--in this one -particular--unreasonable, however, he is what he is, in this matter. -He makes you the offer, gives you the chance. Take it, and you provide -Jamie and yourself with a home, he has his freedom, and you can manage -or mismanage him as you list. Refuse the chance and Jamie is lodged in -Mr. Scantlebray's establishment within an hour." - -"I cannot decide this on the spur of the moment." - -"Very well. You can let Jamie go provisionally to the asylum--and stay -there till you have made up your mind." - -"No--no--no--Aunt! Never, never!" - -"As you will." Miss Trevisa shrugged her shoulders, and cast a glance -at her niece like a dagger-stab. - -"Auntie--I am but a child." - -"That may be. But there are times when even children must decide -momentous questions. A boy as a child decides on his profession, a -girl--may be--on her marriage." - -"Oh, dear Auntie! Do leave Jamie here for, say a fortnight, and in a -fortnight from to-day you shall have my answer." - -"No," answered Miss Trevisa, "I also must decide as to my future, for -your decision affects not Jamie only but me also." - -Judith had listened in great self-restraint, holding the feather -before her. She held it between thumb and forefinger of both hands, -not concerning herself about it, and yet with her eyes watching the -undulations from the end of the quill to the deep blue eye set in a -halo of gold at the further end, and the feather undulated with every -rise and fall of her bosom. - -"Surely, Auntie! You cannot wish me to marry Cruel Coppinger?" - -"I have no wishes one way or the other. Please yourself." - -"But, Auntie----" - -"You profess to be ready to do all you can for Jamie and yet hesitate -about relieving me of an irksome charge, and Jamie of what you -consider barbarous treatment." - -"You cannot be serious--_I_ to marry Captain Cruel!" - -"It is a serious offer." - -"But papa!--what would he say?" - -"I never was in a position to tell his thoughts and guess what his -words would be." - -"But, Auntie--he is such a bad man." - -"You know a great deal more about him than I do, of course." - -"But--he is a smuggler, I do know that." - -"Well--and what of that. There is no crime in that." - -"It is not an honest profession. They say, too, that he is a wrecker." - -"They say!--who say? What do you know?" - -"Nothing, but I am not likely to trust my future to a man of whom such -tales are told. Auntie! Would you, supposing that you were----" - -"I will have none of your suppositions, I never did wear a rush apron, -nor act as Jack Pudding." - -"I cannot--Captain Cruel of all men." - -"Is he so hateful to you?" - -"Hateful--no; but I cannot like him. He has been kind, but--somehow I -can't think of him as--as--as a man of our class and thoughts and -ways, as one worthy of my own, own papa. No--it is impossible, I am -still a child." - -She took the end of the peacock's feather, the splendid eye lustrous -with metallic beauty, and bowed the plume without breaking it, and, -unconscious of what she was doing, stroked her lips with it. What a -fragile fine quill that was on which hung so much beauty? and how -worthless the feather would be when that quill was broken. And so with -her--her fine, elastic, strong spirit, that when bowed sprang to its -uprightness the moment the pressure was withdrawn; that on which all -her charm, her beauty hung. - -"Captain Coppinger has, surely, never asked you to put this -alternative to me?" - -"No--I do it myself. As you are a child, you are unfit to take charge -of your brother. When you are engaged to be married you are a woman; I -shift my load on you then." - -"And you wish it?" - -"I repeat I have no wishes in the matter." - -"Give me time to consider." - -"No. It must be decided now--that is to say if you do not wish Jamie -to be taken away. Don't fancy I want to persuade you; but I want to be -satisfied about my own future. I shall not remain in Pentyre with you. -As you enter by the front door, I leave by the back." - -"Where will you go?" - -"That is my affair." - -Then in at the door came the two Scantlebrays and Jamie between them, -gagged and with his hands bound behind his back. He had run out, -directly his examination was over, and had been secured, almost -without resistance, so taken by surprise was he, and reduced to a -condition of helplessness. - -Judith leaned against the mantel-shelf, with every tinge of color gone -out of her cheeks. Jamie's frightened eyes met hers, and he made a -slight struggle to speak, and to escape to her. - -"You have a close conveyance ready for your patient?" asked Aunt -Dionysia of the brothers. - -"Oh, yes, a very snug little box on wheels. Scanty and I will sit with -our young man, to prevent his feeling dull, you know." - -"You understand, gentlemen, what I told you, that in the deciding -whether the boy is to go with you or not, I am not the only one to be -considered. If I have my will, go he shall, as I am convinced that -your establishment is the very place for him; but my niece, Miss -Judith, has at her option the chance of taking the responsibility for -the boy off my shoulders, and if she chooses to do that, why then, I -fear she will continue to spoil him, as she has done heretofore." - -"It has cost us time and money," said Scantlebray, senior. - -"And you shall be paid, whichever way is decided," said Miss Trevisa. -"Every thing now rests with my niece." - -Judith seemed as one petrified. One hand was on her bosom, staying her -heart, the other held the peacock's feather before her, horizontally. -Every particle of color had deserted, not her face only, but her hands -as well. Her eyes were sunless, her lips contracted and livid. She was -motionless as a parian statue, she hardly seemed to breathe. She -perfectly understood what her aunt had laid upon her, her bodily -sensations were dead whilst a conflict of ideas raged in her brain. -She was the arbiter of Jamie's fate. She did not disguise from herself -that if consigned to the keeper of the asylum, though only for a week -or two, he would not leave his charge the same as he entered. And what -would it avail her or him to postpone the decision a week or a -fortnight. - -The brothers Scantlebray knew nothing of the question agitating her, -but they saw that the determination at which she was resolving was one -that cost her all her powers. Mr. Obadiah's heavy mind did not exert -itself to probe the secret, but the more eager intellect of his elder -brother was alert, and wondering what might be the matter that so -affected the girl, and made it so difficult for her to pronounce the -decision. The hard eyes of Miss Trevisa were fixed on her. Judith's -answer would decide her future--on it depended Othello Cottage, and an -annuity of fifty pounds. Jamie looked through a veil of tears at his -sister, and never for a moment turned them from her, from the moment -of his entry into the room. Instinctively the boy felt that his -freedom and happiness depended on her. - -One or the other must be sacrificed. That Judith saw Jamie was dull of -mind, but there were possibilities of development in it. And, even if -he remained where he was, he was happy, happy and really harmless, if -a little mischievous; an offer had been made which was likely to lead -him on into industrious ways, and to teach him application. He loved -his liberty, loved it as does the gull. In an asylum he would pine, -his mind become more enfeebled, and he would die. But then--what a -price must be paid to save him? Oh, if she could have put the question -to her father. But she had none to appeal to for advice. If she gave -to Jamie liberty and happiness, it was at the certain sacrifice of her -own. But there was no evading the decision, one or the other must go. - -She stretched forth the peacock's feather, laid the great indigo blue -eye on the bands that held Jamie, on his gagged lips, and said: "Let -him go." - -"You agree!" exclaimed Miss Trevisa. - -Judith doubled the peacock's feather and broke it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THROUGH THE TAMARISKS. - - -For some time after Judith had given her consent, and had released -Jamie from the hands of the Scantlebrays, she remained still and -white. Uncle Zachie missed the music to which he had become used, and -complained. She then seated herself at the piano, but was distraught, -played badly, and the old bird-stuffer went away grumbling to his -shop. - -Jamie was happy, delighted not to be afflicted with lessons, and -forgot past troubles in present pleasures. That the recovery of his -liberty had been bought at a heavy price, he did not know, and would -not have appreciated it had he been told the sacrifice Judith had been -ready to make for his sake. - -In the garden behind the cottage was an arbor, composed of half a boat -set up, that is to say, an old boat sawn in half, and erected so that -it served as a shelter to a seat, which was fixed into the earth on -posts. From one side of this boat a trellis had been drawn, and -covered with eschalonia, and a seat placed here as well, so that in -this rude arbor it was possible for more than one to find -accommodation. Here Judith and Jamie often sat; the back of the boat -was set against the prevailing wind from the sea, and on this coast -the air is unusually soft at the same time that it is bracing, -enjoyable wherever a little shelter is provided against its violence. -For violent it can be, and can buffet severely, yet its blows are -those of a pillow. - -Here Judith was sitting one afternoon, alone, lost in a dream, when -Uncle Zachie came into the garden with his pipe in his mouth, to -stretch his legs, after a few minutes' work at stuffing a cormorant. - -In her lap lay a stocking Judith was knitting for her brother, but she -had made few stitches, and yet had been an hour in the summer-house. -The garden of Mr. Menaida was hedged off from a neighbor's grounds by -a low wall of stone and clay and sand, in and out of which grew -roughly strong tamarisks now in their full pale pink blossom. The eyes -of Judith had been on these tamarisks, waving like plumes in the -sea-air, when she was startled from her reverie by the voice of Uncle -Zachie. - -"Why, Miss Judith! What is the matter with you? Dull, eh? Ah--wait a -bit, when Oliver comes home we shall have mirth. He is full of -merriment. A bright boy and a good son; altogether a fellow to be -proud of, though I say it. He will return at the fall." - -"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Menaida. You have not seen him for many -years." - -"Not for ten." - -"It will be a veritable feast to you. Does he remain long in England?" - -"I cannot say. If his employers find work for him at home, then at -home he will tarry, but if they consider themselves best served by him -at Oporto, then to Portugal must he return." - -"Will you honor me by taking a seat near me--under the trellis?" asked -Judith. "It will indeed be a pleasure to me to have a talk with you; -and I do need it very sore. My heart is so full that I feel I must -spill some of it before a friend." - -"Then indeed I will hold out both hands to catch the sweetness." - -"Nay--it is bitter, not sweet, bitter as gall, and briny as the -ocean." - -"Not possible; a little salt gives savor." - -She shook her head, took up the stocking, did a couple of stitches, -and put it down again. The sea-breeze that tossed the pink bunches of -tamarisk waved stray tresses of her red-gold hair, but somehow the -brilliancy, the burnish, seemed gone from it. Her eyes were sunken, -and there was a greenish tinge about the ivory white surrounding her -mouth. - -"I cannot work, dear Mr. Menaida; I am so sorry that I should have -played badly that sonata last night. I knew it fretted you, but I -could not help myself, my mind is so selfishly directed that I cannot -attend to anything even of Beethoven's in music, nor to -stocking-knitting even for Jamie." - -"And what are the bitter--briny thoughts?" - -Judith did not answer at once, she looked down into her lap, and Mr. -Menaida, whose pipe was choked, went to the tamarisks and plucked a -little piece, stripped off the flower and proceeded to clear the tube -with it. - -Presently, while Uncle Zachie's eyes were engaged on the pipe, Judith -looked up, and said hastily, "I am very young, Mr. Menaida." - -"A fault in process of rectification every day," said he, blowing -through the stem of his pipe. "I think it is clear now." - -"I mean--young to be married." - -"To be married! Zounds!" He turned his eyes on her in surprise, -holding the tamarisk spill in one hand and the pipe in the other, -poised in the air. - -"You have not understood that I got Jamie off the other day only by -taking full charge of him upon myself and relieving my aunt." - -"But--good gracious, you are not going to marry your brother." - -"My aunt would not transfer the guardianship to me unless I were -qualified to undertake and exercise it properly, according to her -ideas, and that could be only by my becoming engaged to be married to -a man of substance." - -"Goodness help me! what a startlement! And who is the happy man to be? -Not Scantlebray, senior, I trust, whose wife is dying." - -"No--Captain Coppinger." - -"Cruel Coppinger!" Uncle Zachie put down his pipe so suddenly on the -bench by him that he broke it. "Cruel Coppinger! never!" - -She said nothing to this, but rose and walked, with her head down, -along the bank, and put her hands among the waving pink bunches of -tamarisk bloom, sweeping the heads with her own delicate hand as she -passed. Then she came back to the boat arbor and reseated herself. - -"Dear me! Bless my heart! I could not have credited it," gasped Mr. -Menaida, "and I had such different plans in my head--but there, no -more about them." - -"I had to make my election whether to take him and qualify to become -Jamie's guardian, or refrain, and then he would have been snatched -away and imprisoned in that odious place again." - -"But, my dear Miss Judith--" the old man was so agitated that he did -not know what he was about; he put the stick of tamarisk into his -mouth in place of his pipe, and took it out to speak, put down his -hand, picked up the bowl of his pipe, and tapped the end of the -tamarisk spill with that; "mercy save me! What a world we do live in. -And I had been building for you a castle--not in Spain, but in a -contiguous country--who'd have thought it? And Cruel Coppinger, too! -Upon my soul I don't want to say I am sorry for it, and I can't find -in my heart to say I'm glad." - -"I do not expect that you will be glad--not if you have any love for -me." - -The old man turned round, his eyes were watering and his face -twitching. - -"I have, Heaven knows! I have--yes--I mean Miss Judith." - -"Mr. Menaida," said the girl, "you have been so kind, so considerate, -that I should like to call you what every one else does--when speaking -of you to one another--not to your face--Uncle Zachie." - -He put out his hand, it was shaking, and caught hers. He put the ends -of the fingers to his lips; but he kept his face averted, and the -water that had formed in his eyes ran down his cheeks. He did not -venture to speak. He had lost command over his voice. - -"You see, uncle, I have no one of whom to ask counsel. I have only -aunt, and she--somehow--I feel that I cannot go to her, and get from -her the advice best suited to me. Now papa is dead I am entirely -alone, and I have to decide on matters most affecting my own life, and -that of Jamie. I do so crave for a friend who could give me an -opinion--but I have no one, if you refuse." - -He pressed her hand. - -"Not that now I can go back from my word. I have passed that to Aunt -Dionysia, and draw back I may not; but somehow, as I sit and think, -and think, and try to screw myself up to the resolution that must be -reached of giving up my hand and my whole life into the power of--of -that man, I cannot attain to it. I feel like one who is condemned to -cast himself down a precipice and shrinks from it, cannot make up his -mind to spring, but draws back after every run made to the edge. Tell -me--uncle--tell me truly, what do you think about Captain Coppinger? -What do you know about him? Is he a very wicked man?" - -"You ask me what I think, and also what I know," said Mr. Menaida, -releasing her hand. "I know nothing, but I have my thoughts." - -"Then tell me what you think." - -"As I have said, I know nothing. I do not know whence he comes. Some -say he is a Dane, some that he is an Irishman. I cannot tell, I know -nothing, but I think his intonation is Irish, and I have heard that -there is a family of that name in Ireland. But this is all guesswork. -One thing I do know, he speaks French like a native. Then, as to his -character, I believe him to be a man of ungovernable temper, who, when -his blood is roused will stick at nothing. I think him a man of very -few scruples. But he has done liberal things--he is open-handed, that -all say. A hard liver, and with a rough tongue, and yet with some of -the polish of a gentleman; a man with the passions of a devil, but not -without in him some sparks of divine light. That is what I think him -to be. And if you ask me further, whether I think him a man calculated -to make you happy--I say decidedly that he is not." - -Rarely before in his life had Mr. Menaida spoken with such decision. - -"He has been kind to me," said Judith. "Very kind." - -"Because he is in love with you." - -"And gentle--" - -"Have you ever done aught to anger him!" - -"Yes. I threw him down and broke his arm and collar-bone." - -"And won his heart by so doing." - -"Uncle Zachie, he is a smuggler." - -"Yes--there is no doubt about that." - -"Do you suppose if I were to entreat him that he would abandon -smuggling? I have already had it in my heart to ask him this, but I -could not bring the request over my lips." - -"I have no doubt if you asked him to throw up his smuggling that he -would promise to do so. Whether he would keep his promise is another -matter. Many a girl has made her lover swear to give up gambling, and -on that understanding has married him; but I reckon none have been -able to keep their husbands to the engagement. Gambling, smuggling, -and poaching, my dear, are in the blood. A man brings the love of -adventure, the love of running a risk, into the world with him. If I -had been made by my wife to swear when I married never to touch a -musical instrument, I might out of love for her have sworn, but I -could not have kept my oath. And you--if you vowed to keep your -fingers from needle and thread, and saw your gown in rags, or your -husband's linen frayed--would find an irresistible itch in the finger -ends to mend and hem, and you would do it, in spite of your vows. So -with a gambler, a poacher, and a smuggler, the instinct, the passion -is in them and is irresistible. Don't impose any promise on Captain -Cruel, it will not influence him." - -"They tell me he is a wrecker." - -"What do you mean by a wrecker! We are all wreckers, after a storm, -when a merchantman has gone to pieces on the rocks, and the shore is -strewn with prizes. I have taken what I could, and I see no harm in -it. When the sea throws treasures here and there, it is a sin not to -take them up and use them and be thankful." - -"I do not mean that. I mean that he has been the means of luring ships -to their destruction." - -"Of that I know nothing. Stories circulate whenever there is a wreck -not in foul weather or with a wind on shore. But who can say whether -they be true or false?" - -"And about that man, Wyvill. Did he kill him?" - -"There also I can say nothing, because I know nothing. All that can be -said about the matter is that the Preventive man Wyvill was found at -sea--or washed ashore without his head. A shark may have done it, and -sharks have been found off our coast. I cannot tell. There is not a -shadow of evidence that could justify an indictment. All that can be -stated that makes against Coppinger is that the one is a smuggler, the -other was a Preventive man, and that the latter was found dead and -with his head off, an unusual circumstance, but not sufficient to show -that he had been decapitated by any man, nor that the man who -decapitated him was Coppinger." - -Then Mr. Menaida started up: "And--you sell yourself to this man for -Jamie?" - -"Yes, uncle, to make a man of Jamie." - -"On the chance, Judith, on the very doubtful chance of making a man -of Jamie, you rush on the certainty of making a ruin of yourself. That -man--that Coppinger to be trusted with you! A fair little vessel, -richly laden, with silken sail, and cedar sides, comes skimmering over -the sea, and--Heaven forgive me if I judge wrongly--but I think he is -a wrecker, enticing, constraining you on to the reefs where you will -break up, and all your treasures will--not fall to him--but sink; and -all that will remain of you will be a battered and broken hull, and a -draggled discolored sail. I cannot--I cannot endure the thought." - -"Yet it must be endured, faced and endured by me," said Judith. "You -are a cruel comforter, Uncle Zachie. I called you to encourage me, and -you cast me down; to lighten my load, and you heap more on." - -"I can do no other," gasped Mr. Menaida. Then he sprang back, with -open mouth, aghast. He saw Cruel Coppinger on the other side of the -hedge, he had put his hands to the tamarisk bushes, and thrust them -apart and was looking through. - -"Goldfish!" called Captain Coppinger, "Goldfish, come!" - -Judith knew the voice and looked in the direction whence it came, and -saw the large hands of Coppinger holding back the boughs of tamarisk, -his dark face in the gap. She rose at once and stepped toward him. - -"You are ill," he said, fixing his sombre eyes on her. - -"I am not ill in body. I have had much to harass my mind." - -"Yes, that Wadebridge business." - -"What has sprung out of it?" - -"Shall I come to you, or will you to me!--through the tamarisks?" - -"As you will, Captain Coppinger." - -"Come, then--up on to the hedge and jump--I will catch you in my arms. -I have held you there ere this." - -"Yes, you have taken me up, now must I throw----" She did not finish -the sentence; she meant, must she voluntarily throw herself into his -arms? - -She caught hold of the bushes and raised herself to the top of the -hedge. - -"By Heaven!" said he. "The tamarisk flowers have more color in them -than your face." - -She stood on the summit of the bank, the tamarisks rising to her -knees, waving in the wind about her. Must she resign herself to that -man of whom she knew so little, whom she feared so greatly? There was -no help for it. She must. He held out his arms. She sprang, and he -caught her. - -"I have you now," he said, with a laugh of triumph. "You have come to -me, and I will never give you up." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -AMONG THE SAND-HEAPS. - - -Coppinger held her in his arms, shook her hair out that it streamed -over his arm, and looked into her upturned face. "Indeed you are -light, lighter than when I bore you in my arms before; and you are -thin and white, and the eyes, how red. You have been crying. What! -this spirit, strong as a steel spring, so subdued that it gives way to -weeping!" - -Judith's eyes were closed against the strong light from the sky above, -and against the sight of his face bent over hers, and the fire glint -of his eyes, dark as a thundercloud and as charged with lightnings. -And now there was a flashing of fire from them, of love and pride and -admiration. The strong man trembled beneath his burden in the -vehemence of his emotion. The boiling and paining of his heart within -him, as he held the frail child in his arms, and knew she was to be -his own, his own wholly, in a short space. It was for the moment to -him as though all earth and sea and heaven were dissolved with -nebulous chaos, and the only life--the only pulses in the -universe--were in him and the little creature he held to his breast. -He looked into her face, down on her as Vesuvius must have looked down -on lovely, marble, white Pompeii, with its gilded roofs and -incense-scented temples, and restrained itself, as long as restrain -its molten heart it could, before it poured forth its fires and -consumed the pearly city lying in its arms. - -He looked at her closed eyelids with the long golden lashes resting on -the dark sunken dip beneath, at the delicate mouth drawn as with pain, -at the white temples in which slowly throbbed the blue veins, at the -profusion of red-gold hair streaming over his arm and almost touching -the ground. - -She knew that his eyes--on fire--were on her, and she dared not meet -them, for there would be a shrinking--from him, no responsive leap of -flame from hers. - -"Shall I carry you about like this!" he asked. "I could and I would, -to the world's end, and leap with you thence into the unfathomed -abyss." - -Her head, leaning back on his arm, with the gold rain falling from it, -exposed her long and delicate throat of exquisite purity of tint and -beauty of modelling, and as it lay a little tuft of pink tamarisk -blossom, brushed off in her lap into his arms, and then caught in the -light edging of her dress, at the neck. - -"And you come to me of your own will?" he said. - -Then Judith slightly turned her head to avoid his eyes, and said, "I -have come--it was unavoidable. Let me down, that we may speak -together." - -He obeyed with reluctance. Then, standing before him, she bound up and -fastened her hair. - -"Look!" said he, and threw open his collar. A ribbon was tied about -his throat. "Do you see this?" He loosed the band and held it to her. -One delicate line of gold ran along the silk, fastened to it by -threads at intervals. "Your own hair. The one left with me when you -first heard me speak of my heart's wish, and you disdained me and went -your way. You left me that one hair, and that one hair I have kept -wound round my neck ever since, and it has seemed to me that I might -still have caught my goldfish, my saucy goldfish that swam away from -my hook at first." - -Judith said calmly; "Let us walk together somewhere--to St. Enodoc, to -my father's grave, and there, over that sand-heap we will settle what -must be settled." - -"I will go with you where you will. You are my Queen, I your -subject--it is my place to obey." - -"The subject has sometimes risen and destroyed the Queen; it has been -so in France." - -"Yes, when the subject has been too hardly treated, too down-trodden, -not allowed to look on and adore the Queen." - -"And," said Judith further, "let us walk in silence, allow me the -little space between here and my father's grave to collect my -thoughts, bear with me for that short distance." - -"As you will. I am your slave, as I have told you, and you my mistress -have but to command." - -"Yes, but the slave sometimes becomes the master, and then is all the -more tyrannous because of his former servitude." - -So they walked together, yet apart, from Polzeath to St. Enodoc, -neither speaking, and it might have been a mourner's walk at a -funeral. She held her head down, and did not raise her eyes from the -ground, but he continued to gaze on her with a glow of triumph and -exultation in his face. - -They reached at length the deserted church, sunken in the sands; it -had a hole broken in the wall under the eaves in the south, rudely -barricaded, through which the sacred building might be entered for -such functions as a marriage, or the first part of the funeral office -that must be performed in a church. - -The roof was of pale gray slate, much broken, folding over the rafters -like the skins on the ribs of an old horse past work. The church-yard -was covered with plain sand. Gravestones were in process of being -buried like those whom they commemorated. Some peeped above the sand, -with a fat cherub's head peering above the surface. Others stood high -on the land side, but were banked up by sand toward the sea. Here the -church-yard surface was smooth, there it was tossed with undulations, -according as the sand had been swept over portions tenanted by the -poor who were uncommemorated with head-stones, or over those where the -well-to-do lay with their titles and virtues registered above them. - -There was as yet no monument erected over the grave of the Reverend -Peter Trevisa, sometime rector of St. Enodoc. The mound had been -turfed over and bound down with withes. The loving hands of his -daughter had planted some of the old favorite flowers from the long -walk at the rectory above where he lay, but they had not as yet taken -to the soil, the sand ill agreed with them, and the season of the year -when their translation had taken place dissatisfied them, and they -looked forlorn, drooping, and doubted whether they would make the -struggle to live. - -Below the church lay the mouths of the Camel, blue between sand-hills, -with the Doom Bar, a long and treacherous band of shifting sands in -the midst. - -On reaching the graveyard Judith signed to Captain Coppinger to seat -himself on a flat tombstone on the south side of her father's grave, -and she herself leaned against the headstone that marked her mother's -tomb. - -"I think we should come to a thorough understanding," she said, with -composure, "that you may not expect of me what I cannot give, and know -the reason why I give you anything. You call me Goldfish. Why?" - -"Because of your golden hair." - -"No--that was not what sprung the idea in your brain, it was something -I said to you, that you and I stood to each other in the relation of -bird of prey to fish, belonging to distinct modes of life and manner -of thinking, and that we could never be to one another in any other -relation than that, the falcon and his prey, the flame and its fuel, -the wreckers and the wrecked." - -Coppinger started up and became red as blood. - -"These are strange words," he said. - -"It is the same that I said before." - -"Then why have you given yourself to me?" - -"I have resigned myself to you, as I cannot help myself any more than -the fish can that is pounced on by the sea-bird, or the fuel that is -enveloped by the flame, or the ship that is boarded by the wrecker." - -She looked at him steadily; he was quivering with excitement, anger, -and disappointment. - -"It is quite right that you should know what to expect, and make no -more demands on me that I am capable of answering. You cannot ask of -me that I should become like you, and I do not entertain the foolish -thought that you could be brought to be like me--to see through my -eyes, feel with my heart. My dead father lies between us now, and he -will ever be between us--he a man of pure life, noble aspirations, a -man of books, of high principle, fearing God and loving men. What he -was he tried to make me. Imperfectly, faultily, I follow him, but -though unable to be like him, I strive after what he showed me should -be my ideal." - -"You are a child. You will be a woman, and new thoughts will come to -you." - -"Will they be good and honorable and contented thoughts? Shall I find -those in your house?" - -Coppinger did not reply, his brows were drawn together and his face -became dark. - -"Why, then, have you promised to come to me?" - -"Because of Jamie." - -He uttered an oath, and with his hands clenched the upper stone of -the tomb. - -"I have promised my aunt that I will accept you, if you will suffer my -poor brother to live where I live, and suffer me to be his protector. -He is helpless and must have someone to think and watch for him. My -aunt would have sent him to Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray's asylum, and that -would have been fatal to him. To save him from that I said that I -would be yours, on the condition that my home should be his home. I -have passed my word to my aunt, and I will not go from it, but that -does not mean that I have changed my belief that we are unfitted for -each other, because we belong to different orders of being." - -"This is cold comfort." - -"It is cold as ice, but it is all that I have to give to you. I wish -to put everything plainly before you now, that there may be no -misapprehension later, and you may be asking of me what I cannot give, -and be angry at not receiving what I never promised to surrender." - -"So! I am only accepted for the sake of that boy, Jamie." - -"It is painful for me to say what I do--as painful as it must be for -you to hear it, but I cannot help myself. I wish to put all boldly and -hardly before you before an irrevocable step is taken such as might -make us both wretched. I take you for Jamie's sake. Were his -happiness, his well-being not in the scale, I would not take you. I -would remain free." - -"That is plain enough," exclaimed Coppinger, setting his teeth, and he -broke off a piece of the tombstone on which he was half sitting. - -"You will ask of me love, honor, and obedience. I will do my best to -love you--like you I do now, for you have been kind and good to me, -and I can never forget what you have done for me. But it is a long -leap from liking to loving, still I will try my best, and if I fail it -will not be for lack of effort. Honor is another matter. That lies in -your own power to give. If you behave as a good and worthy man to your -fellows, and justly toward me, of course I shall honor you. I must -honor what is deserving of honor, and where I honor there I may come -to love. I cannot love where I do not honor, so perhaps I may say that -my heart is in your hands, and that if those hands are clean and -righteous in their dealings it may become yours some time. As to -obedience--that you shall command. That I will render to you frankly -and fully in all things lawful." - -"You offer me an orange from which all the juice has been squeezed, a -nut without a kernel." - -"I offer you all I have to offer. Is it worth your while having this?" - -"Yes!" said he angrily, starting up, "I will have what I can and wring -the rest out of you, when once you are mine." - -"You never will wring anything out of me. I give what I may, but -nothing will I yield to force." - -He looked at her sullenly and said, "A child in years with an old head -and a stony heart." - -"I have always lived with my father, and so have come to think like -one that is old," said Judith, "and now, alone in the world, I must -think with ripened wits." - -"I do not want that precocious, wise soul, if that be the kernel. I -will have the shell--the glorious shell. Keep your wisdom and -righteousness and piety for yourself. I do not value them a rush. But -your love I will have." - -"I have told you there is but one way by which that may be won. But -indeed, Captain Coppinger, you have made a great mistake in thinking -of me. I am not suited to you to make you happy and content; any more -than you are suited to me. Look out for some girl more fit to be your -mate." - -"Of what sort? Come, tell me!" said Coppinger scornfully. - -"A fine, well-built girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with cheeks like -apricots, lively in mood, with nimble tongue, good-natured, not -bookish, not caring for brush or piano, but who can take a rough word -and return it; who will not wince at an oath, and shrink away at -coarse words flung about where she is. All these things you know very -well must be encountered by your wife, in your house. Did you ever -read 'Hamlet,' Captain Coppinger?" - -He made no answer, he was plucking at the slab-cover of the tomb and -grinding his heels into the sand. - -"In 'Hamlet,' we read of a king poisoned by his queen, who dipped the -juice of cursed hebenon into his ears, and it curdled all his blood. -It is the same with the sort of language that is found in your house -when your seamen are there. I cannot endure it, it curdles my -heart--choose a girl who is indifferent." - -"You shall not be subjected to it," said Coppinger, "and as to the -girl you have sketched--I care not for her--such as you describe are -to be found thick as whortle-berries on a moor. Do you not know that -man seeks in marriage not his counterpart but his contrast? It is -because you are in all things different from me that I love you." - -"Then will naught that I have said make you desist?" - -"Naught." - -"I have told you that I take you only so as to be able to make a home -for Jamie." - -"Yes." - -"And that I do not love you and hardly think I can ever." - -"Yes." - -"And still you will have me?" - -"Yes." - -"And that by taking me you wreck my life--spoil my happiness." - -He raised his head, then dropped it again and said, "Yes." - -She remained silent, also looking on the ground. Presently she raised -her head and said: "I gave you a chance, and you have cast it from -you. I am sorry." - -"A chance? What chance?" - -"The chance of taking a first step up the ladder in my esteem." - -"I do not understand you." - -"Therefore I am sorry." - -"What is your meaning?" - -"Captain Coppinger," said Judith, firmly, looking straight into his -dark face and flickering eyes, "I am very, very sorry. When I told you -that I accepted your offer only because I could not help myself, -because I was a poor, feeble orphan, with a great responsibility laid -on me, the charge of my unfortunate brother; that I only accepted you -for his sake when I told you that I did not love you, that our -characters, our feelings were so different that it would be misery to -me to become your wife--that it would be the ruin of my life, -then--had you been a man of generous soul, you would have said--I will -not force myself upon you, but I will do one thing for you, assist you -in protecting Jamie from the evil that menaces him. Had you said that -I would have honored you, and as I said just now, where I honor, there -I may love. But you could not think such a thought, no such generous -feeling stirred you. You held me to my bond." - -"I hold you to your bond," exclaimed Coppinger, in loud rage. "I hold -you, indeed. Even though you can neither love nor honor me, you shall -be mine. You likened me to a bird of prey that must have its prey or -die, to a fire--and that must have its fuel--to a wrecker, and he must -have his wreck, I care not. I will have you as mine, whether you love -me or not." - -"So be it, then," said Judith, sadly. "You had your opportunity and -have put it from you. We understand each other. The slave is -master--and a tyrant." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -A DANGEROUS GIFT. - - -"I do love a proper muddle, cruel bad, I do," said Jump, and had what -she loved, for the preparations for Judith's marriage threw Mr. -Menaida's trim cottage into a "proper muddle." There were the cakes to -be baked, and for a while the interior of the house was pervaded by -that most delicious aroma of baking bread superior to frangipani, -jockey club, and wood violet. Then came the dusting, and after that -the shaking and beating of the rugs and sofa and chairs. Then it was -discovered that the ceilings and walls would be the better for white -and color-wash. This entailed the turning out of every thing -previously dusted and tidied and arranged. Neither Mr. Menaida nor -Jump had any other idea of getting things into order than throwing all -into a muddle in the hopes that out of chaos, exactness and order -might spring. - -A dressmaker had been engaged and material purchased, for the -fabrication of a trousseau. This naturally interested Jamie vastly, -and Jump paid repeated visits to the dressmaker, whilst engaged on her -work. On one such occasion she neglected the kitchen and allowed some -jam to become burnt. On another she so interested the needlewoman and -diverted her attention from her work, whilst cutting out that the -latter cut out two right arms to the wedding gown. This involved a -difficulty, as it was not practicable either to turn the one sleeve, -and convert it into a left arm, nor to remove Judith's left arm and -attach it to the right side of her body, and so accommodate her to the -gown. The mercer at Camelford was communicated with, from whom the -material had been procured, but he was out of it, he however was in -daily expectation of a consignment of more of the same stuff. A -fortnight later he was able to supply the material, sufficient for a -left sleeve, but unfortunately of a different color. The gown had to -be laid aside till some one could be found of Judith's size and -figure with two right arms, and also who wanted a wedding dress, and -also would be disposed to take this particular one at half the cost of -the material, or else to let the gown stand over till after the lapse -of a century or thereabouts, when the fashion would prevail for ladies -to wear sleeves of a different substance and color from their bodies -and skirts. - -"'Taint a sort o' a courtin' as I'd give a thankee for," said Jump. -"There was Camelford goose fair, and whether he axed her to go wi' him -and pick a goose I can't tell, but I know her never went. Then o' -Sundays they don't walk one another out. And he doesn't come arter her -to the back garden, and she go to him, and no whisperings and -kissings. I've listened a score o' times a hoping and a wishing to see -and hear the likes, and never once as I'm a Christian and a female. -There were my sister Jane, when she was going to be married, her got -that hot and blazin' red that I thought it were scarletine, but it was -naught but excitement. But the young mistress, bless 'ee, her gets -whiter and colder every day, and I'd say, if such a thing were -possible, that her'd rather her never was a going to be married. But -you see that ain't in natur', leastways wi' us females. I tell 'ee I -never seed him once put his arm round her waist. If this be courtin' -among gentlefolks, all I say is preserve and deliver me from being a -lady." - -It was as Jump, in her vulgar way, put it. Judith alone in the house -appeared to take no interest in the preparations. It was only after a -struggle with her aunt that she had yielded to have the wedding in -November. She had wished it postponed till the spring, but Cruel -Coppinger and Aunt Dionysia were each for their several ends desirous -to have it in the late autumn. Coppinger had the impatience of a -lover; and Miss Trevisa the desire to be free from a menial position -and lodged in her new house before winter set in. She had amused -herself over Othello Cottage ever since Judith had yielded her -consent, and her niece saw little of her accordingly. - -It suited Coppinger's interest to have a tenant for the solitary -cottage, and that a tenant who would excite no suspicions, as the -house was employed as a store for various run goods, and it was -understood between him and Miss Trevisa, that he was still to employ -the garret for the purposes that suited him. - -Had Othello Cottage remained long unoccupied, it was almost certain to -attract the attention of the Preventive men, awake their suspicions, -and be subjected to a visit. Its position was convenient, it was on -the cliff of that cove where was the cave in which the smugglers' -boats were concealed. - -Coppinger visited Polzeath and saw Judith whenever he came to Mr. -Menaida's house, but his wooing met with no response. She endured his -attentions, shrinking from the slightest approach to familiarity, and -though studiously courteous was never affectionate. It would take a -heavy charge of self-conceit to have made the Captain blind to the -fact that she did not love him, that in truth she viewed her -approaching marriage with repugnance. Coppinger was a proud, but not a -conceited man, and her coldness and aversion aroused his anger, for it -galled his pride. Had he been a man of noble impulse, he would have -released her, as she had already told him, but he was too selfish, too -bent on carrying out his own will to think of abandoning his suit. - -Her lack of reciprocation did not abate his passion, it aggravated it. -It enlisted his self-esteem in the cause, and he would not give her -up, because he had set his mind upon obtaining her, and to confess his -defeat would have been a humiliation insufferable to his haughty -spirit. But it was not merely that he would not, it was also that he -could not. Coppinger was a man who had, all his life long, done what -he willed, till his will had become in him the mainspring of his -existence, and drove him to execute his purposes in disregard of -reason, safety, justice, and opposition. He would eat out his own -furious heart in impotent rage, if his will were encountered by -impossibility of execution. And he was of a sanguine temperament. -Hitherto every opposition had been overthrown before him, therefore he -could not conceive that the heart of a young girl, a mere child, could -stand out against him permanently. For a while it might resist, but -ultimately it must yield, and then the surrender would be absolute, -unconditional. - -Every time he came to see her, he came with hopes, almost with -confidence, that the icy barrier would dissolve, but when in her -presence the chill from it struck him, numbed his heart, silenced his -tongue, deadened his thoughts. Yet no sooner was he gone from the -house, than his pulses leaped, his brain whirled, and he was consumed -with mortified pride and disappointed love. He could not be rough, -passionate or imperious with her. A something he could not understand, -certainly not define, streamed from her that kept him at a distance -and quelled his insolence. It was to him at moments as if he hated -her; but this hate was but the splutter of frustrated love. He -recalled the words she had spoken to him, and the terms she had -employed in speaking of the relation in which they stood to each -other, the only relations to her conceivable in which they could stand -to each other, and each such word was a spark of fire, a drop of -flaming phosphorus on his heart, torturing it with pain, and -unquenchable. A word once spoken can never be recalled, and these -words had been thrown red hot at him, had sunk in and continued to -consume where they had fallen. He was but a rapacious bird and she the -prey, he the fire and she the fuel, he the wrecker and she the wreck. -There could be no reciprocity between them, the bird in the talons of -the hawk, rent by his beak could do no other than shiver and shriek -and struggle to be free. The fuel could but expect to be consumed to -ashes in the flames; and the wrecked must submit to the wrecker. He -brooded over these similes, he chafed under the conviction that there -was truth in them, he fought against the idea that a return of his -love was impossible--and then his passion raged and roared up in a -fury that was no other than hatred of the woman who could not be his -in heart. Then, in another moment, he cooled down, and trusted that -what he dreaded would not be. He saw before him the child, white as a -lily, with hair as the anthers of the lily--so small, so fragile, so -weak; and he laughed to think that one such, with no experience of -life, one who had never tasted love, could prove insensible to his -devouring passion. The white asbestos in the flame glows, and never -loses its delicacy and its whiteness. - -And Judith was, as Jump observed, becoming paler and more silent as -her marriage drew on. The repugnance with which she had viewed it -instead of abating intensified with every day. She woke in the night -with a start of horror, and a cold sweat poured from her. She clasped -her hands over her eyes and buried her face in her pillow and -trembled, so that the bed rattled. She lost all appetite. Her throat -was contracted when she touched food. She found it impossible to turn -her mind to the preparations that were being made for her wedding, she -suffered her aunt to order for her what she liked, she was indifferent -when told of the blunder made by the dressmaker in her wedding-gown. -She could not speak at meals. When Mr. Menaida began to talk, she -seemed to listen, but her mind was elsewhere. She resumed lessons with -Jamie, but was too abstracted to be able to teach effectually. A -restlessness took hold of her and impelled her to be out of doors and -alone. Any society was painful to her, she could endure only to be -alone; and when alone, she did nothing save pluck at her dress, or rub -her fingers one over the other--the tricks and convulsive movements of -one on the point of death. - -But she did not yield to her aversion without an effort to accustom -herself to the inevitable. She rehearsed to herself the good traits -she had observed in Coppinger, his kindness, his forbearance toward -herself, she took cognizance of his efforts to win her regard, to -afford her pleasure, his avoidance of everything that he thought might -displease her. And when she knew he was coming to visit her, she -strove with herself; and formed the resolution to break down the -coldness, and to show him some of that semblance of affection which he -might justly expect. But it was in vain. No sooner did she hear his -step, or the first words he uttered, no sooner did she see him, than -she turned to stone, and the power to even feign an affection she did -not possess left her. And when Coppinger had departed, there was -stamped red hot on her brain the conviction that she could not -possibly endure life with him. - -She prayed long and often, sometimes by her father's grave, always in -bed when lying wakeful, tossing from side to side in anguish of mind; -often, very often when on the cliffs looking out to sea, to the dark, -leaden, sullen sea, that had lost all the laughter and color of -summer. But prayer afforded her no consolation. The thought of -marriage to such a man, whom she could not respect, whose whole nature -was inferior to her own, was a thought of horror. She could have -nerved herself to death by the most excruciating of torments, but for -this, not all the grace of heaven could fortify her. - -To be his mate, to be capable of loving him, she must descend to his -level, and that she neither could nor would do. His prey, his fuel, -his wreck--that she must become, but she could be nothing -else--nothing else. As the day of her marriage approached her nervous -trepidation became so acute that she could hardly endure the least -noise. A strange footfall startled her and threw her into a paroxysm -of trembling. The sudden opening of a door made her heart stand still. - -When her father had died, poignant though her sorrow had been, she had -enjoyed the full powers of her mind. She had thought about the -necessary preparations for the funeral, she had given orders to the -servants, she had talked over the dear father to Jamie, she had wept -his loss till her eyes were red. Not so now; she could not turn her -thoughts from the all-absorbing terror; she could not endure an -allusion to it from anyone, least of all to speak of it to her -brother, and the power to weep was taken from her. Her eyes were dry; -they burnt, but were unfilled by tears. - -When her father was dead she could look forward, think of him in -paradise, and hope to rejoin him after having trustily executed the -charge imposed on her by him. But now she could not look ahead. A -shadow of horror lay before her, an impenetrable curtain. Her father -was covering his face, was sunk in grief in his celestial abode; he -could not help her. She could not go to him with the same open brow -and childish smile as before. She must creep to his feet, and lay her -head there, sullied by association with one against whom he had warned -her, one whom he had regarded as the man that had marred his sacred -utility, one who stood far below the stage of virtue and culture that -belonged to his family and on which he had firmly planted his child. -What was in her heart Judith could pour out before none; certainly not -before Aunt Dionysia, devoid of a particle of sympathy with her niece. -Nor could she speak her trouble to Uncle Zachie, a man void of -resources, kind, able for a minute or two to sympathize, but never to -go deeply into any trouble and understand more of a wound than the -fester on the surface. Besides, of what avail to communicate the -anguish of her heart to anyone, when nothing could be done to alter -the circumstances. She could not now draw back. Indeed it never -occurred to her to be possible to go back from her undertaking. To -save Jamie from an idiot asylum she had passed her word to give her -hand at the altar to Cruel Coppinger, and her word was sacred. Aunt -Dionysia trusted her word. Coppinger held to it, knowing that she gave -it on compulsion and reluctantly, yet he showed his perfect confidence -in its security. - -"My dear Judith," said Mr. Menaida, "I am so sorry about losing you, -and what is more, losing Jamie, for I know very well that when he is -at the Glaze he will find plenty to amuse him without coming to see -me, or anyhow, coming to work with me." - -"I hope not, dear uncle." - -"Yes, I lose a promising pupil." Then turning to the boy, he said: -"Jamie, I hope you will not give up stuffing birds, or, if you have -not the patience to do that, that you will secure the skins and -prepare them for me." - -"Yes, I will," said Jamie. - -"Yes, yes, my dear boy," said Menaida, "but don't you fancy I am going -to trust you with arsenic for preparing the skins. I shall give that -to your sister and she will keep the supply, eh, will you not, -Judith?" - -"Yes. I will take charge of it." - -"And let him have it as needed; never more than is needed." - -"Why not?" asked Jamie. - -"Because it is a dangerous thing to have lying about." Menaida ran -into the workshop, and came back with a small tin box of the poison. -"Look here! here is a little bone spoon. Don't get the powder over -your fingers. Why, a spoonful would make a man very ill, and two would -kill him. So, Judith, I trust this to you. When Jamie has a skin to -prepare he will go to you, and you will let him have only so much as -he requires." - -"Yes, uncle." - -She took the little tin of arsenic and put it in her workbox, under -the tray that contained reels and needles. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -HALF A MARRIAGE. - - -One request Judith had made, relative to her marriage, and one only, -after she had given way about the time when it was to take place, and -this request concerned the place. She desired to be married, not in -the parish church of S. Minver, but in that of S. Enodoc, in the yard -of which lay her father and mother, and in which her father had -occasionally ministered. - -It was true that no great display could be made in a building -half-filled with sand, but neither Judith nor Coppinger, nor Aunt -Dionysia desired display, and Jump, the sole person who wished that -the wedding should be in full gala, was not consulted in the matter. - -November scowled over sea and land, perverting the former into lead -and blighting the latter to a dingy brown. - -The wedding-day was sad. Mist enveloped the coast, wreathed the -cliffs, drifted like smoke over the glebe, and lay upon the ocean, -dense and motionless, like a mass of cotton-wool. Not a smile of sun, -not a glimmer of sky, not a trace of outline in the haze overhead. The -air was full of minute particles of moisture flying aimlessly, lost to -all sense of gravity, in every direction. The mist had a fringe but no -seams, and looked as if it were as unrendable as felt. It trailed over -the soil, here lifting a ragged flock or tag of fog a few feet above -the earth, there dropping it again and smearing water over all it -touched. Vapor condensed on every twig and leaf, but only leisurely, -and slowly dripped from the ends of thorns and leaves; but the weight -of the water on some of the frosted and sickly foliage brought the -leaves down with it. Every stone in every wall was lined with trickles -of water like snail crawls. The vapor penetrated within doors, and -made all articles damp, of whatever sort they were. Fires were -reluctant to kindle, chimneys smoked. The grates and irons broke out -into eruptions of rust, mildew appeared on walls, leaks in roofs. The -slate floors became dark and moist. Forks and spoons adhered to the -hands of those who touched them, and on the keys of Mr. Menaida's -piano drops formed. - -What smoke did escape from a chimney trailed down the roof. Decomposed -leaves exhaled the scent of decay. From every stack-yard came a musty -odor of wet straw and hay. Stable yards emitted their most fetid -exudations that oozed through the gates and stained the roads. The -cabbages in the kail-yards touched by frost announced that they were -in decomposition, and the turnips that they were in rampant -degeneration and rottenness. The very seaweed washed ashore -impregnated the mist with a flavor of degeneration. - -The new rector, the Reverend Desiderius Mules had been in residence at -St. Enodoc for three months. He had received but a hundred and -twenty-seven pounds four and ninepence farthing for dilapidations, and -was angry, declared himself cheated, and vowed he would never employ -the agent Cargreen any more. And a hundred and twenty-seven pounds -four and ninepence farthing went a very little way in repairing and -altering the rectory to make it habitable to the liking of the -Reverend Desiderius. The Reverend Peter Trevisa and his predecessors -had been West Country men, and as such loved the sun, and chose to -have the best rooms of the house with a southern aspect. But the -Reverend Desiderius Mules had been reared in Barbadoes, and hated the -sun, and elected to have the best rooms of the house to look north. -This entailed great alterations. The kitchen had to be converted into -parlor, and the parlor into kitchen, the dining-room into scullery, -and the scullery into study, and the library enlarged to serve as -dining-room. All the down-stairs windows had to be altered. Mr. -Desiderius Mules liked to have French windows opening to the ground. - -In the same manner great transformations were made in the garden. -Where Mr. Peter Trevisa had built up and planted a hedge there Mr. -Desiderius Mules opened a gate, and where the late rector had laid -down a drive there the new rector made garden beds. In the same manner -shrubberies were converted into lawns, and lawns into shrubberies. -The pump was now of no service outside the drawing-room window; it had -to be removed to the other side of the house, and to serve the pump -with water a new well had to be dug, and the old well that had -furnished limpid and wholesome water was filled up. The site of the -conservatory was considered the proper one for the well, and this -entailed the destruction of the conservatory. Removal was intended, -with a new aspect to the north, as a frigidarium, but when touched it -fell to pieces, and in so doing furnished Mr. Desiderius Mules with -much comment on the imposition to which he had been subjected, for he -had taken this conservatory at a valuation, and that valuation had -been for three pounds seven and fourpence ha'penny, whereas its real -value was, so he declared, three pounds seven and fourpence without -the ha'penny at the end or the three pounds before. - -When the Reverend Desiderius Mules heard that Captain Coppinger and -Judith Trevisa were to be married in his church, "By Jove," said he, -"they shall pay me double fees as extra parochial. I shall get that -out of them at all events. I have been choused sufficiently." - -A post-chaise from Wadebridge conveyed Judith, Miss Trevisa, Uncle -Zachie, and Jamie from Polzeath. - -The bride was restless. At one moment she leaned back, then forward; -her eyes turned resolutely through the window at the fog. Her hands -plucked at her veil or at her gloves; she spoke not a word throughout -the drive. Aunt Dionysia was also silent. Opposite her sat Mr. Menaida -in blue coat with brass buttons, white waistcoat outside a colored -one, and white trousers tightly strapped. Though inclined to talk, he -was unable to resist the depressing influence of his vis-a-vis, Miss -Trevisa, who sat scowling at him with her thin lips closed. Jamie was -excited, but as no one answered him when he spoke he also lapsed into -silence. - -When the church-yard gate of St. Enodoc was reached, Mr. Menaida -jumped out of the chaise with a sigh of relief, and muttered to -himself that, had he known what to expect, he would have brought his -pocket-flask with him, and have had a nip of cognac on the way. - -A good number of sight-seers had assembled from Polzeath and St. -Enodoc, and stood in the church-yard, magnified by the mist to -gigantic size. Over the graves of drowned sailors were planted the -figure-heads of wrecked vessels, and these in the mist might have been -taken as the dead risen and mingling with the living to view this -dreary marriage. - -The bride herself looked ghostlike, or as a waft of the fog, but -little condensed, blown through the graveyard toward the gap in the -church wall, and blown through that also within. - -That gap was usually blocked with planks from a wreck, supported by -beams; when the church was to be put in requisition, then the beams -were knocked away, whereupon down clattered the boards and they were -tossed aside. It had been so done on this occasion, and the fragments -were heaped untidily among the graves under the church wall. The -clerk-sexton had, indeed, considered that morning, with his hands in -his pockets, whether it would be worth his while, assisted by the five -bell-ringers, to take this accumulation of wreckage and pile it -together out of sight, but he had thought that, owing to the fog, a -veil would be drawn over the disorder, and he might be saved this -extra trouble. - -Within the sacred building, over his boots in sand, stamped, and -frowned, and paced, and growled the Reverend Desiderius Mules, in -surplice, hood, and stole, very ill at ease and out of humor because -the wedding-party arrived unpunctually, and he feared he might catch -cold from the wind and fog that drifted in through the hole in the -wall serving as door. - -The sand within was level with the sills of the windows; it cut the -tables of commandments in half; had blotted away the majority of -inhibitions against marriage within blood relationship and marriage -kinship. The altar-rails were below the surface. The altar-table had -been fished up and set against the east wall, not on this day for the -marriage, but at some previous occasion. Then the sexton had placed -two pieces of slate under the feet on one side, and not having found -handy any other pieces, had thought that perhaps it did not matter. -Consequently the two legs one side had sunk in the sand, and the -altar-table formed an incline. - -A vast number of bats occupied the church, and by day hung like little -moleskin purses from the roof. Complaints had been made of the -disagreeableness of having these creatures suspended immediately over -the head of the officiant, accordingly the sexton had knocked away -such as were suspended immediately above the altar and step--a place -where the step was, beneath the sand; but he did not think it -necessary to disturb those in other parts of the church. If they -inconvenienced others, it was the penalty of curiosity, coming to see -a wedding there. Toward the west end of the church some wooden -pew-tops stood above the sand, and stuck into a gimlet-hole in the top -rail of one was a piece of holly, dry and brown as a chip. It had been -put there as a Christmas decoration the last year that the church was -used for divine worship, at the feast of Noel; _when_ that was, only -the oldest men could remember. The sexton had looked at it several -times with his hands in his pockets and considered whether it were -worth while pulling his hands out and removing the withered fragment, -and carrying it outside the church, but had arrived at the conclusion -that it injured no one, and might therefore just as well remain. - -There were fragments of stained glass in the windows, in the upper -light of the perpendicular windows saints and angels in white and gold -on ruby and blue grounds. In one window a fragment of a Christ on the -cross. But all were much obscured by cobwebs. The cobwebs, after -having entangled many flies, caught and retained many particles of -sand, became impervious to light and obscured the figures in the -painted glass. The sexton had looked at these cobwebs occasionally and -mused whether it would be worth his while to sweep them down, but as -he knew that the church was rarely used for divine offices, and never -for regular divine worship, he deemed that there was no crying -necessity for their destruction. Life was short, and time might be -better employed--to whit in talking to a neighbor, in smoking a pipe, -in drinking a pint of ale, in larruping his wife, in reading the -paper. Consequently the cobwebs remained. - -Had Mr. Desiderius Mules been possessed of antiquarian tastes, he -might have occupied the time he was kept waiting in studying the -bosses of carved oak that adorned the wagon-roof of the church, which -were in some cases quaint, in the majority beautiful, and no two the -same. And he might have puzzled out the meaning of three rabbits with -only three ears between them forming a triangle, or three heads united -in one neck, a king, a queen, a bishop and a monk, or of a sow -suckling a dozen little pigs. - -But Mr. Desiderius Mules had no artistic or archaeological faculty -developed in him. His one object on the present occasion was to keep -draught and damp from the crown of his head, where the hair was so -scanty as hardly to exist at all. He did not like to assume his hat in -the consecrated building, so he stamped about in the sand holding a -red bandanna handkerchief on the top of his head, and grumbling at the -time he was kept waiting, at the Cornish climate, at the way in which -he had been "choused" in the matter of dilapidations for the chancel -of the church, at the unintelligible dialect of the people, and at a -good many other causes of irritation, notably at a bat which had not -reverenced his bald pate, when he ventured beyond the range of the -sexton's sweeping. - -Presently the clerk, who was outside, thrust in his head through the -gap in the wall, and in a stage whisper announced, "They's a-coming." - -The Reverend Mules growled, "There ought to be a right to charge extra -when the parson is kept waiting--sixpence a minute, not a penny less. -But we are choused in this confounded corner of the world in every -way. Ha! there is a mildew-spot on my stole--all come of this -villainous damp." - -In the tower stood five men, ready to pull the ropes and sound a merry -peal when the service was over, and earn a guinea. They had a firkin -of ale in a corner, with which to moisten their inner clay between -each round. Now that they heard that the wedding party had arrived -they spat on their hands and heaved their legs out of the sand. - -Through the aperture in the wall entered the bridal party, a cloud of -fog blowing in with them and enveloping them. They stepped laboriously -through the fine sand, at this place less firm than elsewhere, having -been dug into daily by the late rector in his futile efforts to clear -the church. - -Mr. Mules cast a suspicious look into the rafters above him to see -that no profane bat was there, and opened his book. - -Mr. Menaida was to act as father to the bride, and there was no other -bride's-maid than Miss Trevisa. As they waded toward the alter, -Judith's strength failed, and she stood still. Then Uncle Zachie put -his arm round her and half carried her over the sand toward the place -where she must stand to give herself away. She turned her head and -thanked him with her eyes, she could not speak. So deathly was her -whiteness, so deficient in life did she seem, that Miss Trevisa looked -at her with some anxiety, and a little doubt whether she would be able -to go through the service. - -When Judith reached her place, her eyes rested on the sand. She did -not look to her left side, she could hear no steps, for the sand -muffled all sound of feet, but she knew by the cold shudder that -thrilled through her, that Captain Coppinger was at her side. - -"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here--now then order, if you -please, and quiet, we are twenty-five minutes after time," said Mr. -Desiderius Mules. - -The first few words, seven in all were addressed to the wedding party, -the rest to a number of men and women and children who were stumbling -and plunging into the church through the improvised door, thrusting -each other forward, with a "get along," and "out of the road," all -eager to secure a good sight of the ceremony, and none able to hurry -to a suitable place because of the sand that impeded every step. - -"Now then--I can't stay here all day!" - -Mr. Mules sniffed and applied the bandanna to his nose, as an -indication that he was chilled, and that this rheum would be on the -heads of the congregation, were he made ill by this delay. - -"Dearly beloved, we are gathered," he began again, and he was now able -to proceed. - -"Cruel," said he in loud and emphatic tones, "wilt thou have this -woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in -the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, -and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep -thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?" - -The response of Coppinger went through the heart of Judith like a -knife. Then the rector addressed her. For answer she looked up at him -and moved her lips. He took her hand and placed it in that of -Coppinger. It was cold as ice and quivering like an aspen leaf. As -Captain Coppinger held it, it seemed to drag and become heavy in his -hand, whilst he pronounced the words after the rector, making oath to -take Judith as his own. Then the same words were recited to her, for -her to repeat in order after the priest. She began, she moved her -lips, looked him pleadingly in the face, her head swam, the fog filled -the whole church and settled between her and the rector. She felt -nothing save the grip of Coppinger's hand, and sank unconscious to the -ground. - -"Go forward," said Cruel. Mr. Menaida and Aunt Dionysia caught Judith -and held her up. She could neither speak nor stir. Her lips were -unclosed, she seemed to be gasping for breath like one drowning. - -"Go on," persisted Cruel, and holding her left hand he thrust the ring -on her fourth finger, repeating the words of the formula. - -"I cannot proceed," said the Reverend Desiderius. - -"Then you will have to come again to-morrow." - -"She is unconscious," objected the rector. - -"It is momentary only," said Aunt Dionysia; "be quick and finish." - -Mr. Mules hesitated a moment. He had no wish to return in like weather -on another day; no wish again to be kept waiting five and twenty -minutes. He rushed at the remainder of the office and concluded it at -a hand gallop. - -"Now," said he, "the registers are at the rectory. Come there." - -Coppinger looked at Judith. - -"Not to-day. It is not possible. She is ill--faint. To-morrow. Neither -she nor I nor the witnesses will run away. We will come to you -to-morrow." - -Uncle Zachie offered to assist Judith from the church. - -"No," said Cruel, peremptorily, "she is mine now." - -She was able with assistance to walk, she seemed to recover for a -moment in the air outside, but again lapsed into faintness on being -placed in the chaise. - -"To Pentyre Glaze," ordered Coppinger; "our home." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -A BREAKFAST. - - -"She has been over-exerted, over-excited," said Miss Trevisa. "Leave -her to recover; in a few days she will be herself again. Remember, her -father died of heart complaint, and though Judith resembles her mother -rather than a Trevisa, she may have inherited from my brother just -that one thing she had better have let him carry to his grave with -him." - -So Judith was given the little room that adjoined her aunt's, and Miss -Trevisa postponed for a week her migration to Othello Cottage. - -Aunt Dionysia was uneasy about her niece; perhaps her conscience did -suffer from some qualms when she saw how Judith shrank from the union -she had driven her into for her own selfish convenience. She treated -her in the wisest manner, now she had brought her to the Glaze, for -she placed her in her old room next her own, and left her there to -herself. Judith could hear her aunt walking about and muttering in the -adjoining chamber, and was content to be left alone to recover her -composure and strength. - -Uncle Zachie and Jump were, however, in sore distress; they had made -the trim cottage ready, had prepared a wedding breakfast, engaged a -helping hand or two, and no one had come to partake. Nor was Mr. -Desiderius Mules in a cheerful mood. He had been invited to the -breakfast, and was hungry and cold. He had to wait while Mr. Menaida -ran up to Pentyre to know whether any one was going to honor his -board. While he was away the rector stamped about the parlor, growling -that he believed he was about to be "choused out of his breakfast. -There was really no knowing what these people in this out-of-the-world -corner might do." Then he pulled off his boots and shook the sand out, -rang for Jump, and asked at what hour precisely the breakfast was to -be eaten, and whether it was put on table to be looked at only. - -From Pentyre Glaze Mr. Menaida was not greatly successful in obtaining -guests. He found some wild-looking men there in converse with -Coppinger, men whom he knew by rumor to belong to a class that had no -ostensible profession and means of living. - -Mr. Menaida had ordered in clotted cream, which would not keep sweet -many days. It ought to be eaten at once. He wanted to know whether -Coppinger, the bride, Miss Trevisa, anyone was coming to his house to -consume the clotted cream. As Jamie was drifting about purposeless, -and he alone seemed disposed to accompany Uncle Zachie, the old -gentleman carried him off. - -"I s'pose I can't on the spur of the moment go in and ask over St. -Minver parson?" asked Menaida, dubiously, of the St. Enodoc parson. -"You see I daresay he's hurt not to have had the coupling of 'em -himself." - -"Most certainly not," said Mr. Mules; "an appetite is likely to go -into faintness unless attended to at once. I know that the coats of my -stomach are honeycombed with gastric juice. Shall I say grace? Another -half-hour of delay will finish me." - -Consequently but three persons sat down to a plentiful meal; but some -goose, cold, had hardly been served, when in came Mr. Scantlebray, the -agent, with a cheery salutation of "Hulloa, Menaida, old man! What, -eating and drinking? I'll handle a knife and fork with you, unasked. -Beg pardon, Mr. Mules. I'm a rough man, and an old acquaintance of our -good friend here. Hope I see you in the enjoyment of robust health, -sir. Oh, Menaida, old man! I didn't expect such a thing as this. Now I -begin to see daylight, and understand why I was turned out of the -valuership, and why my brother lost this promising young pupil. Ah, -ha! my man, you have been deprived of fun, such fun, roaring fun, by -not being with my brother Scanty. Well, sir," to Mr. Mules, "what was -the figure of the valuation? You had a queer man on your side. I pity -you. A man I wouldn't trust myself. I name no names. Now tell me, what -did you get?" - -"A hundred and twenty-seven pounds four and ninepence farthing. -Monstrous--a chouse." - -"As you say, monstrous. Why that chancel, show me the builder who -will contract to do that alone at a hundred and twenty-seven pounds? -And the repairs of the vestry--are they to be reckoned at four and -ninepence farthing? It is a swindle. I'd appeal. I'd refuse. You made -a mistake, sir, let me tell you, in falling into certain hands. -Yes--I'll have some goose, thank you." - -Mr. Scantlebray ate heartily, so did the Reverend Desiderius, who had -the honeycomb cells of his stomach coats to fill. - -Both, moreover, did justice to Mr. Menaida's wine, they did not spare -it; why should they? Those for whom the board was spread had not -troubled to come to it, and they must make amends for their neglect. - -"Horrible weather," said the rector. "I suppose this detestable sort -of stuff of which the atmosphere is composed is the prevailing -abomination one has to inhale throughout three-quarters of the year. -One cannot see three yards before one." - -"It's bad for some and good for others," answered Scantlebray. -"There'll be wrecks, certainly, after this, especially if we get, as -we are pretty sure to get, a wind ashore." - -"Wrecks!" exclaimed the Rector, "and pray who pays the fees for -drowned men I may be expected to bury?" - -"The parish," answered Uncle Zachie. - -"Oh, half-a-crown a head," said Mr. Mules, contemptuously. - -"There are other things to be had besides burial fees out of a wreck," -said Scantlebray; "but you must be down early before the coast-guard -are there. Have you donkeys?" - -"Donkeys! What for?" - -"I have one, a gray beauty," exclaimed Jamie; "Captain Coppinger gave -her to me." - -"Well, young man, then you pick up what you can, when you have the -chance, and lade her with your findings. You'll pick up something -better than corpses, and make something more than burial half-crowns." - -"But why do you suppose there will be wrecks?" inquired the rector of -St. Enodoc. "There is no storm." - -"No storm, certainly, but there is fog, and in the fog vessels coming -up the Channel to Bristol get lost as to their bearings, get near our -cliffs without knowing it, and then--if a wind from the west spring up -and blows rough--they are done for, they can't escape to the open. -That's it, old man. I beg your Reverence's pardon, I mean, sir. When I -said that such weather was bad for some and good for others you can -understand me now--bad for the wrecked, good for the wreckers." - -"But surely you have no wreckers here?" - -Mr. Scantlebray laughed. "Go and tell the bridegroom that you think -so. I'll let you into the knowledge of one thing"--he winked over his -glass--"there's a fine merchantman on her way to Bristol." - -"How do you know?" - -"Know! Because she was sighted off St. Ives, and the tidings has run -up the coast like fire among heather. I don't doubt it that it has -reached Hartland by this; and with a thick fog like to-day there are a -thousand hearts beating with expectation. Who can say? She may be -laden with gold-dust from Africa, or with tin from Barca, or with port -from Oporto." - -"My boy Oliver is coming home," said Mr. Menaida. - -"Then let's hope he is not in this vessel, for, old man, she stands a -bad chance in such weather as this. There is Porth-quin, and there is -Hayle Bay ready to receive her, or Doom Bar on which she may run, all -handy for our people. Are you anything of a sportsman, sir?" - -"A little--but I don't fancy there is much in this precious -country--no cover." - -"What is fox-hunting when you come to consider--or going after a snipe -or a partridge? A fox! it's naught, the brush stinks, and a snipe is -but a mouthful. My dear sir, if you come to live among us, you must -seek your sport not on the land but at sea. You'll find the sport -worth something when you get a haul of a barrel of first-rate sherry, -or a load of silver ingots. Why, that's how Penwarden bought his farm. -He got the money after a storm--found it on the shore out of the -pocket of a dead man. Do you know why the bells of St. Enodoc are so -sweet? Because, so folks say, melted into them are ingots of Peruvian -silver from a ship wrecked on Doom Bar." - -"I should like to get some silver or gold," said Jamie. - -"I daresay you would, and so perhaps you may if you look out for it. -Go to your good friend, Captain Coppinger, and tell him what you want. -He has made his pickings before now on shore and off wrecks, and has -not given up the practice." - -"But," said Mr. Mules, "do you mean to tell me that you people in this -benighted corner of the world live like sharks, upon whatever is cast -overboard?" - -"No, I do not," answered Scantlebray. "We have too much energy and -intelligence for that. We don't always wait till it is cast overboard, -we go aboard and take what we want." - -"What, steal!" - -"I don't call that stealing when Providence and a southwest wind -throws a ship into our laps, when we put in our fingers and pick out -the articles we want. What are Porth-quin and Hayle Bay but our laps, -in which lie the wrecks heaven sends us? And Doom Bar, what is that -but a counter on which the good things are spread, and those first -there get the first share?" - -"And pray," said Mr. Desiderius Mules, "have the owners of the -vessels, the passengers, the captains, no objections to make?" - -"They are not there. Don't wait for our people. If they do--so much -the worse for them." Then Scantlebray laughed. "There's a good story -told of the Zenobia, lost four years ago. There was a lady on board. -When she knew the vessel was on Doom Bar she put on all her jewelry, -to escape with it. But some of our people got to the wreck before she -got off it, and one lobe of her ears got torn off." - -"Torn off?" - -"Yes--in pulling the earrings off her." - -"But who pulled the earrings off her?" - -"Our people." - -"Gracious heavens! Were they not brought to justice?" - -"Who did it? no one knew. What became of the jewelry? no one knew. All -that was known was that Lady Knighton--that was her name--lost her -diamonds and the lobe of her right ear as well." - -"And it was never recovered?" - -"What! the lobe of her ear?" - -"No, the jewelry." - -"Never." - -"Upon my word I have got among a parcel of scoundrels. It is high time -that I should come and reform them. I'll set to work at once. I'll -have St. Enodoc dug out and restored, and I'll soon put an end to this -sort of thing." - -"You think so?" - -"You don't know me. I'll have a bazaar. I'll have a ball in the -Assembly Rooms at Wadebridge. The church shall be excavated. I'm not -going in there again with the bats, to have my boots filled with sand, -I can tell you--everything shall be renovated and put to rights. I'll -see to it at once. I'll have a pigeon shooting for the sake of my -chancel--I daresay I shall raise twenty pounds by that alone--and a -raffle for the font, and an Aunt Sally for the pulpit. But the ball -will be the main thing, I'll send and get the county people to -patronize. I'll do it, and you barbarians in this benighted corner of -the world shall see there is a man of energy among you." - -"You'd best try your hand on a wreck. You'll get more off that." - -"And I'll have a bran pie for an altar-table." - -"You won't get the parishioners to do anything for the restoration of -the church. They don't want to have it restored." - -"The Decalogue is rotten. I ran my umbrella through the Ten -Commandments this morning. I'll have a gypsy camp and fortune-telling -to furnish me with new Commandments." - -"I've heard tell," said Scantlebray, "that at Ponghill, near Stratton, -is a four-post bed of pure gold came off a wreck in Bude Bay."[C] - - [C] An exaggeration. The bed of seventeenth century Italian - work, is gilt. It is now in a small farmhouse. - -"When I was in the North," said the rector of St. Enodoc, "we had a -savage who bit off the heads of rats, snap, skinned them and ate them -raw, and charged sixpence entrance; but that was for the missionaries. -I should hardly advocate that for the restoration of a church; -besides, where is the savage to be got? We made twenty-seven pounds by -that man, but expenses were heavy and swallowed up twenty-five; we -sent two pounds to the missionaries." - -Mr. Menaida stood up and went to the window. - -"I believe the wind has shifted to the north, and we shall have a -lightening of the fog after sunset." - -"Shall we not have a wreck! I hope there'll be one," said Jamie. - -"What is the law about wreckage, Menaida, old man?" asked Scantlebray, -also coming to the window. - -"The law is plain enough. No one has a right to goods come to land; he -who finds may claim salvage--naught else; and any persons taking goods -cast ashore, which are not legal wreck, may be punished." - -"And," said Scantlebray, "what if certain persons give occasion to a -ship being wrecked, and then plundering the wreck?" - -"There the law is also plain. The invading and robbing of a vessel, -either in distress or wrecked, and the putting forth of false lights -in order to bring a vessel into danger, are capital felonies." - -Scantlebray went to the table, took up a napkin, twisted it and then -flung it round his neck, and hung his head on one side. - -"What--this, Menaida, old man?" - -Uncle Zachie nodded. - -"Come here, Jim, my boy, a word with you outside." Scantlebray led -Jamie into the road. "There's been a shilling owing you for some time. -We had roaring fun about it once. Here it is. Now listen to me. Go to -Pentyre, you want to find gold-dust on the shore, don't you?" - -"Yes." - -"Or bars of silver?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, beg Captain Coppinger, if he is going to have a Jack o' Lantern -to-night, to let you be the Jack. Do you understand? and mind--not a -word about me. Then gold-dust and bars of silver and purses of -shillings. Mind you ask to be Jack o' Lantern. It is fun. Such fun. -Roaring fun." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -JACK O' LANTERN. - - -Evening closed in; Judith had been left entirely to herself. She sat -in the window, looking out into the mist and watching the failing of -the light. Sometimes she opened the casement and allowed the vapor to -blow in like cold steam, then became chilled, shivered, and closed it -again. The wind was rising and piped about the house, piped at her -window. Judith, sitting there, tried with her hand to find the crevice -through which the blast drove, and then amused herself with playing -with her finger-tops on the openings and regulating the whistle so as -to form a tune. She heard frequently Coppinger's voice in -conversation, sometimes in the hall, sometimes in the court-yard, but -could not catch what was spoken. She listened, with childish -curiosity, to the voice that was now that of her lord and husband, and -endeavored to riddle out of it some answer to her questions as to what -sort of a master he would prove. She could not comprehend him. She had -heard stories told of him that made her deem him the worst of men, -remorseless and regardless of others, yet toward her he had proved -gentle and considerate. What, for instance, could be more delicate and -thoughtful than his behavior to her at this very time! Feeling that -she had married him with reluctance, he had kept away from her and -suffered her to recover her composure without affording her additional -struggle. A reaction after the strain on her nerves set in; the step -she had dreaded had been taken, and she was the wife of the man she -feared and did not love. The suspense of expectation was exchanged for -the calmer grief of retrospect. - -The fog all day had been white as wool, and she had noticed how -parcels of vapor had been caught and entangled in the thorn bushes as -the fog swept by, very much as sheep left flocks of their fleece in -the bushes when they broke out of a field. Now that the day set, the -vapor lost its whiteness and became ash gray, but it was not as dense -as it had been, or rather it was compacted in places into thick masses -with clear tracts between. The sea was not visible, nor the cliffs, -but she could distinguish out-buildings, tufts of furze and hedges. -The wind blew much stronger, and she could hear the boom of the waves -against the rocks, like the throbbing of the unseen heart of the -world. It was louder than it had been. The sound did not come upon the -wind, for the fog that muffled all objects from sight, muffled also -all sounds to the ear, but the boom came from the vibration of the -land. The sea flung against the coast-line shook the rocks, and they -quivered for a long distance inland, making every wall and tree quiver -also, and the sound of the sea was heard not through the ears but -through the soles of the feet. - -Miss Trevisa came in. - -"Shall I light you a pair of candles, Judith?" - -"I thank you, hardly yet." - -"And will you not eat?" - -"Yes, presently, when supper is served." - -"You will come down-stairs?" - -"Yes." - -"I am glad to hear that." - -"Aunt, I thought you were going to Othello Cottage the day I came -here." - -"Captain Coppinger will not suffer me to leave at once till you have -settled down to your duties as mistress of the house." - -"Oh, auntie! I shall never be able to manage this large -establishment." - -"Why not! You managed that at the rectory." - -"Yes, but it was so different." - -"How so?" - -"My dear papa's requirements were so simple, and so few, and there -were no men about except old Balhachet, and he was a dear, good old -humbug. Here, I don't know how many men there are, and who belong to -the house, and who do not. They are in one day and out the next--and -then Captain Coppinger is not like my own darling papa." - -"No, indeed, he is not. Shall I light the candles? I have something to -show you." - -"As you will, aunt." - -Miss Trevisa went into her room and fetched a light, and kindled the -two candles that stood on Judith's dressing-table. - -"Oh, aunt! not three candles." - -"Why not? We shall need light." - -"But three candles together bring ill-luck; and we have had enough -already." - -"Pshaw! Don't be a fool. I want light, for I have something to show -you." - -She opened a small box and drew forth a brooch and earrings that -flashed in the rays of the candle. - -"Look, child! they are yours. Captain Coppinger has given them to you. -They are diamonds. See--a butterfly for the breast, and two little -butterflies for the ears." - -"Oh, auntie! not for me. I do not want them." - -"This is ungracious. I daresay they cost many hundreds of pounds. They -are diamonds." - -Judith took the brooch and earrings in her hand; they sparkled. The -diamonds were far from being brilliants, they were of good size and -purest water. - -"I really do not want to have them. Persuade Captain Coppinger to -return them to the jeweller, it is far too costly a gift for me, -far--far--I should be happier without them." Then, suddenly--"I do not -know that they have been bought? Oh, Aunt Dunes, tell me truly. Have -they been bought? I think jewellers always send out their goods in -leather cases, and there is none such for these. And see--this -earring--the gold is bent, as if pulled out of shape. I am sure they -have not been bought. Take them back again, I pray you." - -"You little fool!" said Miss Trevisa, angrily. "I will do nothing of -the kind. If you refuse them--then take them back yourself. Captain -Coppinger performs a generous and kind act that costs him much money, -and you throw his gift in his face, you insult him. Insult him -yourself with your suspicions and refusals--you have already behaved -to him outrageously. I will do nothing for you that you ask. Your -father put on me a task that is hateful, and I wish I were clear of -it." - -Then she bounced out of the room, leaving her candle burning along -with the other two. - -A moment later she came back hastily and closed Judith's shutters. - -"Oh, leave them open," pleaded Judith. "I shall like to see how the -night goes--if the fog clears away." - -"No--I will not," answered Miss Trevisa, roughly. "And mind you. These -shutters remain shut, or your candles go out. Your window commands -the sea, and the light of your window must not show." - -"Why not?" - -"Because should the fog lift, it would be seen by vessels." - -"Why should they not see it?" - -"You are a fool. Obey, and ask no questions." - -Miss Trevisa put up the bar and then retired with her candle, leaving -Judith to her own thoughts, with the diamonds on the table before her. - -And her thoughts were reproachful of herself. She was ungracious and -perhaps unjust. Her husband had sent her a present of rare value, and -she was disposed to reject it, and charge him with not having come by -the diamonds honestly. They were not new from a jeweller, but what of -that? Could he afford to buy her a set at the price of some hundreds -of pounds? And because he had not obtained them from a jeweller, did -it follow that he had taken them unlawfully? He might have picked them -up on the shore, or have bought them from a man who had. He might have -obtained them at a sale in the neighborhood. They might be family -jewels, that had belonged to his mother, and he was showing her the -highest honor a man could show a woman in asking her to wear the -ornaments that had belonged to his mother. - -He had exhibited to her a store-room full of beautiful things, but -these might be legitimately his, brought from foreign countries by his -ship the Black Prince. It was possible that they were not contraband -articles. - -Judith opened her door and went down-stairs. In the hall she found -Coppinger with two or three men, but the moment he saw her he started -up, came to meet her, and drew her aside into a parlor, then went back -into the hall and fetched candles. A fire was burning in this room, -ready for her, should she condescend to use it. - -"I hope I have not interrupted you," she said, timidly. - -"An agreeable interruption. At any time you have only to show yourself -and I will at once come to you, and never ask to be dismissed." - -She knew that this was no empty compliment, that he meant it from the -depth of his heart, and was sorry that she could not respond to an -affection so deep and so sincere. - -"You have been very good to me--more good than I deserve," she said, -standing by the fire with lowered eyes, "I must thank you now for a -splendid and beautiful present, and I really do not know how to find -words in which fittingly to acknowledge it." - -"You cannot thank and gratify me better than by wearing what I have -given you." - -"But when? Surely not on an ordinary evening?" - -"No--certainly. The Rector has been up this afternoon and desired to -see you, he is hot on a scheme for a public ball to be given at -Wadebridge for the restoration of his church, and he has asked that -you will be a patroness." - -"I--oh--I!--after my father's death?" - -"That was in the late spring, and now it is the early winter, besides, -now you are a married lady--and was not the digging out and restoring -of the church your father's strong desire?" - -"Yes--but he would never have had a ball for such a purpose." - -"The money must be raised somehow. So I promised for you. You could -not well refuse--he was impatient to be off to Wadebridge and secure -the assembly rooms." - -"But--Captain Coppinger--" - -"Captain Coppinger?" - -Judith colored. "I beg your pardon--I forgot. And now--I do not -recollect what I was going to say. It matters nothing. If you wish me -to go I will go. If you wish me to wear diamond butterflies I will -wear them." - -"I thank you." He held out his hands to her. - -She drew back slightly and folded her palms as though praying. "I will -do much to please you, but do not press me too greatly. I am strange -in this house, strange in my new situation; give me time to breathe -and look round and recover my confidence. Besides, we are only -half-married so far." - -"How so?" - -"I have not signed the register." - -"No, but that shall be done to-morrow." - -"Yes, to-morrow--but that gives me breathing time. You will be patient -and forbearing with me." She put forward her hands folded and he put -his outside them and pressed them. The flicker of the fire lent a -little color to her cheeks and surrounded her head with an aureole of -spun gold. - -"Judith, I will do anything you ask. I love you with all my soul, past -speaking. I am your slave. But do not hold me too long in chains, do -not tread me too ruthlessly under foot." - -"Give me time," she pleaded. - -"I will give you a little time," he answered. - -Then she withdrew her hands from between his and sped up stairs, -leaving him looking into the fire with troubled face. - -When she returned to her room the candles were still burning, and the -diamonds lay on the dressing-table where she had left them. She took -the brooch and earrings to return them to their box, and then noticed -for the first time that they were wrapped in paper, not in -cotton-wool. She tapped at her aunt's door, and entering asked if she -had any cotton-wool that she could spare her. - -"No, I have not. What do you want it for?" - -"For the jewelry. It cannot have come from a shop, as it was wrapped -in paper only." - -"It will take no hurt. Wrap it in paper again." - -"I had rather not, auntie. Besides, I have some cotton-wool in my -workbox." - -"Then use it." - -"But my workbox has not been brought here. It is at Mr. Menaida's." - -"You can fetch it to-morrow." - -"But I am lost without my needles and thread. Besides, I do not like -to leave my workbox about. I will go for it. The walk will do me -good." - -"Nonsense, it is falling dark." - -"I will get Uncle Zachie to walk back with me. I must have my workbox. -Besides, the fresh air will do me good, and the fog has lifted." - -"As you will, then." - -So Judith put on her cloak and drew a hood over her head and went back -to Polzeath. She knew the way perfectly, there was no danger, night -had not closed in. It would be a pleasure to her to see the old -bird-stuffer's face again, and she wanted to find Jamie. She had not -seen him nor heard his voice, and she supposed he must be at Polzeath. - -On her arrival at the double cottage, the old fellow was delighted to -see her, and to see that she had recovered from the distress and -faintness of the morning sufficiently to be able to walk back to his -house from her new home. Her first question was after Jamie. Uncle -Zachie told her that Jamie had breakfasted at his table, but he had -gone away in the afternoon and he had seen no more of him. The fire -was lighted, and Uncle Zachie insisted on Judith sitting by it with -him and talking over the events of the day, and on telling him that -she was content with her position, reconciled to the change of her -state. - -She sat longer with him than she had intended, listening to his -disconnected chatter, and then nothing would suffice him but she must -sit at the piano and play through his favorite pieces. - -"Remember, Judith, it is the last time I shall have you here to give -me this pleasure." - -She could not refuse him his request, especially as he was to walk -back to Pentyre with her. Thus time passed, and it was with alarm and -self-reproach that she started up on hearing the clock strike the -half-past, and learned that it was half-past nine, and not half-past -eight, as she supposed. - -As she now insisted on departing, Mr. Menaida put on his hat. - -"Shall we take a light?" he asked, and then said: "No, we had better -not. On such a night as this a moving light is dangerous." - -"How can it be dangerous?" asked Judith. - -"Not to us, my dear child, but to ships at sea. A stationary light -might serve as a warning, but a moving light misleads. The captain of -a vessel, if he has lost his bearings, as is like enough in the fog, -as soon as the mist rises, would see a light gliding along and think -it was that of a vessel at sea, and so make in the direction of the -light in the belief that there was open water, and so run directly on -his destruction." - -"Oh, no, no, Uncle, we will not take a light." - -Mr. Menaida and Judith went out together, she with her workbox under -her arm, he with his stick, and her hand resting on his arm. The night -was dark, very dark, but the way led for the most part over down, and -there was just sufficient light in the sky for the road to be -distinguishable. It would be in the lane, between the walls and where -overhung by thorns, that the darkness would be most profound. The wind -was blowing strongly and the sound of the breakers came on it now, for -the cloud had lifted off land and sea, though still hanging low. Very -dense overhead it could not be, or no light would have pierced the -vaporous canopy. - -Uncle Zachie and Judith walked on talking together, and she felt -cheered by his presence, when all at once she stopped, pressed his -arm, and said: - -"Oh, do look, uncle! What is that light?" - -In the direction of the cliffs a light was distinctly visible, now -rising, now falling, observing an unevenly undulating motion. - -"Oh, uncle? It is too dreadful. Some foolish person is on the downs -going home with a lantern, and it may lead to a dreadful error, and a -wreck." - -"I hope to heaven it is only what you say." - -"What do you mean?" - -"That it is not done wilfully." - -"Wilfully!" - -"Yes, with the purpose to mislead. Look. The movement of the light is -exactly that of a ship on a rolling sea." - -"Uncle, let us go there at once and stop it." - -"I don't know, my dear; if it be done by some unprincipled ruffian he -would not be stopped by us." - -"It must be stopped. And, oh, think! you told me that your Oliver is -coming home. Think of him." - -"We will go." - -Mr. Menaida was drawn along by Judith in her eagerness. They left the -road to Pentyre, and struck out over the downs, keeping their eyes on -the light. The distance was deceptive. It seemed to have been much -nearer than they found it actually to be. - -"Look! it is coming back!" exclaimed Judith. - -"Yes, it is done wilfully. That is to give the appearance of a vessel -tacking up Channel. Stay behind, Judith. I will go on." - -"No. I will go with you. You would not find me again in the darkness -if we parted." - -"The light is coming this way. Stand still. It will come directly on -us." - -They drew up. Judith clung to Uncle Zachie's side, her heart beating -with excitement, indignation, and anger. - -"The lantern is fastened to an ass's head," said Uncle Zachie; "do you -see how as the creature moves his head the light is swayed, and that -with the rise and fall in the land it looks as though the rise and -fall were on the sea. I have my stick. Stand behind me, Judith." - -But a voice was heard that made her gasp and clasp the arm of Uncle -Zachie the tighter. - -Neither spoke. - -The light approached. They could distinguish the lantern, though they -could not see what bore it; only--next moment something caught the -light--the ear of a donkey thrust forward. - -Again a voice, that of some one urging on the ass. - -Judith let go Menaida's arm, sprang forward with a cry: "Jamie! Jamie! -what are you doing!" - -In a moment she had wrenched the lantern from the head of the ass, and -the creature, startled, dashed away and disappeared in the darkness. -Judith put the light under her cloak. - -"Oh, Jamie! Jamie! Why have you done this! Who ever set you to this -wicked task?" - -"I am Jack o' Lantern," answered the boy. "Ju! now my Neddy is gone." - -"Jamie, who sent you out to do this? Answer me." - -"Captain Coppinger!" - -Judith walked on in silence. Neither she nor Uncle Zachie spoke, only -Jamie whimpered and muttered. - -Suddenly they were surrounded, and a harsh voice exclaimed: - -"In the king's name. We have you now--showing false lights." - -Judith hastily slung the lantern from beneath her cloak, and saw that -there were several men about her, and that the speaker was Mr. -Scantlebray. - -The latter was surprised when he recognized her. - -"What!" he said, "I did not expect this--pretty quickly into your -apprenticeship. What brings you here! And you, too, Menaida, old man?" - -"Nothing simpler," answered Uncle Zachie. "I am accompanying Mrs. -Coppinger back to the Glaze." - -"What, married in the morning and roving the downs at night?" - -"I have been to Polzeath after my workbox--here it is," said Judith. - -"Oh, you are out of your road to Pentyre--I suppose you know that," -sneered Scantlebray. - -"Naturally," replied Mr. Menaida. "It is dark enough for any one to -stray. Why! you don't suspect me, do you, of showing false lights and -endeavoring to wreck vessels! That would be too good a joke--and the -offence, as I told you--capital." - -Scantlebray uttered an oath and turned to the men and said: "Captain -Cruel is too deep for us this time. I thought he had sent the boy out -with the ass--instead he has sent his wife--a wife of a few hours, and -never told her the mischief she was to do with the lantern--hark!" - -From the sea the boom of a gun. - -All stood still as if rooted to the spot. - -Then again the boom of a gun. - -"There is a wreck!" exclaimed Scantlebray. "I thought so--and you, -Mistress Orphing, you're guilty." He turned to the men. "We can make -nothing of this affair with the lantern. Let us catch the sea-wolves -falling on their prey." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE SEA-WOLVES. - - -On the Doom Bar. - -That very merchantman was wrecked, over which so many Cornish mouths -had watered, ay, and Devonian mouths also, from the moment she had -been sighted at St. Ives. - -She had been entangled in the fog, not knowing where she was, all her -bearings lost. The wind had risen, and when the day darkened into -night the mist had lifted in cruel kindness to show a false glimmer, -that was at once taken as the light of a ship beating up the Channel. -The head of the merchantman was put about, a half-reefed topsail -spread, and she ran on her destruction. With a crash she was on the -bar. The great bowlers that roll without a break from Labrador rushed -on behind, beat her, hammered her farther and farther into the sand, -surged up at each stroke, swept the decks with mingled foam and water -and spray. - -The main-mast went down with a snap. Bent with the sail, at the jerk, -as the vessel ran aground, it broke and came down--top-mast, rigging, -and sail, in an enveloping, draggled mass. From that moment the -captain's voice was no more heard. Had he been struck by the falling -mast and stunned or beaten overboard? or did he lie on deck enveloped -and smothered in wet sail, or had he been caught and strangled by the -cordage? None knew, none inquired. A wild panic seized crew and -passengers alike. The chief mate had the presence of mind to order the -discharge of signals of distress--but the order was imperfectly -carried out. A flash, illuminating for a second the glittering froth -and heaving sea, then a boom--almost stunned by the roar of the sea, -and the screams of women and oaths of sailors, and then panic laid -hold of the gunner also and he deserted his post. - -The word had gone round, none knew from whom, that the vessel had -been lured to her destruction by wreckers, and that in a few minutes -she would be boarded by these wolves of the sea. The captain, who -should have kept order, had disappeared, the mate was disregarded, -there was a general _sauve qui peut_. A few women were on board. At -the shock they had come on deck, some with children, and the latter -were wailing and shrieking with terror. The women implored that they -might be saved. Men passengers ran about asking what was to be done, -and were beaten aside and cursed by the frantic sailors. A Portuguese -nun was ill with sea-sickness, and sank on the deck like a log, crying -to St. Joseph between her paroxysms. One man alone seemed to maintain -his self-possession, a young man, and he did his utmost to soothe the -excited women and abate their terrors. He raised the prostrate nun and -insisted on her laying hold of a rope, lest in the swash of the water -she should be carried overboard. He entreated the mate to exert his -authority and bring the sailors to a sense of their duty, to save the -women instead of escaping in the boat, regardful of themselves only. - -Suddenly a steady star, red in color, glared out of the darkness, and -between it and the wreck heaved and tossed a welter of waves and foam. - -"There is land," shouted the mate. - -"And that shines just where that light was that led us here," retorted -a sailor. - -The vessel heeled to one side, and shipped water fore and aft, over -either rail, with a hiss and heave. She plunged, staggered, and sank -deeper into the sand. - -A boat had been lowered and three men were in it, and called to the -women to be sharp and join them. But this was no easy matter, for the -boat at one moment leaped up on the comb of a black wave, and then -sank in its yawning trough, now was close to the side of the ship, and -then separated from it by a rift of water. The frightened women were -let down by ropes, but in their bewilderment missed their opportunity -when the boat was under them, and some fell into the water, and had to -be dragged out, others refused to leave the wreck and risk a leap into -the little boat. Nothing would induce the sick nun to venture -overboard. She could not understand English; the young passenger -addressed her in Portuguese, and finally, losing all patience and -finding that precious time was wasted in arguing with a poor creature -incapable of reasoning in her present condition, he ordered a sailor -to help him, caught her up in his arms, and proceeded to swing himself -over, that he might carry her into the boat. - -But at that moment dark figures occupied the deck, and a man arrested -him with his hand, while in a loud and authoritative voice he called, -"No one leaves the vessel without my orders. Number Five, down into -the boat and secure that. Number Seven, go with him. Now, one by one, -and before each leaves, give over your purses and valuables that you -are trying to save. No harm shall be done you, only make no -resistance." - -The ship was in the hands of the wreckers. - -The men in the boat would have cast off at once, but the two men sent -into it, Numbers Five and Seven, prevented them. The presence of the -wreckers produced order where there had been confusion before. The man -who had laid his hand on the Portuguese nun, and had given orders, was -obeyed not only by his own men, but by the crew of the merchant -vessel, and by the passengers, from whom all thoughts of resistance, -if they ever rose, vanished at once. All alike, cowed and docile, -obeyed without a murmur, and began to produce from their pockets -whatever they had secured and hoped to carry ashore with them. - -"Nudding! me nudding!" gasped the nun. - -"Let her pass down," ordered the man who acted as captain. "Now the -next--you!" he turned on the young passenger who had assisted the nun. - -"You scoundrel," shouted the young man, "you shall not have a penny of -mine." - -"We shall see," answered the wrecker, and levelled a pistol at his -head. "What answer do you make to this?" - -The young man struck up the pistol, and it was discharged into the -air. Then he sprang on the captain, struck him in the chest, and -grappled with him. In a moment a furious contest was engaged in -between the two on the wet, sloping deck, sloping, for the cargo had -shifted. - -"Hah!" shouted the wrecker, "a Cornishman." - -"Yes, a Cornishman," answered the youth. - -The wrecker knew whence he came by his method of wrestling. - -If there had been light, crew, invaders, and passengers would have -gathered in a circle and watched the contest; but in the dark, lashed -by foam, in the roar of the waves and the pipe of the wind, only one -or two that were near were aware of the conflict. Some of the crew -were below. They had got at the spirits and were drinking. One drunken -sailor rushed forth swearing and blaspheming and striking about him. -He was knocked down by a wrecker, and a wave that heaved over the deck -lifted him and swept him over the bulwarks. - -The wrestle between the two men in the dark taxed the full nerves and -the skill of each. The young passenger was strong and nimble, but he -had found his match in the wrecker. The latter was skilful and of -great muscular power. First one went down on the knee, then the other, -but each was up again in a moment. A blinding whiff of foam and water -slashed between them, stinging their eyes, swashing into their mouths, -forcing them momentarily to relax their hold of each other, but next -moment they had leaped at each other again. Now they held each other, -breast to breast, and sought, with their arms bowed like the legs of -grasshoppers, to strangle or break each other's necks. Then, like a -clap of thunder, beat a huge billow against the stern, and rolled in a -liquid heap over the deck, enveloping the wrestlers, and lifted them -from their feet and cast them, writhing, pounding each other, on the -deck. - -There were screams and gasps from the women as they escaped from the -water; the nun shrieked to St. Joseph--she had lost her hold and fell -overboard, but was caught and placed in the boat. - -"Now another," was the shout. - -"Hand me your money," demanded one of the wreckers. "Madam, have no -fear. We do not hurt women. I will help you into the boat." - -"I have nothing--nothing but this! what shall I do if you take my -money?" - -"I am sorry--you must either remain and drown when the ship breaks up -or give me the purse." - -She gave up the purse and was safely lodged below. - -"Who are you?" gasped the captain of the wreckers in a moment of -relaxation from the desperate struggle. - -"An honest man--and you a villain," retorted the young passenger, and -the contest was recommenced. - -"Let go," said the wrecker, "and you shall be allowed to depart--and -carry your money with you." - -"I ask no man's leave to carry what is my own," answered the youth. He -put his hand to his waist and unbuckled a belt, to this belt was -attached a pouch well weighted with metal. "There is all I have in the -world--and with it I will beat your brains out." He whirled the belt -and money bag round his head and brought it down with a crash upon his -adversary, who staggered back. The young man struck at him again, but -in the dark missed him, and with the violence of the blow and weight -of the purse was carried forward, and on the slippery inclined planks -fell. - -"Now I have you," shouted the other; he flung himself on the prostrate -man and planted his knee on his back. But, assisted by the inclination -of the deck, the young man slipped from beneath his antagonist, and -half-rising caught him and dashed him against the rail. - -The wrecker was staggered for a moment, and had the passenger seized -the occasion he might have finished the conflict; but his purse had -slipped from his hand, and he groped for the belt till he found one -end at his feet, and now he twisted the belt round and about his right -arm and weighted his fist with the pouch. - -The captain recovered from the blow, and flung himself on his -adversary, grasped his arms between the shoulder and elbow, and bore -him back against the bulwark, drove him against it, and cast himself -upon him. - -"I've spared your life so far. Now I'll spare you no more," said he, -and the young man felt one of his arms released. He could not tell at -the time, he never could decide after how he knew it, but he was -certain that his enemy was groping at his side for his knife. Then the -hand of the wrecker closed on his throat, and the young man's head was -driven back over the rail, almost dislocating the neck. - -It was then as though the young man saw into the mind of him who had -cast himself against him, and who was strangling him. He knew that he -could not find his knife, but he saw nothing, only a fire and blood -before his eyes that looked up into the black heavens, and he felt -naught save agony at the nape of his neck, where his spine was turned -back on the bulwarks. - -"Number Seven! any of you! an axe!" roared the wrecker. "By heaven you -shall be as Wyvill! and float headless on the waves." - -"Coppinger!" cried the young man, by a desperate effort liberating his -hand. He threw his arms round the wrecker. A dash and a boil of froth, -and both went overboard, fighting as they fell into the surf. - -"In the King's name!" shouted a harsh voice. - -"Surround--secure them all. Now we have them and they shall not -escape." - -The wreck was boarded by, and in the hands of, the coast-guard. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -BRUISED NOT BROKEN. - - -"Come with me, uncle!" said Judith. - -"My dear, I will follow you like a dog, everywhere." - -"I want to go to the rectory." - -"To the rectory! At this time of night!" - -"At once." - -When the down was left there was no longer necessity for hiding the -lantern, as they were within lanes, and the light would not be seen at -sea. - -The distance to the parsonage was not great, and the little party were -soon there, but were somewhat puzzled how to find the door, owing to -the radical transformations of the approaches effected by the new -rector. - -Mr. Desiderius Mules was not in bed. He was in his study, without his -collar and necktie, smoking, and composing a sermon. It is not only -_lucus_ which is derived from _non lucendo_. A study in many a house -is equally misnamed. In that of Mr. Mules's house it had some claim, -perhaps, to its title, for in it, once a week, Mr. Desiderius -cudgelled his brains how to impart form to an inchoate mass of notes; -but it hardly deserved its name as a place where the brain was -exercised in absorption of information. The present study was the old -pantry. The old study had been occupied by a man of reading and of -thought. Perhaps it was not unsuitable that the pantry should become -Mr. Mules's study, and where the maid had emptied her slop-water after -cleaning forks and plates should be the place for the making of the -theological slop-water that was to be poured forth on the Sunday. -But--what a word has been here used--theological--another _lucus a non -lucendo_, for there was nothing of theology proper in the stuff -compounded by Mr. Mules. - -We shall best be able to judge by observing him engaged on his sermon -for Sunday. - -In his mouth was a pipe, on the table a jar of bird's-eye; _item_, a -tumbler of weak brandy and water to moisten his lips with -occasionally. It was weak. Mr. Mules never took a drop more than was -good for him. - -Before him were arranged in a circle his materials for composition. On -his extreme left was what he termed his treacle-pot. That was a volume -of unctuous piety. Then came his dish of flummery. That was a volume -of ornate discourses by a crack ladies' preacher. Next his spice-box. -That was a little store of anecdotes, illustrations, and pungent -sayings. Pearson on the Creed, Bishop Andrews, or any work of solid -divinity was not to be found either on his table or on his shelves. A -Commentary was outspread, and a Concordance. - -The Reverend Desiderius Mules sipped his brandy and water, took a long -whiff of his pipe, and then wrote his text. Then he turned to his -Commentary and extracted from it junks of moralization upon his text -and on other texts which his Concordance told him had more or less to -do with his head text. Then he peppered his paper well over with -quotations, those in six lines preferred to those in three. - -"Now," said the manufacturer of the sermon, "I must have a little -treacle. I suppose those bumpkins will like it, but not much, I hate -it myself. It is ridiculous. And I can dish up a trifle of flummery in -here and there conveniently, and--let me see. I'll work up to a story -near the tail somehow. But what heading shall I give my discourse? -'Pon my word I don't know what its subject is--we'll call it General -Piety. That will do admirably. Yes, General Piety. Come in! Who's -there?" - -A servant entered and said that there were Mr. Menaida and the lady -that was married that morning, at the door, wanting to speak with him. -Should she show them into the study? - -Mr. Mules looked at his brandy and water, then at his array of -material for composition, and then at his neckerchief on the floor, -and said: "No, into the drawing-room." The maid was to light the -candles. He would put on his collar and be with them shortly. - -So the sermon had to be laid aside. - -Presently Mr. Desiderius Mules entered his drawing-room, where Judith, -Uncle Zachie, and Jamie were awaiting him. - -"A late visit, but always welcome," said the rector. "Sorry I kept -you waiting, but I was _en deshabille_. What can I do for you now, -eh?" - -Judith was composed, she had formed her resolution. - -She said, "You married me this morning when I was unconscious. I -answered but one of your questions. Will you get your prayer-book and -I will make my responses to all those questions you put to me when I -was in a dead faint." - -"Oh, not necessary. Sign the register and it is all right. Silence -gives consent, you know." - -"I wish it otherwise, particularly, and then you can judge for -yourself whether silence gives consent." - -Mr. Desiderius Mules ran back into his study, pulled a whiff at his -pipe to prevent the fire from going out, moistened his untempered clay -with brandy and water, and came back again with a Book of Common -Prayer. - -"Here we are," said he. "'Wilt thou have this man,' and so on--you -answered to that, I believe. Then comes 'I, Judith, take thee, Curll, -to my wedded husband'--you were indistinct over that, I believe." - -"I remember nothing about it. Now I will say distinctly my meaning. I -will _not_ take Curll Coppinger to my wedded husband, and thereto I -will never give my troth--so help me, God." - -"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed the rector. "You put me in a queer -position. I married you, and you can't undo what is done. You have the -ring on your finger." - -"No, here it is. I return it." - -"I refuse to take it. I have nothing whatever to do with the ring. -Captain Coppinger put it on your hand." - -"When I was unconscious." - -"But am I to be choused out of my fee--as out of other things!" - -"You shall have your fee. Do not concern yourself about that. I refuse -to consider myself married. I refuse to sign the register, no man -shall force me to it, and if it comes to law, here are witnesses, you -yourself are a witness, that I was unconscious when you married me." - -"I shall get into trouble! This is a very unpleasant state of -affairs." - -"It is more unpleasant for me than for you," said Judith. - -"It is a most awkward complication. Never heard of such a case -before. Don't you think that after a good night's rest and a good -supper--and let me advise a stiff glass of something warm, taken -medicinally, you understand--that you will come round to a better -mind." - -"To another mind I shall not come round. I suppose I am half -married--never by my will shall that half be made into a whole." - -"And what do you want me to do?" asked Mr. Mules, thoroughly put out -of his self-possession by this extraordinary scene. - -"Nothing," answered Judith, "save to bear testimony that I utterly and -entirely refuse to complete the marriage which was half done--by -answering to those questions with a consent, which I failed to answer -in church because I fainted, and to wear the ring which was forced on -me when I was insensible, and to sign the register now I am in full -possession of my wits. We will detain you no longer." - -Judith left along with Jamie and Mr. Menaida, and Mr. Mules returned -to his sermon. He pulled at his pipe till the almost expired fire was -rekindled into glow, and he mixed himself a little more brandy and -water. Then with his pipe in the corner of his mouth he looked at his -discourse. It did not quite please him, it was undigested. - -"Dear me!" said Mr. Desiderius. "My mind is all of a whirl, and I can -do nothing to this now. It must go as it is--yet stay, I'll change the -title. General Piety is rather pointless. I'll call it Practical -Piety." - -Judith returned to Pentyre Glaze. She was satisfied with what she had -done; anger and indignation were in her heart. The man to whom she had -given her hand had enlisted her poor brother in the wicked work of -luring unfortunate sailors to their destruction. She could hardly -conceive of anything more diabolical than this form of wrecking: her -Jamie was involved in the crime of drawing men to their death. A ship -had been wrecked, she knew that by the minute guns, and if lives were -lost from it, the guilt in a measure rested on the head of Jamie. But -for her intervention he would have been taken in the act of showing -light to mislead mariners, and would certainly have been brought -before magistrates and most probably have been imprisoned. The -thought that her brother, the son of such a father, should have -escaped this disgrace through an accident only, and that he had been -subjected to the risk by Coppinger, filled her veins with liquid fire. -Thenceforth there could be nothing between her and Captain Cruel, save -antipathy, resentment, and contempt on her part. His passion for her -must cool or chase itself away. She would never yield to him a hair's -breadth. - -Judith threw herself on her bed, in her clothes. She could not sleep. -Wrath against Coppinger seethed in her young heart. Concerned she was -for the wrecked, but concern for them was over-lapped by fiery -indignation against the wrecker. There was also in her breast -self-reproach. She had not accepted as final her father's judgment on -the man. She had allowed Coppinger's admiration of herself to move her -from a position of uncompromising hostility, and to awake in her -suspicions that her dear, dear father might have been mistaken, and -that the man he condemned might not be guilty as he supposed. - -As she lay tossing on her bed, turning from side to side, her face now -flaming, then white, she heard a noise in the house. She sat up on her -bed and listened. There was now no light in the room, and she would -not go into that of her aunt to borrow one. Miss Trevisa might be -asleep, and would be vexed to be disturbed. Moreover resentment -against her aunt for having forced her into the marriage was strong in -the girl's heart, and she had no wish to enter into any communications -with her. - -So she sat on her bed, listening. - -There was certainly disturbance below. What was the meaning of it? - -Presently she heard her aunt's voice down-stairs. She was therefore -not asleep in her room. - -Thereupon Judith descended the stairs to the hall. There she found -Captain Coppinger being carried to his bedroom by two men, while Miss -Trevisa held a light. He was streaming with water that made pools on -the floor. - -"What is the matter? Is he hurt? Is he hurt seriously?" she asked, her -woman's sympathy at once aroused by the sight of suffering. - -"He has had a bad fall," replied her aunt. "He went to a wreck that -has been cast on Doom Bar, to help to save the unfortunate, and save -what they value equally with their lives--their goods, and he was -washed overboard. Fell into the sea, and was dashed against that boat. -Yes--he is injured. No bones broken _this_ time. This time he had to -do with the sea and with men. But he is badly bruised. Go on," she -said to those who were conveying Coppinger. "He is in pain, do you not -see this as you stand here? Lay him on his bed, and remove his -clothes. He is drenched to the skin. I will brew him a posset." - -"May I help you, aunt?" - -"I can do it myself." - -Judith remained with Miss Trevisa. She said nothing to her till the -posset was ready. Then she offered to carry it to her husband. - -"As you will--here it is," said Aunt Dionysia. - -Thereupon Judith took the draught, and went with it to Captain -Coppinger's room. He was in his bed. No one was with him, but a candle -burned on the table. - -"You have come to me, Judith?" he said with glad surprise. - -"Yes--I have brought you the posset. Drink it out to the last drop." - -She handed it to him; and he took the hot caudle. - -"I need not finish the bowl?" he asked. - -"Yes--to the last drop." - -He complied, and then suddenly withdrew the vessel from his lips. -"What is this--at the bottom?--a ring?" He extracted a plain gold ring -from the bowl. - -"What is the meaning of this? It is a wedding-ring." - -"Yes--mine." - -"It is early to lose it." - -"I threw it in." - -"You--Judith--why?" - -"I return it to you." - -He raised himself on one elbow and looked at her fixedly with -threatening eyes. - -"What is the meaning of this?" - -"That ring was put on my finger when I was unconscious. Wait till I -accept it freely." - -"But--Judith--the wedding is over." - -"Only a half wedding." - -"Well--well--it shall soon be a whole one. We will have the register -signed to-morrow." - -Judith shook her head. - -"You are acting strangely to-night," said he. - -"Answer me," said Judith. "Did you not send out Jamie with a light to -mislead the sailors, and draw them on to Doom Bar?" - -"Jamie, again!" exclaimed Coppinger, impatiently. - -"Yes, I have to consider for Jamie. Answer me, did you not send -him----" - -He burst in angrily, "If you will--yes--he took the light to the -shore. I knew there was a wreck. When a ship is in distress she must -have a light." - -"You are not speaking the truth. Answer me, did you go on board the -wrecked vessel to save those who were cast away?" - -"They would not have been saved without me. They had lost their -heads--every one." - -"Captain Coppinger," said Judith, "I have lost all trust in you. I -return you the ring which I will never wear. I have been to see the -rector and told him that I refuse you, and I will never sign the -register." - -"I will force the ring on to your finger," said Coppinger. - -"You are a man, stronger than I--but I can defend myself, as you know -to your cost. Half married we are--and so must remain, and never, -never shall we be more than that." - -Then she left the room, and Coppinger dashed his posset cup to the -ground, but held the ring and turned it in his fingers, and the light -flickered on it, a red gold ring like that red gold hair that was -about his throat. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -A CHANGE OF WIND. - - -After many years of separation, father and son were together once -more. Early in the morning after the wreck in Dover Bar, Oliver -Menaida appeared at his father's cottage, bruised and wet through, but -in health and with his purse in his hand. - -When he had gone overboard with the wrecker, the tide was falling and -he had been left on the sands of the Bar, where he had spent a cold -and miserable night, with only the satisfaction to warm him that his -life and his money were his. He was not floating, like Wyvill, a -headless trunk, nor was he without his pouch that contained his gold -and valuable papers. - -Mr. Menaida was roused from sleep very early to admit Oliver. The -young man had recognized where he was, as soon as sufficient light was -in the sky, and he had been carried across the estuary of the Camel by -one of the boats that was engaged in clearing the wreck, under the -direction of the captain of the coast-guard. But three men had been -arrested on the wrecked vessel, three of those who had boarded her for -plunder, all the rest had effected their escape, and it was -questionable whether these three could be brought to justice, as they -protested they had come from shore as salvers. They had heard the -signals of distress and had put off to do what they could for those -who were in jeopardy. No law forbad men coming to the assistance of -the wrecked. It could not be proved that they had laid their hands on -and kept for their own use any of the goods of the passengers or any -of the cargo of the vessel. It was true that from some of the women -their purses had been exacted, but the men taken professed their -innocence of having done this, and the man who had made the -demand--there was but one--had disappeared. Unhappily he had not been -secured. - -It was a question also whether proceedings could be taken relative to -the exhibition of lights that had misguided the merchantman. The -coast-guard had come on Mr. Menaida and Judith on the downs with a -light, but he was conducting her to her new house, and there could be -entertained against them no suspicion of having acted with evil -intent. - -"Do you know, father," said Oliver, after he was rested, had slept and -fed, "I am pretty sure that the scoundrel who attacked me was Captain -Coppinger. I cannot swear. It is many years now since I heard his -voice, and when I did hear it, it was but very occasionally. What made -me suspect at the time that I was struggling with Captain Cruel was -that he had my head back over the gunwale and called for an axe, -swearing that he would treat me like Wyvill. That story was new when I -left home, and folk said that Coppinger had killed the man." - -Mr. Menaida fidgeted. - -"That was the man who was at the head of the entire gang. He it was -who issued the orders which the rest obeyed; and he, moreover, was the -man who required the passengers to deliver up their purses and -valuables before he allowed them to enter the boat." - -"Between ourselves," said Uncle Zachie, rubbing his chin and screwing -up his mouth, "between you and me and the poker, I have no doubt about -it, and I could bring his neck into the halter if I chose." - -"Then why do you not, father? The ruffian would not have scrupled to -hack off my head had an axe been handy, or had I waited till he had -got hold of one." - -Mr. Menaida shook his head. - -"There are a deal of things that belong to all things," he said. "I -was on the down with my little pet and idol, Judith, and we had the -lantern, and it was that lantern that proved fatal to your vessel." - -"What, father! We owe our wreck to you?" - -"No, and yet it must be suffered to be so supposed, I must allow many -hard words to be rapped out against me, my want of consideration, my -scatterbrainedness. I admit that I am not a Solomon, but I should not -be such an ass, such a criminal, as on a night like the last to walk -over the downs above the cliffs with a lantern. Nevertheless I cannot -clear myself." - -"Why not?" - -"Because of Judith." - -"I do not understand." - -"I was escorting her home, to her husband's----" - -"Is she married?" - -"'Pon my word, I can't say; half and half----" - -"I do not understand you." - -"I will explain, later," said Mr. Menaida. "It's a perplexing -question, and though I was brought up at the law, upon my word I can't -say how the law would stand in the matter." - -"But how about the false lights?" - -"I am coming to that. When the Preventive men came on us, led by -Scantlebray--and why he was with them, and what concern it was of his, -I don't know--when the guard found us, it is true Judith had the -lantern, but it was under her cloak." - -"We, however, saw the light for some time." - -"Yes, but neither she nor I showed it. We had not brought a light with -us. We knew that it would be wrong to do so, but we came on someone -driving an ass with a lantern affixed to the head of the brute." - -"Then say so." - -"I cannot--that person was Judith's brother." - -"But he is an idiot." - -"He was sent out with the light." - -"Well, then, that person who sent him will be punished and the silly -boy will come off scot free." - -"I cannot--he who sent the boy was Judith's husband." - -"Judith's husband! Who is that?" - -"Captain Coppinger." - -"Well, what of that? The man is a double-dyed villain. He ought to be -brought to justice. Consider the crimes of which he has been guilty. -Consider what he has done this past night. I cannot see, father, that -merely because you esteem a young person, who may be very estimable, -we should let a consummate scoundrel go free, solely because he is her -husband. He has brought a fine ship to wreck, he has produced much -wretchedness and alarm. Indeed, he has been the occasion of some lives -being lost, for one or two of the sailors, thinking we were going to -Davy Jones's locker, got drunk and were carried overboard. Then, -consider, he robbed some of the unhappy, frightened women as they were -escaping. Bless me!" Oliver sprang up and paced the room. "It makes -my blood seethe. The fellow deserves no consideration. Give him up to -justice; let him be hung or transported." - -Mr. Menaida passed his hand through his hair, and lit his pipe. - -"'Pon my word," said he, "there's a good deal to be said on your -side--and yet----" - -"There is everything to be said on my side," urged Oliver, with -vehemence. "The man is engaged on his nefarious traffic. Winter is -setting in. He will wreck other vessels as well, and if you spare him -now, then the guilt of causing the destruction of other vessels and -the loss of more lives will rest in a measure on you." - -"And yet," pleaded Menaida, senior, "I don't know--I don't like--you -see----" - -"You are moved by a little sentiment for Miss Judith Trevisa, or--I -beg her pardon--Mrs. Cruel Coppinger. But it is a mistake, father. If -you had had this sentimental regard for her, and value for her, you -should not have suffered her to marry such a scoundrel, past -redemption." - -"I could not help it. I told her that the man was bad--that is to -say--I believed he was a smuggler, and that he was generally credited -with being a wrecker as well. But there were other influences--other -forces at work--I could not help it." - -"The sooner we can rid her of this villain the better," persisted -Oliver. "I cannot share your scruples, father." - -Then the door opened and Judith entered. - -Oliver stood up. He had reseated himself on the opposite side of the -fire to his father, after the ebullition of wrath that had made him -pace the room. - -He saw before him a delicate, girlish figure--a child in size and in -innocence of face, but with a woman's force of character in the brow, -clear eyes, and set mouth. She was ivory white; her golden hair was -spread out about her face--blown by the wind, it was a veritable halo, -such as is worn by an angel of La Fiesole in Cimabue. Her long, -slender, white throat was bare; she had short sleeves, to the elbows, -and bare arms. Her stockings were white, under the dark-blue gown. -Oliver Menaida had spent a good many years in Portugal, and had seen -flat faces, sallow complexions, and dark hair--women without delicacy -of bone and grace of figure--and, on his return to England, the first -woman he saw was Judith--this little, pale, red-gold-headed creature, -with eyes iridescent and full of a soul that made them sparkle and -change color with every change of emotion in the heart and of thought -in the busy brain. - -Oliver was a fine man, tall, with a bright and honest face, fair hair, -and blue eyes. He started back from his seat and looked at this -child-bride who entered his father's cottage. He knew at once who she -was, from the descriptions he had received of her from his father in -letters from home. - -He did not understand how she had become the wife of Cruel Coppinger. -He had not heard the story from his father, still less could he -comprehend the enigmatical words of his father relative to her -half-and-half marriage. As now he looked on this little figure, that -breathed an atmosphere of perfect purity, of untouched innocence, and -yet not mixed with that weakness which so often characterizes -innocence--on the contrary blended with a strength and force beyond -her years--Oliver's heart rose with a bound and smote against his -ribs. He was overcome with a qualm of infinite pity for this poor, -little, fragile being, whose life was linked with that of one so -ruthless as Coppinger. Looking at that anxious face, at those lustrous -eyes, set in lids that were reddened with weeping, he knew that the -iron had entered into her soul, that she had suffered and was -suffering then; nay, more, that the life opening before her would be -one of almost unrelieved contrariety and sorrow. - -At once he understood his father's hesitation when he urged him to -increase the load of shame and trouble that lay on her. He could not -withdraw his eyes from Judith. She was to him a vision so wonderful, -so strange, so thrilling, so full of appeal to his admiration and to -his chivalry. - -"Here, Ju! here is my Oliver, of whom I have told you so much!" said -Menaida, running up to Judith. "Oliver, boy! she has read your -letters, and I believe they gave her almost as great pleasure as they -did me. She was always interested in you. I mean ever since she came -into my house, and we have talked together about you, and upon my -word it really seemed as if you were to her as a brother." - -A faint smile came on Judith's face; she held out her hand and said: - -"Yes, I have come to love your dear father, who has been to me so -kind, and to Jamie also; he has been full of thought--I mean kindness. -What has interested him has interested me. I call him uncle, so I will -call you cousin. May it be so?" - -He touched her hand; he did not dare to grasp the frail, slender white -hand. But as he touched it, there boiled up in his heart a rage -against Coppinger, that he--this man steeped in iniquity--should have -obtained possession of a pearl set in ruddy gold--a pearl that he was, -so thought Oliver, incapable of appreciating. - -"How came you here?" asked Judith. "Your father has been expecting you -some time, but not so soon." - -"I am come off the wreck." - -She started back and looked fixedly on him. - -"What--you were wrecked?--in that ship last night?" - -"Yes. After the fog lifted we were quite lost as to where we were, and -ran aground." - -"What led you astray?" - -"Our own bewilderment and ignorance as to where we were." - -"And you got ashore?" - -"Yes. I was put across by the Preventive men. I spent half the night -on Doom Bar." - -"Were any lives lost?" - -"Only those lost their lives who threw them away. Some tipsy sailors, -who got at the spirits, and drank themselves drunk." - -"And--did any others--I mean did any wreckers come to your ship?" - -"Salvors? Yes; salvors came to save what could be saved. That is -always so." - -Judith drew a long breath of relief; but she could not forget Jamie -and the ass. - -"You were not led astray by false lights?" - -"Any lights we might have seen were sure to lead us astray, as we did -not in the least know where we were." - -"Thank you," said Judith. Then she turned to Uncle Zachie. - -"I have a favor to ask of you." - -"Anything you ask I will do." - -"It is to let Jamie live here, he is more likely to be well employed, -less likely to get in wrong courses, than at the Glaze. Alas! I cannot -be with him always and everywhere, and I cannot trust him there. Here -he has his occupation; he can help you with the birds. There he has -nothing, and the men he meets are not such as I desire that he should -associate with. Besides, you know, uncle, what occurred last night, -and why I am anxious to get him away." - -"Yes," answered the old man; "I'll do my best. He shall be welcome -here." - -"Moreover, Captain Coppinger dislikes him. He might in a fit of anger -maltreat him; I cannot say that he _would_, but he makes no -concealment of his dislike." - -"Send Jamie here." - -"And then I can come every day and see him, how he is getting on, and -can encourage him with his work, and give him his lessons as usual." - -"It will always be a delight to me to have you here." - -"And to me--to come." She might have said, "to be away from Pentyre," -but she refrained from saying that. With a faint smile--a smile that -was but the twinkle of a tear--she held out her hand to say farewell. - -Uncle Zachie clasped it, and then, suddenly, she bent and kissed his -hand. - -"You must not do that," said he, hastily. - -She looked piteously into his eyes, and said, in a whisper that he -alone could hear--"I am so lonely." - -When she was gone the old man returned to the ingle nook and resumed -his pipe. He did not speak, but every now and then he put one finger -furtively to his cheek, wiped off something, and drew very vigorous -whiffs of tobacco. - -Nor was Oliver inclined to speak; he gazed dreamily into the fire, -with contracted brows, and hands that were clenched. - -A quarter of an hour thus passed. Then Oliver looked up at his father, -and said: "There is worse wrecking than that of ships. Can nothing be -done for this poor little craft, drifting in fog--aimless!--and going -on to the rocks?" - -Uncle Zachie again wiped his cheek, and in his thoughtlessness wiped -it with the bowl of his pipe and burnt himself. He shook his head. - -"Now tell me what you meant when you said she was but half married," -said Oliver. - -Then his father related to him the circumstances of Judith's forced -engagement, and of the incomplete marriage of the day before. - -"By my soul!" exclaimed Oliver. "He must--he shall not treat her as he -did our vessel." - -"Oh, Oliver! if I had had my way--I had designed her for you." - -"For me!" - -Oliver bent his head and looked hard into the fire, where strange -forms of light were dancing--dancing and disappearing. - -Then Mr. Menaida said, between his whiffs: "Surely a change of wind, -Oliver. A little while ago, and she was not to be considered; justice -above all, and Judith sacrificed, if need be--now it is Judith above -all." - -"Yes," musingly, "above all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -A FIRST LIE. - - -As a faithful, as a loving wife almost, did Judith attend to Coppinger -for the day or two before he was himself again. He had been bruised, -that was all. The waves had driven him against the boat, and he had -been struck by an oar; but the very fact that he was driven against -the boat had proved his salvation, for he was drawn on board, and his -own men carried him swiftly to the bank, and, finding him unable to -walk, conveyed him home. On reaching home a worse blow than that of -the oar had struck him, and struck him on the heart, and it was dealt -him by his wife. She bade him put away from him for ever the -expectation, the hope, of her becoming his in more than name. - -Pain and disappointment made him irritable. He broke out into angry -complaint, and Judith had much to endure. She did not answer him. She -had told him her purpose, and she would neither be bullied nor cajoled -to alter it. - -Judith had much time to herself; she wandered through the rooms of -Pentyre during the day without encountering anyone, and then strolled -on the cliffs; wherever she went she carried her trouble with her, -gnawing at her heart. There was no deliverance for her, and she did -not turn her mind in that direction. She would remain what she -was--Coppinger's half-wife, a wife without a wedding-ring, united to -him by a most dubiously legal ceremony. She bore his name, she was -content to do that; she must bear with his love turned to fury by -disappointment. She would do that till it died away before her firm -and unchangeable opposition. - -"What will be said," growled Coppinger, "when it is seen that you wear -no ring?" - -"I will wear my mother's, and turn the stone within," answered Judith, -"then it will be like our marriage, a semblance, nothing more." - -She did appear next day with a ring. When the hand was closed, it -looked like a plain gold wedding hoop. When she opened and turned her -hand, it was apparent that within was a small brilliant. A modest -ring, a very inexpensive one, that her father had given to her mother -as a guard. Modest and inexpensive because his purse could afford no -better; not because he would not have given her the best diamonds -available, had he possessed the means to purchase them. - -This ring had been removed from the dead finger of her mother, and Mr. -Peter Trevisa had preserved it as a present for the daughter. - -Almost every day Judith went to Polzeath to give lessons to Jamie, and -to see how the boy was going on. Jamie was happy with Mr. Menaida, he -liked a little desultory work, and Oliver was kind to him, took him -walks, and talked to him of scenes in Portugal. - -Very often, indeed, did Judith, when she arrived, find Oliver at his -father's. He would sometimes sit through the lesson, often attend her -back to the gate of Pentyre. His conduct toward her was deferential, -tinged with pity. She could see in his eyes, read in his manner of -address, that he knew her story, and grieved for her, and would do -anything he could to release her from her place of torment, if he knew -how. But he never spoke to her of Coppinger, never of her marriage, -and the peculiar features that attended it. She often ventured on the -topic of the wreck, and he saw that she was probing him to discover -the truth concerning it, but he on no occasion allowed himself to say -anything that could give her reason to believe her husband was the -cause of the ship being lost, nor did he tell her of his own desperate -conflict with the wrecker captain on board the vessel. - -He was a pleasant companion, cheerful and entertaining. Having been -abroad, though not having travelled widely, he could tell much about -Portugal, and something about Spain. Judith's eager mind was greedy -after information, and it diverted her thoughts from painful topics to -hear and talk about orange and lemon groves, the vineyards, the -flower-gardens, the manners and customs of the people of Portugal, to -see sketches of interesting places, and of the costumes of the -peasantry. What drew her to Oliver specially was, however, his -consideration for Jamie, to whom he was always kind, and whom he was -disposed to amuse. - -The wreck of the merchantman on Doom Bar had caused a great commotion -among the inhabitants of Cornwall. All the gentry, clergy, and the -farmers and yeomen not immediately on the coast, felt that wrecking -was not only a monstrous act of inhumanity, but was a scandal to the -county, and ought to be peremptorily suppressed, and those guilty of -it brought to justice. It was currently reported that the merchantman -from Oporto was wilfully wrecked, and that an attempt had been made to -rob and plunder the passengers and the vessel. But the evidence in -support of this view was of little force. The only persons who had -been found with a light on the cliffs were Mr. Menaida, whom every one -respected for his integrity, and Judith, the daughter of the late -rector of St. Enodoc, the most strenuous and uncompromising denouncer -of wrecking. No one, however malicious, could believe either to be -guilty of more than imprudence. - -The evidence as to the attempt of wreckers to invade the ship, and -plunder it and the passengers also broke down. One lady alone could -swear that her purse had been forcibly taken from her. The Portuguese -men could hardly understand English, and though she asserted that she -had been asked for money, she could not say that anything had been -taken from her. It was quite possible that she had misunderstood an -order given her to descend into the boat. - -The night had been dark, the lady who had been robbed could not swear -to the identity of the man who had taken her purse, she could not even -say that it was one of those who had come to the vessel, and was not -one of the crew. The crew had behaved notoriously badly, some had been -drunk, and it was possible that one of these fellows, flushed with -spirits, had demanded and taken her money. - -There were two or three St. Enodoc men arrested because found on the -ship at the time, but they persisted in the declaration that, hearing -signals of distress, they had kindled a light and set it in the tower -window of the church as a guide to the shipwrecked, and had gone to -the vessel aground on Doom Bar, with the intention of offering every -assistance in their power to the castaways. They asserted that they -had found the deck in confusion. The seamen drunk and lost to -discipline, the passengers helpless and frightened, and that it was -only owing to them that some sort of order was brought about, or -attempted. The arrival of the coast-guard interfered with their -efforts to be useful. - -The magistrates were constrained to dismiss the case, although -possessed with the moral conviction that the matter was not as the -accused represented. The only person who could have given evidence -that might have consigned them to prison was Oliver, and he was not -called upon to give witness. - -But, although the case had broken down completely, an uneasy and angry -feeling prevailed. People were not convinced that the wreck was -accidental, and they believed that but for the arrival of the guard, -the passengers would have been robbed and the ship looted. It was true -enough that a light had been exhibited from St. Enodoc tower, but that -served as a guide to those who rushed upon the wreck, and was every -whit as much to their advantage as to that of the shipwrecked men. -For, suppose that the crew and passengers had got off in their boats, -they would have made, naturally, for the light, and who could say but -that a gang of ruffians was not waiting on the shore to plunder them -as they landed. - -The general feeling in the county was one of vexation that more prompt -action had not been taken, or that the action taken had not been more -successful. No man showed this feeling more fully than Mr. -Scantlebray, who hunted with the coast-guard for his own ends, and who -had felt sanguine that in this case Coppinger would be caught. - -That Coppinger was at the bottom of the attempt, which had been partly -successful, few doubted, and yet there was not a shadow of proof -against him. But that, according to common opinion, only showed how -deep was his craft. - -The state of Judith's mind was also one of unrest. She had a -conviction seated in her heart that all was not right, and yet she had -no sound cause for charging her husband with being a deliberate -wrecker. Jamie had gone out with his ass and the lantern, that was -true, but was Jamie's account of the affair to be relied on? When -questioned he became confused. He never could be trusted to recall, -twenty-four hours after an event, the particulars exactly as they -occurred. Any suggestive queries drew him aside, and without an intent -to deceive he would tell what was a lie, simply because he could not -distinguish between realities and fleeting impressions. She knew that -if she asked him whether Coppinger had fastened the lantern to the -head of his donkey, and had bidden him drive the creature slowly up -and down the inequalities of the surface of the cliffs, he would -assent, and say it was so; but, then, if she were to say to him, "Now, -Jamie, did not Captain Coppinger tell you on no account to show the -light till you reached the shore at St. Enodoc, and then to fix it -steadily," that his face would for a moment assume a vacant, then a -distressed expression, and he would finally say that he believed it -really was so. No reliance was to be placed on anything he said, -except at the moment, and not always then. He was liable to -misunderstand directions, and by a stupid perversity to act exactly -contrary to the instructions given him. - -Judith heard nothing of the surmises that floated in the neighborhood, -but she knew enough to be uneasy. She had been somewhat reassured by -Oliver Menaida; she could see no reason why he should withhold the -truth from her. Was it, then, possible after all that Captain -Coppinger had gone to the rescue of the wrecked people, that he had -sent the light not to mislead, but to direct them aright? - -It was Judith's fate--so it seemed--to be never certain whether to -think the worst of Coppinger, or to hold that he had been misjudged by -her. He had been badly hurt in his attempt to rescue the crew and -passengers--according to Aunt Dionysia's account. If she were to -believe this story, then he was deserving of respect. - -Judith began to recover some of her cheerfulness, some of her -freshness of looks. This was due to the abatement of her fears. -Coppinger had angrily, sullenly, accepted the relation which she had -assured him must subsist between them, and which could never be -altered. - -Aunt Dionysia was peevish and morose indeed. She had been disappointed -in her hope of getting into Othello Cottage before Christmas; but she -had apparently received a caution from Coppinger not to exhibit -ill-will toward his wife by word or token, and she restrained -herself, though with manifest effort. That sufficed Judith. She no -longer looked for, cared for love from her aunt. It satisfied her if -Miss Trevisa left her unmolested. - -Moreover, Judith enjoyed the walk to Polzeath every day, and, somehow, -the lessons to Jamie gave her an interest that she had never found in -them before. Oliver was so helpful. When Jamie was stubborn, he -persuaded him with a joke or a promise to laugh and put aside his -ill-humor, and attack the task once more. The little gossiping talk -after the lesson with Oliver, or with Oliver and his father, was a -delight to her. She looked forward to it, from day to day, naturally, -reasonably, for at the Glaze she had no one with whom to converse, no -one with the same general interests as herself, the same knowledge of -books, and pleasure in the acquisition of information. - -On mountain sides there are floral zones. The rhododendron and the -gentian luxuriate at a certain level, above is the zone of the blue -hippatica, the soldanella, and white crocus; below is the belt of -mealy primula and lilac clematis. So is it in the world of minds--they -have their levels, and can only live on those levels. Transplant them -to a higher or to a lower zone and they suffer, and die. - -Judith found no one at Pentyre with whom she could associate with -pleasure. It was only when she was at Polzeath with Uncle Zachie and -Oliver that she could talk freely and feel in her element. - -One day Oliver said to her, "Judith"--for, on the understanding that -they were cousins, they called each other by their Christian -names--"Judith! are you going to the ball at Wadebridge after -Christmas?" - -"Ball, Oliver, what ball?" - -"That which Mr. Mules is giving for the restoration of his church." - -"I do not know. I--yes, I have heard of it; but I had clean forgotten -all about it. I had rather not." - -"But you must, and promise me three dances, at least." - -"I do not know what to say. Captain Coppinger"--she never spoke of her -husband by his Christian name, never thought of him as other than -Captain Coppinger. Did she think of Oliver as Mr. Menaida, junior? -"Captain Coppinger has not said anything to me about it of late. I do -not wish to go. My dear father's death----" - -"But the dance is after Christmas. And, you know, it is for a sacred -purpose. Think, every whirl you take puts a new stone on the -foundations, and every setting to your partner in quadrille adds a -pane of glass to the battered windows." - -"I do not know," again said Judith, and became grave. Her heart -fluttered. She would like to be at the ball--and dance three dances -with Oliver--but would Captain Coppinger suffer her? Would he expect -to dance with her all the evening? If that were so, she would not like -to go. "I really do not know," again she said, clasped her hands on -her knees, and sighed. - -"Why that sigh, Judith?" - -She looked up, dropped her eyes in confusion, and said faintly, "I do -not know," and that was her first lie. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - -THE DIAMOND BUTTERFLY. - - -Poor little fool! Shrewd in maintaining her conflict with Cruel -Coppinger--always on the defensive, ever on guard, she was sliding -unconsciously, without the smallest suspicion of danger, into a state -that must eventually make her position more desperate and intolerable. -In her inexperience she had never supposed that her own heart could be -a traitor within the city walls. She took pleasure in the society of -Oliver, and thought no wrong in so doing. She liked him, and would -have reproached herself had she not done so. - -Her relations with Coppinger remained strained. He was a good deal -from home; indeed, he went on a cruise in his vessel, the Black -Prince, and was absent for a month. He hoped that in his absence she -might come to a better mind. They met, when he was at home, at meals; -at other times not at all. He went his way, she went hers. Whether the -agitation of men's minds relative to the loss of the merchantman, and -the rumors concerning the manner of its loss, had made Captain Cruel -think it were well for him to absent himself for a while, till they -had blown away, or whether he thought that his business required his -attention elsewhere, or that by being away from home his wife might be -the readier to welcome him, and come out of her vantage castle, and -lay down her arms, cannot be said for certain; probably all these -motives combined to induce him to leave Pentyre for five or six weeks. - -While he was away Judith was lighter in heart. He returned shortly -before Christmas, and was glad to see her more like her old self, with -cheeks rounder, less livid, eyes less sunken, less like those of a -hunted beast, and with a step that had resumed its elasticity. But he -did not find her more disposed to receive him with affection as a -husband. He thought that probably some change in the monotony of life -at Pentyre might be of advantage, and he somewhat eagerly entered into -the scheme for the ball at Wadebridge. She had been kept to books and -to the society of her father too much, in days gone by, and had become -whimsical and prudish. She must learn some of the enjoyments of life, -and then she would cling to the man who opened to her a new sphere of -happiness. - -"Judith," said he, "we will certainly go to this ball. It will be a -pleasant one. As it is for a charitable purpose, all the neighborhood -will be there. Squire Humphrey Prideaux of Prideaux Place, the -Matthews of Roscarrock, the Molesworths of Pencarrow, and every one -worth knowing in the country round for twelve miles. But you will be -the queen of the ball." - -Judith at first thought of appearing at the dance in her simplest -evening dress; she was shy and did not desire to attract attention. -Her own position was anomalous, because that of Coppinger was -anomalous. He passed as a gentleman in a part of the country not very -exacting that the highest culture should prevail in the upper region -of society. He had means, and he owned a small estate. But no one knew -whence he came, or what was the real source whence he derived his -income. Suspicion attached to him as engaged in both smuggling and -wrecking, neither of which were regarded as professions consonant with -gentility. The result of this uncertainty relative to Coppinger was -that he was not received into the best society. The gentlemen knew him -and greeted him in the hunting-field, and would dine with him at his -house. The ladies, of course, had never been invited, because he was -an unmarried man. The gentlemen probably had dealings with him about -which they said nothing to their wives. It is certain that the Bodmin -wine-merchant grumbled that the great houses of the north of Cornwall -did not patronize him as they ought, and that no wine-merchant was -ever able to pick up a subsistence at Wadebridge. Yet the country -gentry were by no means given to temperance, and their cellars were -being continually refilled. - -It was not their interest to be on bad terms with Coppinger, one must -conjecture, for they went somewhat out of their way to be civil to -him. - -Coppinger knew this, and thought that now he was married an -opportunity had come in this charity ball for the introduction of -Judith to society, and that to the best society, and he trusted to her -merits and beauty, and to his own influence with the gentlemen, to -obtain for her admission to the houses of the neighborhood. As the -daughter of the Rev. Peter Trevisa, who had been universally -respected, not only as a gentleman and a scholar, but also as a -representative of an ancient Cornish family of untold antiquity, she -had a perfect right to be received into the highest society of -Cornwall, but her father had been a reserved and poor man. He did not -himself care for associating with fox-hunting and sporting squires, -nor would he accept invitations when he was unable to return them. -Consequently Judith had gone about very little when at St. Enodoc -rectory. Moreover, she had been but a child, and was known only by -name to those who lived in the neighborhood. She was personally -acquainted with none of the county people. - -Captain Cruel had small doubt but that, the ice once broken, Judith -would make friends, and would be warmly received. The neighborhood was -scantily peppered over with county family-seats, and the families -found the winters tedious, and were glad of any accession to their -acquaintance, and of another house opened to them for entertainment. - -If Judith were received well, and found distraction from her morbid -and fantastic thoughts, then she would be grateful to him--so thought -Coppinger--grateful for having brought her into a more cheerful and -bright condition of life than that in which she had been reared. -Following thereon, her aversion for him, or shyness toward him, would -give way. - -And Judith--what were her thoughts? Her mind was a little fluttered, -she had to consider what to wear. At first she would go simply clad, -then her aunt insisted that, as a bride, she must appear in suitable -garb, that in which she had been married, not that with the two -sleeves for one side, which had been laid by. Then the question of the -jewellery arose. Judith did not wish to wear it, but yielded to her -aunt's advice. Miss Trevisa represented to her that, having the -diamonds, she ought to wear them, and that not to wear them would hurt -and offend Captain Coppinger, who had given them to her. This she was -reluctant to do. However, she consented to oblige and humor him in -such a small matter. - -The night arrived, and Judith was dressed for the ball. Never before -had Coppinger seen her in evening costume, and his face beamed with -pride as he looked on her in her white silk dress, with ornaments of -white satiny bugles in sprigs edging throat and sleeves, and forming a -rich belt about the waist. She wore the diamond butterfly in her -bosom, and the two earrings to match. A little color was in her -delicately pure cheeks, brought there by excitement. She had never -been at a ball before, and with an innocent, childish simplicity she -wondered what Oliver Menaida would think of her in her ball-dress. - -Judith and Coppinger arrived somewhat late, and most of those who had -taken tickets were already there. Sir William and Lady Molesworth were -there, and the half-brother of Sir William, John Molesworth, rector of -St. Breock, and his wife, the daughter of Sir John S. Aubyn. With the -baronet and his lady had come a friend, staying with them at -Pencarrow, and Lady Knighton, wife of an Indian judge. The Matthews -were there; the Tremaynes came all the way from Heligan, as owning -property in St. Enodoc, and so, in duty bound to support the charity; -the Prideauxs were there from Place; and many, if not all, of the -gentry of various degrees who resided within twelve to fifteen miles -of Wadebridge were also there. - -The room was not one of any interest, it was long, had a good floor, -which is the main thing considered by dancers, a gallery at one end -for the instrumentalists, and a draught which circulated round the -walls, and cut the throats of the old ladies who acted as wall-fruit. -There was, however, a room to which they could adjourn to play cards. -And many of the dowagers and old maids had brought with them little -silver linked purses in which was as much money as they had made up -their minds to lose that evening. - -The dowager Lady Molesworth in a red turban was talking to Lady -Knighton, a lady who had been pretty, but whose complexion had been -spoiled by Indian suns, and to her Sir William was offering a cup of -tea. - -"You see," said Lady Knighton, "how tremulous my hand is. I have been -like this for some years--indeed ever since I was in this neighborhood -before." - -"I did not know you had honored us with a visit on a previous -occasion," said Sir William. - -"It was very different from the present, I can assure you," answered -the lady. "Now it is voluntarily--then it was much the contrary. Now I -have come among very dear and kind friends, then--I fell among -thieves." - -"Indeed!" - -"It was on my return from India," said Lady Knighton. "Look at my -hand!" She held forth her arm, and showed how it shook as with palsy. -"This hand was firm then. I even played several games of spellikins on -board ship on the voyage home, and, Sir William, I won invariably, so -steady was my hold of the crook, so evenly did I raise each of the -little sticks. But ever since then I have had this nervous tremor that -makes me dread holding anything." - -"But how came it about?" asked the baronet. - -"I will tell you, but--who is that just entered the room?" she pointed -with trembling finger. - -Judith had come in along with Captain Coppinger, and stood near the -door, the light of the wax candles twinkling in her bugles, glancing -in flashes from her radiant hair. She was looking about her, and her -bosom heaved, she sought Oliver, and he was near at hand. A flush of -pleasure sprang into her cheeks as she caught his eye, and held out -her hand. - -"I demand my dance!" said he. - -"No, not the first, Oliver," she answered. - -Coppinger's brows knit. - -"Who is this?" he asked. - -"Oh! do you not know? Mr. Menaida's son, Mr. Oliver." - -The two men's eyes met, their irises contracted. - -"I think we have met before," said Oliver. - -"That is possible," answered Captain Cruel, contemptuously, looking in -another direction. - -"When we met I knew you without your knowing me," pursued the young -man, in a voice that shook with anger. He had recognized the tone of -the voice that had spoken on the wreck. - -"Of that I, neither, have any doubt as to its possibility. I do not -recollect every Jack I encounter." - -A moment after an idea struck him, and he turned his head sharply, -fixed his eyes on young Menaida, and said, "Where did we meet?" - -"'Encounter' was your word." - -"Very well--encounter!" - -"On Doom Bar." - -Coppinger's color changed. A sinister flicker came into his sombre -eyes. - -"Then," said he slowly, in low vibrating tones, "we shall meet again." - -"Certainly, we shall meet again, and conclude our--I use your -term--'encounter.'" - -Judith did not hear the conversation. She had been pounced upon by Mr. -Desiderius Mules. - -"Now--positively I must walk through a quadrille with you," said the -rector. "This is all my affair; it all springs from me, I arranged -everything. I beat up patrons and patronesses. I stirred up the -neighborhood. It all turns as a wheel about me as the axle. Come -along, the band is beginning to play. You shall positively walk -through a quadrille with me." Mr. Mules was not the man to be put on -one side, not one to accept a refusal; he carried off the bride to the -head of the room and set her in one square. - -"Look at the decorations," said Mr. Mules, "I designed them. I hope -you will like the supper. I drew up the _menu_. I chose the wines, and -I know they are good. The candles I got at wholesale price--because -for a charity. What beautiful diamonds you are wearing. They are not -paste, I suppose?" - -"I believe not." - -"Yet good old paste is just as iridescent as real diamonds. Where did -you get them? Are they family jewels? I have heard that the Trevisas -were great people at one time. Well, so were the Mules. We are really -De Moels. We came in with the Conqueror. That is why I have such a -remarkable Christian name. Desiderius is the French Désiré, and a -Norman Christian name. Look at the wreaths of laurel and holly. How do -you like them?" - -"The decorations are charming." - -"I am so pleased that you have come," pursued Mr. Mules. "It is your -first appearance in public as Mrs. Captain Coppinger. I have been -horribly uncomfortable about--you remember what. I have been afraid I -had put my foot into it, and might get into hot water. But now you -have come here, it is all right; it shows me that you are coming -round to a sensible view, and that to-morrow you will be at the -rectory and sign the register. If inconvenient, I will run up with it -under my arm to the Glaze. At what time am I likely to catch you both -in? The witnesses, Miss Trevisa and Mr. Menaida, one can always get -at. Perhaps you will speak to your aunt and see that she is on the -spot, and I'll take the old fellow on my way home." - -"Mr. Mules, we will not talk of that now." - -"Come! you must see, and be introduced to, Lady Molesworth." - -In the meanwhile Lady Knighton was telling her story to a party round -her. - -"I was returning with my two children from India; it is now some years -ago. It is so sad, in the case of Indians, either the parents must -part from their children, or the mother must take her children to -England and be parted from her husband. I brought my little ones back -to be with my husband's sister, who kindly undertook to see to them. -We encountered a terrible gale as we approached this coast; do you -recollect the loss of the Andromeda?" - -"Perfectly," answered Sir William Molesworth; "were you in that?" - -"Yes, to my cost. One of my darlings so suffered from the exposure -that she died. But, really, I do not think it was the wreck of the -vessel which was worst. It was not that, not that alone, which brought -this nervous tremor on me." - -"I remember that case," said Sir William. "It was a very bad one, and -disgraceful to our county. We have recently had an ugly story of a -wreck on Doom Bar, with suspicion of evil practices; but nothing could -be proved, nothing brought home to anyone. In the case of the -Andromeda there was something of the same sort." - -"Yes, indeed, there were evil practices. I was robbed." - -"You! surely, Lady Knighton, it was not of you that the story was -told?" - -"If you mean the story of the diamonds, it was," answered the Indian -lady. "We had to leave the wreck, and carry all our portable valuables -with us. I had a set of jewellery of Indian work, given me by Sir -James--well, he was only plain Mr. Knighton then. It was rather -quaint in design: there was a brooch representing a butterfly, and two -emeralds formed the----" - -"Excuse me one moment, Lady Knighton," said Sir William. "Here comes -the new rector of St. Enodoc, with the bride, to introduce her to my -wife. I am ashamed to say we have not made her acquaintance before." - -"Bride! what--his bride?" - -"Oh, no; the bride of a certain Captain Coppinger, who lives near -here." - -"She is pretty, very pretty; but how delicate!" - -Suddenly Lady Knighton sprang to her feet, with an exclamation so -shrill and startling that the dancers ceased, and the conductor of the -band, thinking an accident had occurred, with his baton stopped the -music. All attention was drawn to Lady Knighton, who, erect, trembling -from head to foot, stood pointing with shaking finger to Judith. - -"See! see! My jewels, that were torn from me! Look!" She lifted the -hair, worn low over her cheeks, and displayed one ear; the lobe was -torn away. - -No one stirred in the ball-room; no one spoke. The fiddler stood with -bow suspended over the strings, the flutist with fingers on all stops. -Every eye was fixed on Judith. It was still in that room as though a -ghost had passed through in winding-sheet. In this hush, Lady Knighton -approached Judith, pointing still with trembling hand. - -"I demand, whence comes that brooch? Where--from whom did you get -those earrings? They are mine; given me in India by my husband. They -are Indian work, and not to be mistaken. They were plucked from me one -awful night of wreck by a monster in human form, who came to our -vessel, as we sought to leave it, and robbed us of our treasures. -Answer me--who gave you those jewels?" - -Judith was speechless. The lights in the room died to feeble stars. -The floor rolled like a sea under her feet; the ceiling was coming -down on her. - -She heard whispers, murmurs--a humming as of a swarm of bees -approaching ready to settle on her and sting her. She looked round -her. Every one had withdrawn from her. Mr. Desiderius Mules had -released her arm, and stood back. She tried to speak, but could not. -Should she make the confession which would incriminate her husband? - -Then she heard a man's deep voice, heard a step on the floor. In a -moment an arm was round her, sustaining her, as she tottered. - -"I gave her the jewels. I, Curll Coppinger, of Pentyre. If you ask -where I got them--I will tell you. I bought them of Willy Mann, the -pedlar. I will give you any further information you require to-morrow. -Make room; my wife is frightened." - -Then, holding her, looking haughtily, threateningly, from side to -side, Coppinger helped Judith along--the whole length of the -ball-room--between rows of astonished, open-eyed, mute dancers. Near -the door was a knot of gentlemen. They sprang apart, and Coppinger -conveyed Judith through the door, out of the light, down the stairs, -into the open air. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -A DEAD-LOCK. - - -The incident of the jewellery of Lady Knighton occasioned much talk. -On the evening of the ball it occupied the whole conversation, as the -sole topic on which tongues could run and brains work. I say tongues -run and brains work and not brains work and tongues run, for the -former is the natural order in chatter. It was a subject that was -thrashed by a hundred tongues of the dancers. Then it was turned over -and rethrashed. Then it was winnowed. The chaff of the tale was blown -into the kitchens and servants' halls, it drifted into tap-rooms, -where the coachmen and grooms congregated and drank; and there it was -rethrashed and rewinnowed. - -On the day following the ball, the jewels were returned to Lady -Knighton, with a courteous letter from Captain Coppinger, to say that -he had obtained them through the well-known Willy Mann, a pedlar who -did commissions for the neighborhood, who travelled from Exeter along -the south coast of Devon and Cornwall, and returned along the north -coast of both counties. - -Everyone had made use of this fellow to do commissions, and -trustworthy he had always proved. That was not a time when there was a -parcels' post, and few could afford the time and the money to run at -every requirement to the great cities, where were important shops when -they required what could not be obtained in small country towns. He -had been employed to match silks, to choose carpets, to bring -medicines, to select jewellery, to convey love-letters. - -But Willy Mann had, unfortunately, died a month ago, having fallen off -a wagon and broken his neck. - -Consequently it was not possible to follow up any further the traces -of the diamond butterflies. Willy Mann, as was well known, had been a -vehicle for conveying sundry valuables from ladies who had lost money -at cards, and wanted to recoup by parting with bracelets and -brooches. That he may have received stolen goods and valuables -obtained from wrecks was also probable. - -So, after all the thrashing and winnowing, folks were no wiser than -before, and no nearer the solution of the mystery. Some thought that -Coppinger was guilty, others thought not, and others maintained a -neutral position. Some again thought one thing one day and the -opposite the next, and some always agreed with the last speaker's -views. Whereas others again always took a contrary opinion to those -who discussed the matter with them. - -Moreover, the matter went through a course much like a fever. It -blazed out, was furious, then died away; languor ensued--and it gave -symptoms of disappearing. - -The general mistrust against Coppinger was deepened, certainly, and -the men who had wine and spirits and tobacco through him, resolved to -have wine and spirits and tobacco from him, but nothing more. They -would deal with him as a trader, and not acknowledge him as their -social fellow. The ladies pitied Judith, they professed their respect -for her; but as beds are made so must they be lain on, and as is -cooked so must be eaten. She had married a man whom all mistrusted, -and must suffer accordingly; one who is associated with an infected -patient is certain to be shunned as much as the patient. Such is the -way of the world, and we cannot alter it, as the making of that way -has not been intrusted to us. On the day following the ball, Judith -did not appear at Polzeath, nor again on the day after that. - -Oliver became restless. The cheerful humor, the merry mood that his -father had professed were his, had deserted him. He could not endure -the thought that one so innocent, so child-like as Judith, should have -her fortunes linked to those of a man of whom he knew the worst. He -could not, indeed, swear to his identity with the man on the wreck who -had attempted to rob the passengers, and who had fought with him. He -had no doubt whatever in his own mind that his adversary and assailant -had been Coppinger, but he was led to this identification by nothing -more tangible than the allusion made to Wyvill's death, and a certain -tone of voice which he believed he recognized. The evidence was -insufficient to convict him, of that Oliver was well aware. He was -confident, moreover, that Coppinger was the man who had taken the -jewels from Lady Knighton; but here again he was wholly unsupported by -any sound basis of fact on which his conviction could maintain itself. - -Toward Coppinger he felt an implacable anger, and a keen desire for -revenge. He would like to punish him for that assault on the wreck, -but chiefly for the wrongs done to Judith. She had no champion, no -protector. His father, as he acknowledged to himself, was a broken -reed for one to lean on, a man of good intentions, but of a confused -mind, of weakness of purpose, and lack of energy. The situation of -Judith was a pitiful one, and if she was to be rescued from it, he -must rescue her. But when he came to consider the way and means, he -found himself beset with difficulties. She was married after a -fashion. It was very questionable whether the marriage was legal, but, -nevertheless, it was known through the county that a marriage had -taken place, Judith had gone to Coppinger's house, and had appeared at -the ball as his wife. If he established before the world that the -marriage was invalid, what would she do? How would the world regard -her? Was it possible for him to bring Coppinger to justice? - -Oliver went about instituting inquiries. He endeavored to trace to -their source, the rumors that circulated relative to Coppinger, but -always without finding anything on which he could lay hold. It was -made plain to him that Captain Cruel was but the head of a great -association of men, all involved in illegal practices; men engaged in -smuggling, and ready to make their profit of a wreck, when a wreck -fell in their way. They hung together like bees. Touch one, and the -whole hive swarmed out. They screened one another, were ready to give -testimony before magistrates that would exculpate whoever of the gang -was accused. They evaded every attempt of the coast-guard to catch -them; they laughed at the constables and magistrates. Information was -passed from one to another with incredible rapidity; they had their -spies and their agents along the coast. The magistrates and country -gentry, though strongly reprobating wrecking, and bitterly opposed to -poaching, were of broad and generous views regarding smuggling, and -the preventive officer complained that he did not receive that -support from the squirearchy which he expected and had a right to -demand. - -There were caves along the whole coast, from Land's End to Hartland, -and there were, unquestionably, stores of smuggled goods in a vast -number of places, centres whence they were distributed. When a vessel -engaged in the contraband trade appeared off the coast, and the guard -were on the alert in one place, she ran a few miles up or down, -signalled to shore, and landed her cargo before the coast-guard knew -where she was. They were being constantly deceived by false -information, and led away in one direction while the contraband goods -were being conveyed ashore in an opposite quarter. - -Oliver learned much concerning this during the ensuing few days. He -made acquaintance with the officer in command of the nearest station, -and resolved to keep a close watch on Coppinger, and to do his utmost -to effect his arrest. When Captain Cruel was got out of the way, then -something could be done for Judith. An opportunity came in Oliver's -way of learning tidings of importance, and that when he least expected -it. As already said, he was wont to go about on the cliffs with Jamie, -and after Judith ceased to appear at Mr. Menaida's cottage, in his -unrest he took Jamie much with him, out of consideration for Judith, -who, as he was well aware, would be content to have her brother with -him, and kept thereby out of mischief. - -On one of these occasions he found the boy lag behind, become uneasy, -and at last refuse to go farther. He inquired the reason, and Jamie, -in evident alarm, replied that he dare not--he had been forbidden. - -"By whom?" - -"He said he would throw me over, as he did my doggie, if I came here -again." - -"Who did?" - -"Captain Coppinger." - -"But why?" - -Jamie was frightened, and looked round. - -"I mustn't say," he answered, in a whisper. - -"Must not say what, Jamie?" - -"I was to let no one know about it." - -"About what?" - -"I am afraid to say. He would throw me over. I found it out and -showed it to Ju. I have never been down there since." - -"Captain Coppinger found you somewhere, and forbade your ever going to -that place again?" - -"Yes," in a faltering voice. - -"And threatened to fling you over the cliffs if you did!" - -"Yes," again timidly. - -Oliver said quietly, "Now run home and leave me here." - -"I daren't go by myself. I did not mean to come here." - -"Very well. No one has seen you. Let me see, this wall marks the spot. -I will go back with you." - -Oliver was unusually silent as he walked to Polzeath with Jamie. He -was unwilling further to press the boy. He would probably confuse him, -by throwing him into a paroxysm of alarm. He had gained sufficient -information for his purpose from the few words he let drop. "I have -never been down there since," Jamie had said. There was, then, -something that Coppinger desired should not be generally known -concealed between the point on the cliff where the "new-take" wall -ended and the beach immediately beneath. - -He took Jamie to his father, and got the old man to give him some -setting up of birds to amuse and occupy him, and then returned to the -cliff. It did not take him long to discover the entrance to the cave -beneath, behind the curtain of slate reef, and as he penetrated this -to the farthest point, he was placed in possession of one of the -secrets of Coppinger and his band. - -He did not tarry there, but returned home another way, musing over -what he had learned, and considering what advantage he was to take of -it. A very little thought satisfied him that his wisest course was to -say nothing about what he had learned, and to await the turns of -fortune, and the incautiousness of the smugglers. - -From this time, moreover, he discontinued his visits to the -coast-guard station, which was on the farther side of the estuary of -the Camel, and which could not well be crossed without attracting -attention. There was no trusting anyone, Oliver felt--the boatman who -put him across was very possibly in league with the smugglers, and was -a spy on those who were in communication with the officers of the -revenue. - -Another reason for his cessation of visits was that, on his return to -his father's house, after having explored the cave, and the track in -the face of the cliff leading to it, he heard that Jamie had been -taken away by Coppinger. The Captain had been there during his -absence, and had told Mr. Menaida that Judith was distressed at being -separated from her brother, and that, as there were reasons which made -him desire that she should forego her walks to Polzeath, he, Captain -Coppinger, deemed it advisable to bring Jamie back to Pentyre. - -Oliver asked himself, when he heard this, with some unease, whether -this was due to his having been observed with the boy on the downs -near the place from which access to the cave was had. Also, whether -the boy would be frightened at the appearance of Captain Cruel so soon -after he had approached the forbidden spot, and, in his fear, reveal -that he had been there with Oliver and had partially betrayed the -secret. - -There was another question he was also constrained to ask himself, and -it was one that made the color flash into his cheek. What was the -particular reason why Captain Coppinger objected to the visits of his -wife to Polzeath at that time? Was he jealous? He recalled the flare -in his eyes at the ball, when Judith turned to him, held out her hand, -and called him by his Christian name. - -From this time all communication with Pentyre Glaze was cut off; -tidings relative to Judith and Jamie were not to be had. Judith was -not seen, Aunt Dionysia rarely, and from her nothing was to be -learned. It would hardly comport with discretion for inquiries to be -made by Oliver of the servants of the Glaze; but his father, moved by -Oliver and by his own anxiety, did venture to go to the house and ask -after Judith. He was coldly received by Miss Trevisa, who took the -opportunity to insult him by asking if he had come to have his bill -settled--there being a small account in his favor for Jamie. She paid -him, and sent the old fellow fuming, stamping, even swearing, home, -and as ignorant of the condition of Judith as when he went. He had not -seen Judith, nor had he met Captain Coppinger. He had caught a glimpse -of Jamie in the yard with his donkey, but the moment the boy saw him -he dived into the stable, and did not emerge from it till Uncle Zachie -was gone. - -Then Mr. Menaida, still urged by his son and by his own feelings, -incapable of action unless goaded by these double spurs, went to the -rectory to ask Mr. Mules if he had seen Judith, and whether anything -had been done about the signatures in the register. - -Mr. Desiderius was communicative. - -He had been to Pentyre about the matter. He was, as he said, "in a -stew over it" himself. It was most awkward; he had filled in as much -as he could of the register, and all that lacked were the -signatures--he might say all but that of the bride and Mr. Menaida, -for there had been a scene. Mrs. Coppinger had come down, and, in the -presence of the Captain and her aunt, he had expostulated with her, -had pointed out to her the awkward position in which it placed -himself, the scruple he felt at retaining the fee, when the work was -only half done; how, that by appearing at the ball, she had shown to -the whole neighborhood that she was the wife of Captain Coppinger, and -that, having done this, she might as well append her name to the entry -in the register. Then Captain Coppinger and Miss Trevisa had made the -requisite entries, but Judith had again calmly, but resolutely, -refused. - -Mr. Mules admitted there had been a scene. Mr. Coppinger became angry, -and used somewhat violent words. But nothing that he himself could -say, no representations made by her aunt, no urgency on the part of -her husband could move the resolution of Judith, "which was a bit of -arrant tomfoolery," said Mr. Desiderius, "and I told her so. Even -that--the knowledge that she went down a peg in my estimation--even -that did not move her." - -"And how was she?" asked Mr. Menaida. - -"Obstinate," answered the rector, "obstinate as a--I mean as a donkey, -that is the position of affairs. We are at a dead-lock." - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -TWO LETTERS. - - -Oliver Menaida was summoned to Bristol by the heads of the firm which -he served, and he was there detained for ten days. - -Whilst he was away, Uncle Zachie felt his solitude greatly. Had he had -even Jamie with him he might have been content, but to be left -completely alone was a trial to him, especially since he had become -accustomed to having the young Trevisa in his house. He missed his -music. Judith's playing had been to him an inexpressibly great -delight. The old man for many years had gone on strumming and fumbling -at music by great masters, incapable of executing it, and unwilling to -hear it performed by incompetent instrumentalists. At length Judith -had seated herself at his piano, and had brought into life all that -wondrous world of melody and harmony which he had guessed at, believed -in, yearned for, but never reached. And now that he was left without -her to play to him, he felt like one deprived of a necessary of life. - -But his unrest did not spring solely from a selfish motive. He was not -at ease in his mind about her. Why did he not see her anymore? Why was -she confined to Pentyre! Was she ill? Was she restrained there against -her will from visiting her old friends? Mr. Menaida was very unhappy -because of Judith. He knew that she was resolved never to acknowledge -Coppinger as her real husband; she did not love him, she shrank from -him. And knowing what he did--the story of the invasion of the wreck, -the fight with Oliver--he felt that there was no brutality, no crime -which Coppinger was not capable of committing, and he trembled for the -happiness of the poor little creature who was in his hands. Weak and -irresolute though Mr. Menaida was, he was peppery and impulsive when -irritated, and his temper had been roused by the manner of his -reception at the Glaze, when he went there to inquire after Judith. - -Whilst engaged on his birds, his hand shook, so that he could not -shape them aright. When he smoked his pipe, he pulled it from between -his lips every moment to growl out some remark. When he sipped his -grog, he could not enjoy it. He had a tender heart, and he had become -warmly attached to Judith. He firmly believed in identification of the -ruffian with whom Oliver had fought on the deck, and it was horrible -to think that the poor child was at his mercy; and that she had no one -to counsel and to help her. - -At length he could endure the suspense no longer. One evening, after -he had drank a good many glasses of rum and water, he jumped up, put -on his hat, and went off to Pentyre, determined to insist on seeing -Judith. - -As he approached the house he saw that the hall windows were lighted -up. He knew which was Judith's room, from what she had told him of its -position. There was a light in that window also. Uncle Zachie, flushed -with anger against Coppinger, and with the spirits he had drank, -anxious about Judith, and resenting the way in which he had been -treated, went boldly up to the front door and knocked. A maid answered -his knock, and he asked to see Mrs. Coppinger. The woman hesitated, -and bade him be seated in the porch. She would go and see. - -Presently Miss Trevisa came, and shut the door behind her, as she -emerged into the porch. - -"I should like to see Mrs. Coppinger," said the old man. - -"I am sorry--you cannot," answered Miss Trevisa. - -"But why not?" - -"This is not a fit hour at which to call." - -"May I see her if I come at any other hour?" - -"I cannot say." - -"Why may I not see her?" - -"She is unwell." - -"If she is unwell, then I am very certain she would be glad to see -Uncle Zachie." - -"Of that I am no judge, but you cannot be admitted now." - -"Name the day, the hour, when I may." - -"That I am not at liberty to do." - -"What ails her? Where is Jamie?" - -"Jamie is here--in good hands." - -"And Judith." - -"She is in good hands." - -"In good hands!" exclaimed Mr. Menaida, "I should like to see the -good, clean hands worn by anyone in this house, except my dear, -innocent little Judith. I must and will see her. I must know from her -own lips how she is. I must see that she is happy--or at least not -maltreated." - -"Your words are an insult to me, her aunt, and to Captain Coppinger, -her husband," said Miss Trevisa, haughtily. - -"Let me have a word with Captain Coppinger." - -"He is not at home." - -"Not at home!--I hear a great deal of noise. There must be a number of -guests in the hall. Who is entertaining them, you or Judith!" - -"That is no concern of yours, Mr. Menaida." - -"I do not believe that Captain Coppinger is not at home. I insist on -seeing him." - -"Were you to see him--you would regret it afterwards. He is not a -person to receive impertinences and pass them over. You have already -behaved in a most indecent manner, in encouraging my niece to visit -your house, and sit, and talk, and walk with, and call by his -Christian name, that young fellow, your son." - -"Oliver!" Mr. Menaida was staggered. It had never occurred to his -fuddled, yet simple mind, that the intimacy that had sprung up between -the young people was capable of misinterpretation. The sense that he -had laid himself open to this charge made him very angry, not with -himself, but with Coppinger and with Miss Trevisa. - -"I'll tell you what," said the old man, "if you will not let me in I -suppose you will not object to my writing a line to Judith?" - -"I have received orders to allow of no communication of any kind -whatsoever between my niece and you or your house." - -"You have received orders--from Coppinger?" the old man flamed with -anger. "Wait a bit! There is no command issued that you are not to -take a message from me to your master?" - -He put his hand into his pocket, pulled out a note-book, and tore out -of it a page. Then, by the light from the hall window, he scribbled on -it a few lines in pencil. - - "Sir!--You are a scoundrel. You bully your wife. You rob, and - attempt to murder those who are shipwrecked.--Zachary - Menaida." - -"There," said the old man, "that will draw him, and I shall see him, -and have it out with him." - -He had wafers in his pocket-book. He wetted and sealed the note. Then -he considered that he had not said enough, so he opened the page -again, and added: "I shall tell all the world what I know about you." -Then he fastened the note again, and directed it. But as it suddenly -occurred to him that Captain Coppinger might refuse to open the -letter, he added on the outside, "The contents I know by heart, and -shall proclaim them on the house-tops." He thrust the note into Miss -Trevisa's hand, and turned his back on the house, and walked home -snorting and muttering. On reaching Polzeath, however, he had cooled, -and thought that possibly he had done a very foolish thing, and that -most certainly he had in no way helped himself to what he desired, to -see Judith again. Moreover, with a qualm, he became aware that Oliver, -on his return from Bristol, would in all probability greatly -disapprove of this fiery outburst of temper. To what would it lead? -_Could_ he fight Captain Coppinger? If it came to that, he was ready. -With all his faults Mr. Menaida was no coward. - -On entering his house he found Oliver there, just arrived from -Camelford. He at once told him what he had done. Oliver did not -reproach him; he merely said, "A declaration of war, father! and a -declaration before we are quite prepared." - -"Well--I suppose so. I could not help myself. I was so incensed." - -"The thing we have to consider," said Oliver, "is what Judith wishes, -and how it is to be carried out. Some communication must be opened -with her. If she desires to leave the house of that fellow, we must -get her away. If, however, she elects to remain, our hands are tied: -we can do nothing." - -"It is very unfortunate that Jamie is no longer here; we could have -sent her a letter through him." - -"He has been removed to prevent anything of the sort taking place." - -Then Oliver started up. "I will go and reconnoitre, myself." - -"No," said the father. "Leave all to me. You must on no account meddle -in this matter." - -"Why not?" - -"Because"--the old man coughed. "Do you not understand--you are a -young man." - -Oliver colored, and said no more. He had not great confidence in his -father's being able to do anything effectual for Judith. The step he -had recently taken was injudicious and dangerous, and could further -the end in view in no way. - -He said no more to old Mr. Menaida, but he resolved to act himself, in -spite of the remonstrance made and the objection raised by his father. -No sooner was the elder man gone to bed, than he sallied forth and -took the direction of Pentyre. It was a moonlight night. Clouds indeed -rolled over the sky, and for awhile obscured the moon, but a moment -after it flared forth again. A little snow had fallen and frosted the -ground, making everything unburied by the white flakes to seem inky -black. A cold wind whistled mournfully over the country. Oliver walked -on, not feeling the cold, so glowing were his thoughts, and came -within sight of the Glaze. His father had informed him that there were -guests in the hall; but when he approached the house, he could see no -lights from the windows. Indeed, the whole house was dark, as though -everyone in it were asleep, or it were an uninhabited ruin. That most -of the windows had shutters he was aware, and that these might be shut -so as to exclude the chance of any ray issuing he also knew. He could -not therefore conclude that all the household had retired for the -night. - -The moon was near its full. It hung high aloft in an almost cloudless -sky. The air was comparatively still--still it never is on that coast, -nor is it ever unthrilled by sound. Now, above the throb of the ocean, -could be heard the shrill clatter and cry of the gulls. They were not -asleep; they were about, fishing or quarrelling in the silver light. - -Oliver rather wondered at the house being so hushed--wondered that the -guests were all dismissed. He knew in which wing of the mansion was -Judith's room, and also which was Judith's window. The pure white -light shone on the face of the house and glittered in the -window-panes. - -As Oliver looked, thinking and wondering, he saw the casement opened, -and Judith appeared at it, leaned with her elbow on the sill, and -rested her face in her hand, looking up at the moon. The light air -just lifted her fine hair. Oliver noticed how delicately pale and -fragile she seemed--white as a gull, fragile as porcelain. He would -not disturb her for a moment or two; he stood watching, with an -oppression on his heart, and with a film forming over his eyes. Could -nothing be done for the little creature? She was moped up in her room. -She was imprisoned in this house, and she was wasting, dying in -confinement. - -And now he stole noiselessly nearer. There was an old cattle-shed -adjoining the house, that had lost its roof. Coppinger concerned -himself little about agriculture, and the shed that had once housed -cows had been suffered to fall to ruin, the slates had been blown off, -then the rain had wetted and rotted the rafters, and finally the -decayed rafters had fallen with their remaining load of slates, -leaving the walls alone standing. - -Up one of the sides of this ruinous shed Oliver climbed, and then -mounted to the gable, whence he could speak to Judith. But she must -have heard him, and been alarmed, for she hastily closed the casement. -Oliver, however, did not abandon his purpose. He broke off particles -of mortar from the gable of the cow-house and threw them cautiously -against the window. No notice was taken of the first or the second -particle that clickered against a pane; but at the third a shadow -appeared at the window, as though Judith had come to the casement to -look out. Oliver was convinced that he could be seen; as he was on the -very summit of the gable, and he raised his hands and arms to ensure -attention. - -Suddenly the shadow was withdrawn. Then hastily he drew forth a scrap -of paper, on which he had written a few words before he left his -father's house, in the hopes of obtaining a chance of passing it to -Judith, through Jamie, or by bribing a servant. This he now wrapped -round a bit of stone and fastened it with a thread. Next moment the -casement was opened and the shadow reappeared. - -"Back!" whispered Oliver, sufficiently loud to be heard, and he -dexterously threw the stone and the letter through the open window. - -Next moment the casement was shut and the curtains were drawn. - -He waited for full a quarter of an hour but no answer was returned. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -THE SECOND TIME. - - -No sooner had Oliver thrown the stone with note tied round it into -Judith's room through the window, than he descended from a position -which he esteemed too conspicuous should anyone happen to be about in -the night near the house. He ensconced himself beneath the cow-shed -wall in the shadow, where concealed, but was ready should the casement -open to step forth and show himself. - -He had not been there many minutes before he heard steps and voices, -one of which he immediately recognized as that of Cruel Coppinger. -Oliver had not been sufficiently long in the neighborhood to know the -men in it by their voices, but looking round the corner of the wall he -saw two figures against the horizon, one with hands in his pockets, -and by the general slouch, he thought that he recognized the sexton of -S. Enodoc. - -"The Black Prince will be in before long," said Coppinger. "I mean -next week or fortnight, and I must have the goods shored here, this -time. She will stand off Porth-leze, and mind you get information -conveyed to the captain of the coast-guard that she will run her cargo -there. Remember that. We must have a clear coast here. The stores are -empty and must be refilled." - -"Yes, your honor." - -"You have furnished him with the key to the signals?" - -"Yes, Cap'n." - -"And from Porth-leze there are to be signals to the Black Prince to -come on here--but so that they may be read the other way--you -understand?" - -"Yes, Cap'n." - -"And what do they give you every time you carry them a bit of -information?" - -"A shilling." - -"A munificent government payment! and what did they give you for the -false code of signals?" - -"Half a crown." - -"Then here is half a guinea--and a crown for every lie you impose on -them." - -Then Coppinger and the sexton went further. As soon as Oliver thought -he could escape unobserved he withdrew and returned to Polzeath. - -Next day he had a talk with his father. - -"I have had opinions, in Bristol," said he, "relative to the position -of Judith." - -"From whom?" - -"From lawyers." - -"Well--and what did they say?" - -"One said one thing and one another. I stated the case of her -marriage, its incompletion, the unsigned register, and one opinion was -that nevertheless she was Mrs. Coppinger. But another opinion was -that, in consequence of the incompleteness of the marriage, it was -none--she was Miss Trevisa. Father, before I went to the barristers -and obtained their opinions, I was as wise as I am now, for I knew -then, what I know now, that she is either Mrs. Coppinger, or else that -she is Miss Trevisa." - -"I could have told you as much." - -"It seems to me--but I may be uncharitable," said Oliver, grimly, -"that the opinion given was this way or that way according as I showed -myself interested for the legality or against the legality of the -marriage. Both of those to whom I applied regarded the case as -interesting and deserving of being thrashed out in a court of law, and -gave their opinions so as to induce me to embark in a suit. You -understand what I mean, father? When I seemed urgent that the marriage -should be pronounced none at all, then the verdict of the consulting -barrister was that it was no marriage at all, and very good reasons he -was able to produce to show that. But when I let it be supposed that -my object was to get this marriage established against certain parties -keenly interested in disputing it, I got an opinion that it was a good -and legal marriage, and very good reasons were produced to sustain -this conclusion." - -"I could have told you as much--and this has cost you money?" - -"Yes--naturally." - -"And left you without any satisfaction?" - -"Yes." - -"No satisfaction is to be got out of law--that is why I took to -stuffing birds." - -"What is that noise at the door?" asked Oliver. - -"There is some one trying to come in, and fumbling at the hasp," said -his father. - -Oliver went to the door and opened it--to find Jamie there, trembling, -white, and apparently about to faint. He could not speak, but he held -out a note to Oliver. - -"What is the matter with you?" asked the young man. - -The boy, however, did not answer, but ran to Mr. Menaida, and crouched -behind him. - -"He has been frightened," said the old man. "Leave him alone. He will -come round presently and I will give him a drop of spirits to rouse -him up. What letter is that?" - -Oliver looked at the little note given him. It had been sealed, but -torn open afterward. It was addressed to him, and across the address -was written in bold, coarse letters with a pencil, "Seen and passed. -C. C." Oliver opened the letter and read as follows: - - "I pray you leave me. Do not trouble yourself about me. - Nothing can now be done for me. My great concern is for - Jamie. But I entreat you to be very cautious about yourself - where you go. You are in danger. Your life is threatened, and - you do not know it. I must not explain myself, but I warn - you. Go out of the country--that would be best. Go back to - Portugal. I shall not be at ease in my mind till I know that - you are gone, and gone unhurt. My dear love to Mr. - Menaida--Judith." - -The hand that had written this letter had shaken, the letters were -hastily and imperfectly formed. Was this the hand of Judith who had -taught Jamie caligraphy, had written out his copies as neatly and -beautifully as copper-plate? - -Judith had sent him this answer by her brother, and Jamie had been -stopped, forced to deliver up the missive, which Coppinger had opened -and read. Oliver did not for a moment doubt _whence_ the danger sprang -with which he was menaced. Coppinger had suffered the warning to be -conveyed to him with contemptuous indifference--it was as though he -had scored across the letter--"Be forewarned, take what precautions -you will--you shall not escape me." - -The first challenge had come from old Menaida, but Coppinger passed -over that as undeserving of attention, but he proclaimed his readiness -to cross swords with the young man. And Oliver could not deny that he -had given occasion for this. Without counting the cost, without -considering the risk; nay, further, without weighing the right and -wrong in the matter, Oliver had allowed himself to slip into terms of -some familiarity with Judith, harmless enough were she unmarried, but -hardly calculated to be so regarded by a husband. They had come to -consider each other as cousins, or they had pretended so to consider -each other, so as to justify a half-affectionate, half-intimate -association, and before he was aware of it Oliver had lost his heart. -He could not and he would not regard Judith as the wife of Coppinger, -because he knew that she absolutely refused to be so regarded by him, -by herself, by his father, though by appearing at the ball with -Coppinger, by living in his house, she allowed the world to so -consider her. Was she his wife? He could not suppose it when she had -refused to conclude the marriage ceremony, when there was no -documentary evidence for the marriage. Let the question be mooted in a -court of law; what could the witnesses say, but that she had fainted, -and that all the latter portion of the ceremony had been performed -over her when unconscious, and that on her recovery of her faculties -she had resolutely persisted in resistance to the affixing of her -signature to the register. - -With respect to Judith's feelings toward himself Oliver was ignorant. -She had taken pleasure in his society, because he had made himself -agreeable to her, and his company was a relief to her after the -solitude of Pentyre and the association there with persons with whom -she was wholly out of sympathy. - -His quarrel with Coppinger had shifted ground. At first he had -resolved, should occasion offer, to conclude with him the contest -begun on the wreck, and to chastise him for his conduct on that night. -Now, he thought little of that cause of resentment, he desired to -punish him for having been the occasion of so much misery to Judith. -He could not now drive from his head the scene of the girl's wan face -at the window, looking up at the moon. - -Oliver would shrink from doing anything dishonorable, but it did not -seem to him that there could be aught wrong and unbecoming a gentleman -in endeavoring to snatch this hapless child from the claws of the wild -beast that had struck it down. - -"No, father," said he hastily, as the old fellow was pouring out a -pretty strong dose of his great specific and about to administer it to -Jamie, "no father, it is not that the boy wants; and remember how -strongly Judith objects to his being given spirits." - -"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Uncle Zachie, "to be sure she does, and she -made me promise not to give him any. But this is an exceptional case." - -"Let him come to me, I will soothe him. The child is frightened, or -stay, get him to help you with that kittiwake. Jamie, father can't get -the bird to look natural; his head does not seem to me to be right. -Did you ever see a kittiwake turn his neck in that fashion? I wish you -would put your fingers to the throat, and bend it about, and set the -wadding where it ought to be. Father and I can't agree about it." - -"It is wrong," said Jamie. "Look, this is the way." His mind was -diverted. Always volatile, always ready to be turned from one thing to -another, Oliver had succeeded in interesting him, and had made him -forget for a moment the terrors that had shaken him. - -After Jamie had been in the house for half an hour, Oliver advised him -to return to the Glaze. He would give him no message, verbal or -written. But the thought of having to return renewed the poor child's -fears, and Oliver could hardly allay them by promising to accompany -him part of the way. - -Oliver was careful not to speak to him on the subject of his alarm, -but he gathered from his disjointed talk that Judith had given him the -note and impressed on him that it was to be delivered as secretly as -possible; that Coppinger had intercepted him, and suspecting -something, had threatened and frightened him into divulging the truth. -Then Captain Cruel had read the letter, scored over it some words in -pencil, given it back to him, and ordered him to fulfil his -commission, to deliver the note. - -"Look you here, Jamie," was Mr. Menaida's parting injunction to the -lad as he left the house, "there's no reason for you to be idle when -at Pentyre. You can make friends with some of the men and get birds -shot. I don't advise your having a gun, you are not careful enough. -But if they shoot birds you may amuse your leisure in skinning them, -and I gave Judith arsenic for you. She keeps it in her workbox, and -will let you have sufficient for your purpose as you need it. I would -not give it to you, as it might be dangerous in your hands as a gun. -It is a deadly poison, and with carelessness you might kill a man. But -go to Judith when you have a skin ready to dress and she will see that -you have sufficient for the dressing. There, good-by, and bring me -some skins shortly." - -Oliver accompanied the boy as far as the gate that led into the lane -between the walls enclosing the fields of the Pentyre estate. Jamie -pressed him to come farther, but this the young man would not do. He -bade the poor lad farewell, bid him divert himself as his father had -advised, with bird stuffing, and remained at the gate watching him -depart. The boy's face and feebleness touched and stirred the heart of -Oliver. The face reminded him so strongly of his twin sister, but it -was the shadow, the pale shadow of Judith only, without the -intelligence, the character, and the force. And the helplessness of -the child, his desolation, his condition of nervous alarm roused the -young man's pity. He was startled by a shot, that struck his gray hat -simultaneously with the report. - -In a moment he sprang over the hedge in the direction whence the smoke -rose, and came upon Cruel Coppinger with a gun. - -"Oh, you!" said the latter, with a sneer, "I thought I was shooting a -rabbit." - -"This is the second time," said Oliver. - -"The first," was Coppinger's correction. - -"Not so--the second time you have levelled at me. The first was on the -wreck when I struck up your hand." - -Coppinger shrugged his shoulders. "It is immaterial. The third time is -lucky, folks say." - -The two men looked at each other with hostility. - -"Your father has insulted me," said Coppinger. "Are you ready to take -up his cause? I will not fight an old fool." - -"I am ready to take up his cause, mine also, and that of----" Oliver -checked himself. - -"And that of whom?" asked Coppinger, white with rage, and in a -quivering voice. - -"The cause of my father and mine own will suffice," said Oliver. - -"And when shall we meet?" asked Captain Cruel, leaning on his gun and -glaring at his young antagonist over it. - -"When and where suits me," answered Oliver, coldly. - -"And when and where may that be?" - -"When and where!--when and where I can come suddenly on you as you -came on me upon the wreck. With such as you--one does not observe the -ordinary rules." - -"Very well," shouted Coppinger. "When and where suits you, and when -and where suits me--that is, whenever we meet again--we meet finally." - -Then each turned and strode away. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -THE WHIP FALLS. - - -For many days Judith had been as a prisoner in the house, in her room. -Some one had spoken to Coppinger and had roused his suspicions, -excited his jealousy. He had forbidden her visits to Polzeath; and to -prevent communication between her and the Menaidas, father and son, he -had removed Jamie to Pentyre Glaze. - -Angry and jealous he was. Time had passed, and still he had not -advanced a step, rather he had lost ground. Judith's hopes that he was -not what he had been represented, were dashed. However plausible might -be his story to account for the jewels, she did not believe it. - -Why was Judith not submissive? Coppinger could now only conclude that -she had formed an attachment for Oliver Menaida--for that young man -whom she singled out, greeted with a smile, and called by his -Christian name. He had heard of how she had made daily visits to the -house of his father, how Oliver had been seen attending her home, and -his heart foamed with rage and jealousy. - -She had no desire to go anywhere, now that she was forbidden to go to -Polzeath, and when she knew that she was watched. She would not -descend to the hall and mix with the company often assembled there, -and though she occasionally went there when Coppinger was alone, took -her knitting and sat by the fire, and attempted to make conversation -about ordinary matters, yet his temper, his outbursts of rancor, his -impatience of every other topic save their relations to each other, -and his hatred of the Menaidas, made it intolerable for her to be with -him alone, and she desisted from seeking the hall. This incensed him, -and he occasionally went up-stairs, sought her out and insisted on her -coming down. She would obey, but some outbreak would speedily drive -her from his presence again. - -Their relations were more strained than ever. His love for her had -lost the complexion of love and had assumed that of jealousy. His -tenderness and gentleness toward her had been fed by hope, and when -hope died they vanished. Even that reverence for her innocence and the -respect for her character that he had shown was dissipated by the -stormy gusts of jealousy. - -Miss Trevisa was no more a help and stay to the poor girl than she had -been previously. She was soured and embittered, for her ambition to be -out of the house and in Othello Cottage had been frustrated. Coppinger -would not let her go till he and his wife had come to more friendly -terms. On her chimney-piece were two bunches of lavender, old lavender -from the rectory garden of the preceding year. They had become so dry -that the seeds fell out, and they no longer exhaled scent unless -pressed. - -Judith stood at her chimney-piece pressing her finger on the dropped -seeds, and picking them up by this means to throw them into the small -fire that smouldered in the grate. At first she went on listlessly -picking up a seed and casting it into the fire, actuated by her innate -love of order, without much thought--rather without any thought--for -her mind was engaged over the letter of Oliver and his visit the -previous night outside. But after a while, while thus gathering the -grains of lavender, she came to associate them with her trouble, and -as she thought--"Is there any escape for me, any happiness in -store?"--she picked up a seed and cast it into the fire. Then she -asked: "Is there any other escape for me than to die--to die and be -with dear papa again, now not in S. Enodoc Rectory garden, but in the -garden of Paradise?" And again she picked up and cast away a grain. -Then, as she touched her fingertip with her tongue and applied it to -another lavender seed, she said: "Or must this go on--this nightmare -of wretchedness, of persecution, of weariness to death without dying, -for years?" And she cast away the seed shudderingly. "Or"--and again, -now without touching her finger with her tongue, as though the last -thought had contaminated it--"or will he finally break and subdue me, -destroy me and Jamie, soul and body?" Shivering at the thought she -hardly dare to touch a seed, but forced herself to do so, raised one, -and hastily shook it from her. - -Thus she continued ringing the change, never formulating any scheme -of happiness for herself--certainly, in her white, guileless mind, not -in any way associating Oliver with happiness, save as one who might by -some means effect her discharge from this bondage--but he was not -linked, not woven up with any thought of the future. - -The wind clickered at the casement. She had a window toward the sea; -another, opposite, toward the land. Hers was a transparent chamber, -and her mind had been transparent. Only now, timidly, doubtfully, not -knowing herself why, did she draw a blind down over her soul, as -though there were something there that she would not have all the -world see, and yet which was in itself innocent. Then a new fear woke -up in her, lest she should go mad. Day after day, night after night, -was spent in the same revolution of distressing thought, in the same -bringing up and reconsidering of old difficulties, questions -concerning Coppinger, questions concerning Jamie, questions concerning -her own power of endurance and resistance. Was it possible that this -could go on without driving her mad? - -"One thing I see," murmured she; "all steps are broken away under me -on the stair, and one thing alone remains for me to cling to--one only -thing--my understanding. That"--she put her hands to her head--"that -is all I have left. My name is gone from me. My friends I am separated -from. My brother may not be with me. My happiness is all gone. My -health may break down, but to a clear understanding I must hold; if -that fails me I am lost--lost indeed." - -"Lost indeed!" exclaimed Coppinger, entering abruptly. He had caught -her last words. He came in in white rage, blinded and forgetful in his -passion, and with his hat on. There was a day when he entered the -boudoir with his head covered, and Judith, without a word, by the mere -force of her character shining out of her clear eyes, had made him -retreat and uncover. It was not so now. She was careless whether he -wore the hat or not when he entered her room. "So!" said he, in a -voice that foamed out of his mouth, "letters pass between you! -Letters--I have read that you sent. I stayed your messenger." - -"Well," answered Judith, with such composure as she could muster. She -had already passed through several stormy scenes with him, and knew -that her only security lay in self-restraint. "There was naught in it -that you might not read. What did I say? That my condition was -fixed--that none could alter it; that is true. That my great care and -sorrow of heart is for Jamie; that is true. That Oliver Menaida has -been threatened; that also is true. I have heard you speak words -against him of no good." - -"I will make good my words." - -"I wrote, and hoped to save him from a danger, and you from a crime." - -Coppinger laughed. "I have sent on the letter. Let him take what -precautions he will. I will chastise him. No man ever crossed me yet -but was brought to bite the dust." - -"He has not harmed you, Captain Coppinger." - -"He! Can I endure that you should call him by his Christian name, -while I am but Captain Coppinger? That you should seek him out, laugh, -and talk, and flirt with him--" - -"Captain Coppinger!" - -"Yes," raged he, "always Captain Coppinger, or Captain Cruel, and he -is dear Oliver! sweet Oliver!" He well-nigh suffocated in his fury. - -Judith drew herself up and folded her arms. She had in one hand a -sprig of lavender from which she had been shaking the over-ripe -grains. She turned deadly white. - -"Give me up his letter. Yours was an answer!" - -"I will give it to you," answered Judith, and she went to her workbox, -raised the lid, then the little tray containing reels, and from -beneath it extracted a crumpled scrap of paper. She handed it calmly, -haughtily to Coppinger, then folded her arms again, one hand still -holding the bunch of lavender. - -The letter was short. Coppinger's hand shook with passion so that he -could hardly hold it with sufficient steadiness to read it. It ran as -follows: - -"I must know your wishes, dear Judith. Do you intend to remain in that -den of wreckers and cut-throats? or do you desire that your friends -should bestir themselves to obtain your release? Tell us, in one word, -what to do, or rather what are your wishes, and we will do what we -can." - -"Well!" said Coppinger, looking up. "And your answer is to the -point--you wish to stay." - -"I did not answer thus. I said--leave me." - -"And never intended that he should leave you," raged Coppinger. He -came close up to her with his eyes glittering, his nostrils distended -and snorting and his hands clinched. - -Judith loosened her arms, and with her right hand swept a space before -her with the bunch of lavender. He should not approach her within -arm's length; the lavender marked the limit beyond which he might not -draw near. - -"Now, hear me!" said Coppinger. "I have been too indulgent. I have -humored you as a spoilt child. Because you willed this or that, I have -submitted. But the time for humoring is over. I can endure this -suspense no longer. Either you are my wife or you are not. I will -suffer no trifling over this any longer. You have as it were put your -lips to mine, and then sharply drawn them away--and now offer them to -another." - -"Silence!" exclaimed Judith. "You insult me." - -"You insult and outrage me!" said Coppinger, "when you run from your -home to chatter with and walk with this Oliver, and never deign to -speak to me. When he is your dear Oliver, and I am only Captain -Coppinger; when you have smiles for him you have black looks for me. -Is not that insulting, galling, stinging, maddening?" - -Judith was silent. Her throat swelled. There was some truth in what he -said; but, in the sight of heaven, she was guiltless of ever having -thought of wrong, of having supposed for a moment that what she had -allowed herself had not been harmless. - -"You are silent," said Coppinger. "Now hearken! With this moment I -turn over the page of humoring your fancies and yielding to your -follies. I have never pressed you to sign that register--I have -trusted to your good sense and good feeling. You cannot go back. Even -if you desire it, you cannot undo what has been done. Mine you are, -mine you shall be--mine wholly and always. Do you hear?" - -"Yes." - -"And agree?" - -"No." - -He was silent a moment, with clinched teeth and hands looking at her, -with eyes that smote her, as though they were bullets. - -"Very well," said he. "Your answer is no." - -"My answer is no, so help me God." - -"Very well," said he, between his teeth. "Then we open a new chapter." - -"What chapter is that?" - -"It is that of compulsion. That of solicitation is closed." - -"You cannot, whilst I have my senses. What!" She saw that he had a -great riding-whip in his hand. "What--the old story again! You will -strike me?" - -"No--not you. I will lash you into submission--through Jamie." - -She uttered a cry, dropped the lavender, that became scattered before -her, and held up her hands in mute entreaty. - -"I owe him chastisement. I have owed it him for many a day--and to-day -above all--as a go-between." - -Judith could not speak. She remained as one frozen--in one attitude, -in one spot, speechless. She could not stir, she could not utter a -word of entreaty, as Coppinger left the room. - -In another minute a loud and shrill cry reached her ears from the -court into which one of her windows looked. She knew the cry. It was -that of her twin brother, and it thrilled through her heart, quivered -in every nerve of her whole frame. - -She could hear what followed; but she could not stir. She was rooted -by her feet to the floor, but she writhed there. It was as though -every blow dealt the boy outside fell on her: she bent, she quivered, -her lips parted, but cry she could not, the sweat rolled off her brow; -she beat with her hands in the air. Now she thrilled up with uplifted -arms, on tip-toe, then sank--it was like a flame flickering in a -socket before it expires: it dances, it curls, it shoots up in a -tongue, it sinks into a bead of light, it rolls on one side, it sways -to the other, it leaps from the wick high into the air, and drops -again. It was so with Judith--every stroke dealt, every scream of the -tortured boy, every toss of his suffering frame, was repeated in her -room, by her--in supreme, unspeaking anguish, too intense for sound to -issue from her contracted throat. - -Then all was still, and Judith had sunk to her knees on the scattered -lavender, extending her arms, clasping her hands, spreading them -again, again beating her palms together, in a vague, unconscious way, -as if in breathing she could not gain breath enough without this -expansion and stretching forth of her arms. - -But, all at once, before her stood Coppinger, the whip in his hands. - -"Well! what now is your answer?" - -She breathed fast for some moments, laboring for expression. Then she -reared herself up and tried to speak, but could not. Before her, -threshed out on the floor, were the lavender seeds. They lay thick in -a film over the boards in one place. She put her finger among them and -drew No. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -GONE FROM ITS PLACE. - - -There are persons, they are not many, on whom Luck smiles and showers -gold. Not a steady daily downpour of money but, whenever a little -cloud darkens their sky, that same little cloud, which to others would -be mere gloom, opens and discharges on them a sprinkling of gold -pieces. - -It is not always the case that those who have rich relatives come in -for good things from them. In many cases there are such on whom Luck -turns her back, but to those of whom we speak the rain of gold, and -the snow of scrip and bonds come unexpectedly, but inevitably. Just as -Pilatus catches every cloud that drifts over Switzerland, so do they -by some fatality catch something out of every trouble, that tends -materially to solace their feelings, lacerated by that trouble. But -not so only. These little showers fall to them from relatives they -have taken no trouble to keep on good terms with, from acquaintances -whom they have cut, admirers whose good opinion they have not -concerned themselves to cultivate, friends with whom they have -quarrelled. Gideon's fleece, on one occasion, gathered to itself all -the dew that fell, and left the grass of the field around quite dry. -So do these fortunate persons concentrate on themselves, fortuitively -it seems, the dew of richness that descends and might have, ought to -have, dropped elsewhere; at all events, ought to have been more evenly -and impartially distributed. Gideon's fleece, on another occasion was -dry, when all the glebe was dripping. So is it with certain -unfortunates, Luck never favors them. What they have expected and -counted on they do not get, it is diverted, it drops round about them -on every side, only on them it never falls. - -Now, Miss Trevisa cannot be said to have belonged to either of these -classes. To the latter she had pertained till suddenly, from a -quarter quite unregarded, there came down on her a very satisfactory -little splash. Of relatives that were rich she had none, because she -had no relatives at all. Of bosom friends she had none, for her bosom -was of that unyielding nature, that no one would like to be taken to -it. But, before the marriage of her brother, and before he became -rector of S. Enodoc, when he was but a poor curate, she had been -companion to a spinster lady, Miss Ceely, near S. Austell. Now the -companion is supposed to be a person without an opinion of her own, -always standing in a cringing position to receive the opinion of her -mistress, then to turn it over and give it forth as her own. She is, -if she be a proper companion, a mere echo of the sentiments of her -employer. Moreover, she is expected to be amiable, never to resent a -rude word, never to take umbrage at neglect, always to be ready to -dance attendance on her mistress, and with enthusiasm of devotion, -real or simulated, to carry out her most absurd wishes, unreasoningly. -But Miss Trevisa had been, as a companion, all that a companion ought -not to be. She had argued with Miss Ceely, invariably, had crossed her -opinions, had grumbled at her when she asked that anything might be -done, raised difficulties, piled up objections, blocked the way to -whatever Miss Ceely particularly set the heart on having executed. The -two ladies were always quarrelling, always calling each other names, -and it was a marvel to the relatives of Miss Ceely that she and her -companion hung together for longer than a month. Nevertheless they -did. Miss Trevisa left the old lady when Mr. Peter Trevisa became -rector of S. Enodoc, and then Miss Ceely obtained in her place quite -an ideal companion, a very mirror--she had but to look on her face, -smile, and a smile was repeated, weep, and tears came in the mirror. -The new companion grovelled at her feet, licked the dust off her -shoes, fawned on her hand, ran herself off her legs to serve her, grew -gray under the misery of enduring Miss Ceely's jibes and sneers and -insults, finally sacrificed her health in nursing her. When Miss -Ceely's will was opened it was found that she had left nothing--not a -farthing to this obsequious attendant, but had bequeathed fifteen -hundred pounds, free of legacy duty, and all her furniture and her -house to Miss Trevisa, with whom she had not kept up correspondence -for twenty-three years. It really seemed as if leathery, rusty Aunt -Dionysia, from being a dry Gideon's fleece, were about to be turned -into a wet and wringable fleece. No one was more astounded than -herself. - -It was now necessary that Miss Trevisa should go to S. Austell and see -after what had come to her thus unsolicited and unexpectedly. All need -for her to remain at Pentyre was at an end. - -Before she departed--not finally, but to see about the furniture that -was now hers, and to make up her mind whether to keep or to sell -it--she called Judith to her. - -That day, the events of which were given in last chapter, had produced -a profound impression on Jamie. He had become gloomy, timid, and -silent. His old idle chatter ceased. He clung to his sister, and -accompanied her wherever she went; he could not endure to be with -Coppinger. When he heard his voice, caught a glimpse of him, he ran -away and hid. Jamie had been humored as a child, never beaten, -scolded, put in a corner, sent to bed, cut off his pudding, but the -rod had now been applied to his back and his first experience of -corporal punishment was the cruel and vindictive hiding administered, -not for any fault he had committed but because he had done his -sister's bidding. He was filled with hatred of Coppinger, mingled with -fear, and when alone with Judith would break out into exclamations of -entreaty that she would run away with him, and of detestation of the -man who held them there, as it were prisoners. - -"Ju," said he, "I wish he were dead. I hate him. Why doesn't God kill -him and set us free!" - -At another time he said, "Ju, dear! You do not love him. I wish I were -a big strong man like Oliver, and I would do what Captain Cruel did." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Captain Cruel shot at Oliver." - -This was the first tidings Judith had heard of the attempt on Oliver's -life. - -"He is a mean coward," said Jamie. "He hid behind a hedge and shot at -him. But he did not hurt him." - -"God preserved him," said Judith. - -"Why does not God preserve us! Why did God let that beast----" - -"Hush, Jamie!" - -"I will not--that wretch--beat me? Why did He not send lightning and -strike him dead?" - -"I cannot tell you, darling. We must wait and trust." - -"I am tired of waiting and trusting. If I had a gun I would not shoot -birds, I would go behind a hedge and shoot Captain Coppinger. There -would be nothing wrong in that, Ju?" - -"Yes there would. It would be a sin." - -"Not after he did that to Oliver." - -"I would never--never love you, if you did that." - -"You would always love me whatever I did," said Jamie. He spoke the -truth, Judith knew it. Her eyes filled, she drew the boy to her -passionately and kissed his golden head. - -Then came Aunt Dionysia and summoned her into her own room. Jamie -followed. - -"Judith," began Aunt Dunes, in her usual hard tones, and with the same -frozen face, "I wish you particularly to understand. Look here! You -have caused me annoyance enough while I have been here. Now I shall -have a house of my own at S. Austell, and if I choose to live in it I -can. If I do not, I can let it, and live at Othello Cottage. I have -not made up my mind what to do. Fifteen hundred pounds is a dirty -little sum, and not half as much as ought to have been left me for all -I had to bear from that old woman. I am glad for one thing that she -has left me something, though not much. I should have despaired of her -salvation had she not. However her heart was touched at the last, -though not touched enough. Now what I want you to understand is -this--it entirely depends on your conduct whether after my death this -sum of fifteen hundred pounds and a beggarly sum of about five hundred -I have of my own, comes to you or not. As long as this nonsense goes -on between you and Captain Coppinger--you pretending you are not -married, when you are, there is no security for me that you and Jamie -may not come tumbling in upon me and become a burden to me. Captain -Coppinger will not endure this fooling much longer. _He_ can take -advantage of your mistake. _He_ can say--I am not married. Where is -the evidence? Produce proof of the marriage having been -solemnized--and then he may send you out of his house upon the downs -in the cold. What would you be then, eh? All the world holds you to -be Mrs. Coppinger. A nice state of affairs, if it wakes up one morning -to hear that Mrs. Coppinger has been kicked out of the Glaze, that she -never was the wife. What will the world say, eh? What sort of name -will the world give you, when you have lived here as his wife." - -"That I have not." - -"Lived here, gone to balls as his wife when you were not. What will -the world call you, eh?" - -Judith was silent, holding both her hands, open against her bosom. -Jamie beside her, looking up in her face, not understanding what his -aunt was saying. - -"Very well--or rather very ill!" continued Miss Trevisa. "And then you -and this boy here will come to me to take you in, come and saddle -yourselves on me, and eat up my little fund. That is what will be the -end of it, if you remain in your folly. Go at once to the rector, and -put your name where it should have been two months ago, and your -position is secure, he cannot drive you away, disgusted at your -stubbornness, and you will relieve me of a constant source of -uneasiness. It is not that only, but I must care for the good name of -Trevisa, which you happen to bear, that that name may not be trailed -in the dust. The common sense of the matter is precisely what you -cannot see. If you are not Coppinger's wife you should not be here. If -you are Coppinger's wife, then your name should be in the register. -Now here you have come. You have appeared in public with him. You have -but one course open to you, and that is to secure your position and -your name and honor. You cannot undo what is done, but you can -complete what is done insufficiently. The choice between alternatives -is no longer before you. If you had purposed to withdraw from -marriage, break off the engagement, then you should not have come on -to Pentyre, and remained here. As, however, you did this, there is -absolutely nothing else to be done, but to sign the register. Do you -hear me?" - -"Yes." - -"And you will obey?" - -"No." - -"Pig-headed fool," said Miss Trevisa. "Not one penny will I leave you. -That I swear, if you remain obstinate." - -"Do not let us say anything more about that, aunt. Now you are going -away, is there anything connected with the house you wish me to attend -to? That I will do readily." - -"Yes, there are several things," growled Miss Trevisa, "and, first of -all, are you disposed to do anything, any common little kindness for -the man whose bread you eat, whose roof covers you?" - -"Yes, aunt." - -"Very well, then. Captain Coppinger has his bowl of porridge every -morning. I suppose he was accustomed to it before he came into these -parts, and he cannot breakfast without it. He says that our Cornish -maids cannot make porridge properly, and I have been accustomed to see -to it. Either it is lumpy, or it is watery, or it is saltless. Will -you see to that?" - -"Yes, aunt, willingly." - -"You ought to know how to make porridge, as you are more than half -Scottish." - -"I certainly can make it. Dear papa always liked it." - -"Then you will attend to that. If you are too high and too great a -lady to put your hand to it yourself, you can see that the cook -manages it aright. There is a new girl in now, who is a fool." - -"I will make it myself. I will do all I can do." - -"Then take the keys. Now that I go, you must be mistress of the house. -But for your folly, I might have been from here, and in my own house, -or rather in that given me for my use, Othello Cottage. I was to have -gone there directly after your marriage, I had furnished it, and made -it comfortable, and then you took to your fantastic notions, and hung -back, and refused to allow that you were married, and so I had to -stick on here two months. Here, take the keys." Miss Trevisa almost -flung them at her niece. "Now I have two thousand pounds of my own, -and a house at S. Austell, it does not become me to be doing menial -service. Take the keys. I will never have them back." - -When Miss Trevisa was gone, and Judith was by herself at night, Jamie -being asleep, she was able to think over calmly what her aunt had -said. She concerned herself not the least, relative to the promise her -aunt had made of leaving her two thousand pounds, were she -submissive, and her threat of disinheriting her, should she continue -recalcitrant, but she did feel that there was truth in her aunt's -words when she said that she, Judith, had placed herself in a wrong -position--but it was a wrong position into which she had been forced, -she had not voluntarily entered it. She had, indeed, consented to -become Coppinger's wife, but when she found that Coppinger had -employed Jamie to give signals that might mislead a vessel to its ruin -she could not go further to meet him. Although he had endeavored to -clear himself in her eyes, she did not believe him. She was convinced -that he was guilty, though at moments she hoped, and tried to persuade -herself that he was not. Then came the matter of the diamonds. There, -again, the gravest suspicion rested on him. Again he had endeavored to -exculpate himself, yet she could not believe that he was innocent. -Till full confidence that he was blameless in these matters was -restored, an insuperable wall divided them. Never would she belong to -a man who was a wrecker, who belonged to that class of criminals her -father had regarded with the utmost horror. - -Before she retired to bed, she picked up from under the fender the -scrap of paper on which Oliver's message had been written. It had lain -there unobserved where Coppinger had flung it, now, as she tidied her -room, and arranged the fire-rug, she observed it. She smoothed it out, -folded it, and went to her workbox to replace it where it had been -before. - -She raised the lid, and was about to put the note among some other -papers she had there, a letter of her mother's, a piece of her -father's writing, some little accounts she had kept, when she was -startled to see that the packet of arsenic Mr. Menaida had given her -was missing. - -She turned out the contents of her workbox. It was nowhere to be -found, either there, or in her drawers. Her aunt must have been prying -into the box, have found and removed it, so Judith thought, and with -this thought appeased her alarm. Perhaps, considering the danger of -having arsenic about, Aunt Dionysia had done right in removing it. She -had done wrong in doing so without speaking to Judith. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - -A SECOND LIE. - - -Next day, Miss Trevisa being gone, Judith had to attend to the work of -the house. It was her manifest duty to do so. Hitherto she had shrunk -from the responsibility, because she shrank from assuming a position -in the house to which she refused to consider that she had a right. -Judith was perfectly competent to manage an establishment, she had a -clear head, a love of order, and a power of exacting obedience of -servants without incessant reproof. Moreover, she had that faculty -possessed by few of directing others in their work so that each moved -along his or her own line and fulfilled the allotted work with ease. -She had managed her father's house, and managed it admirably. She knew -that, as the king's government must be carried on, so the routine of a -household must be kept going. Judith had sufficient acquaintance also -with servants to be aware that the wheel would stop or move -spasmodically, unless an authoritative hand were applied to it to keep -it in even revolution. She knew also that whatever happened in a -house--a birth, a death, a wedding, an uproar--the round of common -duties must be discharged, the meals prepared, the bread baked, the -milk skimmed, the beds made, the carpets swept, the furniture dusted, -the windows opened, the blinds drawn down, the table laid, the silver -and glass burnished. Nothing save a fire which gutted a house must -interfere with all this routine. Miss Trevisa was one of those ladies -who, in their own opinion, are condemned by Providence never to have -good servants. A benign Providence sheds good domestics into every -other house, save that which she rules. She is born under a star which -inexorably sends the scum and dregs of servantdom under her sceptre. -Miss Trevisa regarded a servant as a cat regards a mouse, a dog -regards a fox, and a dolphin a flying-fish, as something to be run -after, snapped at, clawed, leaped upon, worried perpetually. She was -incapable of believing that there could be any good in a servant, that -there was any other side to a domestic save a seamy side. She could -make no allowance for ignorance, for weakness, for lightheartedness. A -servant in her eyes must be a drudge ever working, never speaking, -smiling, taking a hand off the duster, without a mind above flue and -tea-leaves, and unable to soar above a cobweb; with a temper perfect -in endurance of daily, hourly fault-finding, nagging, grumbling, a -mind unambitious also of commendation. Miss Trevisa held that every -servant that a malign Providence had sent her was clumsy, insolent, -slatternly, unmethodical, idle, wasteful, a gossip, a gadabout, a -liar, a thief, was dainty, greedy, one of a cursed generation; and -when in the Psalms, David launched out in denunciation of the enemies -of the Lord, Miss Trevisa, when she heard or read these Psalms, -thought of servantdom. Servants were referred to when David said, -"Hide me from the insurrection of the wicked doers, who have whet -their tongues like a sword, that they may privily shoot at him that is -perfect," _i.e._, me, was Miss Trevisa's comment. "They encourage -themselves in mischief; and commune among themselves how they may lay -snares, and say, that no man shall see them." "And how," said Miss -Trevisa, "can men be so blind as not to believe that the Bible is -inspired when David hits the character of servants off to the life!" - -And not the Psalms only, but the Prophets were full of servants' -delinquencies. What were Tyre and Egypt but figures of servantdom -shadowed before. What else did Isaiah lift up his testimony about, and -Jeremiah lament over, but the iniquities of the kitchen and the -servants' hall. Miss Trevisa read her Bible, and great comfort did it -afford her, because it did denounce the servant maids so unsparingly -and prepared brimstone and outer darkness for them. - -Now Judith had seen and heard much of the way in which Miss Trevisa -managed Captain Coppinger's house. Her room adjoined that of her aunt, -and she knew that if her aunt were engaged on--it mattered not what -absorbing work, embroidery, darning a stocking, reading a novel, -saying her prayers, studying the cookery book--if a servant sneezed -within a hundred yards, or upset a drop of water, or clanked a -dust-pan, or clicked a door-handle, Miss Trevisa would be distracted -from her work and rush out of her room, just as a spider darts from -its recess, and sweep down on the luckless servant to worry and abuse -her. - -Judith, knowing this, knew also that the day of Miss Trevisa's -departure would be marked with white chalk, and lead to a general -relaxation of discipline, to an inhaling of long breaths, and a -general stretching and taking of ease. It was necessary, therefore, -that she should go round and see that the wheel was kept turning. - -To her surprise, on entering the hall, she found Captain Coppinger -there. - -"I beg your pardon," she said, "I thought you were out." - -She looked at him and was struck with his appearance, the clay-like -color of his face, the dark lines in it, the faded look in his eyes. - -"Are you unwell?" she asked; "you really look ill." - -"I am ill." - -"Ill--what is the matter?" - -"A burning in my throat. Cramp and pains--but what is that to you?" - -"When did it come on?" - -"But recently." - -"Will you not have a doctor to see you?" - -"A doctor!--no." - -"Was the porridge as you liked it this morning? I made it." - -"It was good enough." - -"Would you like more now?" - -"No." - -"And to-morrow morning, will you have the same?" - -"Yes--the same." - -"I will make it again. Aunt said the new cook did not understand how -to mix and boil it to your liking." - -Coppinger nodded. - -Judith remained standing and observing him. Some faces when touched by -pain and sickness are softened and sweetened. The hand of suffering -passes over the countenance and brushes away all that is frivolous, -sordid, vulgar; it gives dignity, purity, refinement, and shows what -the inner soul might be were it not entangled and degraded by base -association and pursuit. It is different with other faces, the hand of -suffering films away the assumed expression of good nature, honesty, -straightforwardness, and unmasks the evil inner man. The touch of pain -had not improved the expression of Cruel Coppinger. It cannot, -however, with justice be said that the gentler aspect of the man, -which Judith had at one time seen, was an assumption. He was a man in -whom there was a certain element of good, but it was mixed up with -headlong wilfulness, utter selfishness, and resolution to have his own -way at any cost. - -Judith could see, now that his face was pain-struck, how much of evil -there was in the soul that had been disguised by a certain dash of -masculine overbearing and brusqueness. - -"What are you looking at?" asked Coppinger, glancing up. - -"I was thinking," answered Judith. - -"Of what?" - -"Of you--of Wyvill, of the wreck on Doom Bar, of the jewels of Lady -Knighton, and last of all of Jamie's maltreatment." - -"And what of all that?" he said in irritable scorn. - -"That I need not say. I have drawn my own conclusions." - -"You torment me, you--when I am ill? They call me Cruel, but it is you -who are cruel." - -Judith did not wish to be drawn into discussion that must be -fruitless. She said, quietly, in altered tone, "Can I get you anything -to comfort you?" - -"No--go your way. This will pass. Besides, it is naught to you. Go; I -would be left alone." - -Judith obeyed, but she was uneasy. She had never seen Coppinger look -as he looked now. It was other, altogether, after he had broken his -arm. Other, also, when for a day he was crippled with bruises, after -the wreck. She looked into the hall several times during the day. In -the afternoon he was easier, and went out; his mouth had been parched -and burning, and he had been drinking milk. The empty glass was on the -table. He would eat nothing at mid-day. He turned from food, and left -the room for his own chamber. - -Judith was anxious. She more than once endeavored to draw Coppinger -into conversation relative to himself, but he would not speak of what -affected him. He was annoyed and ashamed at being out of his usual -rude health. - -"It is naught," he said, "but a bilious attack, and will pass. Leave -me alone." - -She had been so busy all day, that she had seen little of Jamie. He -had taken advantage of Captain Coppinger not being about, to give -himself more license to roam than he had of late, and to go with his -donkey on the cliffs. Anyhow Judith on this day did not have him -hanging to her skirts. She was glad of it, for, though she loved him, -he would have been an encumbrance when she was so busy. - -The last thing at night she did was to go to Coppinger to inquire what -he would take. He desired nothing but spirits and milk. He thought -that a milk-punch would give him ease and make him sleep. That he was -weak and had suffered pain she saw, and she was full of pity for him. -But this she did not like to exhibit, partly because he might -misunderstand her feelings, and partly because he seemed irritated at -being unwell, and at loss of power; irritated, at all events, at it -being observed that he was not in his usual plenitude of strength and -health. - -That night the Atlantic was troubled, and the wind carried the billows -against the cliffs in a succession of rhythmic roars that filled the -air with sound and made the earth quiver. Judith could not sleep, she -listened to the thud of the water-heaps flung against the rocks; there -was a clock on the stairs and in her wakefulness she listened to the -tick of the clock, and the boom of the waves, now coming together, -then one behind the other, now the wave-beat catching up the -clock-tick, then falling in arrear, the ocean getting angry and making -up its pace by a double beat. Moreover flakes of foam were carried on -the wind and came, like snow, against her window that looked seaward -striking the glass and adhering to it. - -As Judith lay watchful in the night her mind again recurred to the -packet of arsenic that had been abstracted from her workbox. It was -inconsiderate of her to have left it there; she ought to have locked -her box. But who could have supposed that anyone would have gone to -the box, raised the tray and searched the contents of the compartment -beneath? Judith had been unaccustomed to lock up anything, because she -had never had any secrets to hide from any eye. She again considered -the probability of her aunt having removed it, and then it occurred to -her that perhaps Miss Trevisa might have supposed that she--Judith--in -a fit of revolt against the wretchedness of her life might be induced -to take the poison herself and finish her miseries. "It was absurd if -Aunt Dunes thought that," said Judith to herself; "she can little have -known how my dear Papa's teaching has sunk into my heart, to suppose -me capable of such a thing--and then--to run away like a coward and -leave Jamie unprotected. It was too absurd." - -Next morning Judith was in her room getting a large needle with which -to hem a bit of carpet edge that had been fraying for the last five -years, and which no one had thought of putting a thread to, and so -arresting the disintegration. Jamie was in the room. Judith said to -him: - -"My dear, you have not been skinning and stuffing any birds lately, -have you?" - -"No, Ju." - -"Because I have missed--but, Jamie, I hope you have not been at my -workbox?" - -"What about your workbox, Ju?" - -She knew the boy so well, that her suspicions were at once aroused by -this answer. When he had nothing to hide he replied with a direct -negative or affirmative, but when he had done what his conscience -would not quite allow was right, he fell into equivocation, and -shuffled awkwardly. - -"Jamie," said Judith, looking him straight in the face, "have you been -to my box?" - -"Only just looked in." - -Then he ran to the window. "Oh, do see, Ju, how patched the glass is -with foam!--and is it not dirty?" - -"Jamie, come back. I want an answer." - -He had opened the casement and put his hand out and was wiping off the -patches of froth. - -"What a lot of it there is, Ju." - -"Come here, instantly, Jamie, and shut the window." - -The boy obeyed, creeping toward her sideways, with his head down. - -"Jamie, did you lift the tray?" - -"Only on one side, just a little bit." - -"Did you take anything from under the tray?" - -He did not answer immediately. She looked at him searchingly and in -suspense. He never could endure this questioning look of hers, and he -ran to her, put his arms round her waist, and clasped to her side, hid -his face in her gown. - -"Only a little." - -"A little what?" - -"I don't know." - -"Jamie, no lies. There was a blue paper there containing poison, that -you were not to have unless there were occasion for it--some bird skin -to be preserved and dressed with it. Now, did you take that?" - -"Yes." - -"Go and bring it back to me immediately." - -"I can't." - -"Why not? Where is it?" - -The boy fidgeted, looked up in his sister's face to see what -expression it bore, buried his head again, and said: - -"Ju! he is rightly called Cruel. I hate him, and so do you, don't you, -Ju? I have put the arsenic into his oatmeal, and we will get rid of -him and be free and go away. It will be jolly." - -"Jamie!" with a cry of horror. - -"He won't whip me and scold you any more." - -"Jamie! Oh, my Lord, have pity on him! have pity on us!" - -She clasped her hands to her head, rushed from the room, and flew down -the stairs. - -But ten minutes before that Judith had given Coppinger his bowl of -porridge. He had risen late that morning. He was better, he said, and -he looked more himself than the preceding day. He was now seated at -the table in the hall, and had poured the fresh milk into the bowl, -had dipped the spoon, put some of the porridge to his mouth, tasted, -and was looking curiously into the spoon, when the door was flung -open, Judith entered, and without a word of explanation, caught the -bowl from him and dashed it on the floor. - -Coppinger looked at her with his boring, dark eyes intently, and said: -"What is the meaning of this?" - -"It is poisoned." - -Judith was breathless. She drew back relieved at having cast away the -fatal mess. - -Coppinger rose to his feet, and glared at her across the table, -leaning with his knuckles on the board. He did not speak for a moment, -his face became livid, and his hands resting on the table shook as -though he were shivering in an ague. - -"There is arsenic in the porridge," gasped Judith. - -She had not time to weigh what she should say, how explain her -conduct; but one thought had held her--to save Coppinger's life while -there was yet time. - -The Captain's dog that had been lying at his master's feet rose, went -to the spilt porridge, and began to lap the milk and devour the paste. -Neither Judith nor Coppinger regarded him. - -"It was an accident," faltered Judith. - -"You lie," said Coppinger, in thrilling tones, "you lie, you -murderess! You sought to kill me." - -Judith did not answer for a moment. She also was trembling. She had to -resolve what course to pursue. She could not, she would not, betray -her brother, and subject him to the worst brutality of treatment from -the infuriated man whose life he had sought. - -It were better for her to take the blame on herself. - -"I made the porridge--I and no one else." - -"You told me so, yesterday." He maintained his composure marvellously, -but he was stunned by the sudden discovery of treachery in the woman -he had loved and worshipped. - -"You maddened me by your treatment, but I did not desire that you -should die. I repented and have saved your life." - -As Judith spoke she felt as though the flesh of her face stiffened, -and the skin became as parchment. She could hardly open her mouth to -speak and stir her tongue. - -"Go!" said Coppinger, pointing to the door. "Go, you and your brother. -Othello cottage is empty. Go, murderess, poisoner of your husband, -there and wait till you hear from me. Under one roof, to eat off one -board, is henceforth impossible. Go!" he remained pointing, and a -sulphurous fire flickered in his eyes. - -Then the hound began to howl, threw itself down, its limbs were -contracted, it foamed at the mouth, and howled again. - -To the howlings of the poisoned and dying dog Judith and Jamie left -Pentyre. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - -FAST IN HIS HANDS. - - -Judith and Jamie were together in Othello Cottage--banished from -Pentyre with a dark and threatening shadow over them, but this, -however, gave the boy but little concern; he was delighted to be away -from a house where he had been in incessant terror, and where he was -under restraint; moreover, it was joy to him to be now where he need -not meet Coppinger at every turn. - -Judith forbade his going to Polzeath to see Uncle Zachie and Oliver -Menaida, as she thought it advisable, under the circumstances, to keep -themselves to themselves, and above all not to give further occasion -for the suspicions and jealousy of Coppinger. This was to her, under -the present condition of affairs, specially distressing, as she needed -some counsel as to what she should do. Uncle Zachie at his best was a -poor adviser, but on no account now would she appeal to his son. She -was embarrassed and alarmed. And she had excuse for embarrassment and -alarm. She had taken upon herself the attempt that had been made on -the life of Coppinger, and he would, she supposed, believe her to be -guilty. - -What would he do? Would he proceed against her for attempted murder? -If so, the case against her was very complete. It could be shown that -Mr. Menaida had given her this arsenic, that she had kept it by her in -her workbox while at the Glaze, that she had been on the most -unsatisfactory terms with Captain Coppinger, and that she had refused -to complete her marriage with him by appending her signature to the -register. She was now aware--and the thought made her feel sick at -heart and faint--that her association with the Menaidas had been most -injudicious and had been capable of misinterpretation. It had been -misinterpreted by Coppinger, and probably also by the gossips of -Polzeath. It could be shown that a secret correspondence had been -carried on between her and Oliver, which had been intercepted by her -husband. This was followed immediately by the attempt to poison -Coppinger. The arsenic had been given him in the porridge her own -hands had mixed, and which had been touched by no one else. It was -natural to conclude that she had deliberately purposed to destroy her -husband, that she might be free to marry Oliver Menaida. - -If she were prosecuted on the criminal charge of attempted murder, the -case could be made so conclusive against her that her conviction was -certain. - -Her only chance of escape lay in two directions--one that she should -tell the truth, and allow Jamie to suffer the consequences of what he -had done, which would be prison or a lunatic asylum. The other was -that she should continue to screen him and trust that Coppinger would -not prosecute her. He might hesitate about proceeding with such a -case, which would attract attention to himself, to his household, and -lay bare to the public eye much that he would reasonably be supposed -to wish to keep concealed. If, for instance, the case were brought -into court the story of the enforced marriage must come out, and that -would rake up once more the mystery of the wreckers on Doom Bar, and -of Lady Knighton's jewels. Coppinger might and probably would grasp at -the other alternative--take advantage of the incompletion of the -marriage, repudiate her, and let the matter of the poisoned porridge -remain untouched. - -The more Judith turned the matter over in her head the more sure she -became that the best course, indeed the only one in which safety lay, -was for her to continue to assume to herself the guilt of the attempt -on Coppinger's life. He would see by her interference the second time, -and prevention of his taking a second portion of the arsenic, that she -did not really seek his life, but sought to force him, through -personal fear, to drive her from his house and break the bond by which -he bound her to him. For the sake of this going back from a purpose of -murder, or from thinking that she had never intended to do more than -drive him to a separation by alarm for his own safety; for the sake of -the old love he had borne her, he might forbear pressing this matter -to its bitter consequences, and accept what she desired--their -separation. - -But if Judith allowed the truth to come out, then her husband would -have no such compunction. It would be an opportunity for him to get -rid of the boy he detested, and even if he did not have him consigned -to jail, then it would be only because he would send him to an asylum. - -Judith went out on the cliffs. The sea was troubled, far as the -horizon, strewn with white horses shaking their manes, pawing and -prancing in their gallop landward. There was no blue, no greenness in -the ocean now. The dull tinctures of winter were in it. The Atlantic -wore its scowl, was leaden and impatient. The foam on the rocks was -driven up in spouts into the air and carried over the downs, it caught -in the thorn bushes like flocks of wool, and was no cleaner. It lay -with the thin melting snow and melted with it into a dirty slush. It -plastered the face of Othello Cottage as though, in brutal insolence, -Ocean had been spitting at the house that was built of the wreck he -had failed to gulp down, though he had chewed the life out of it. The -foam rested in flakes on the rushes where it hung and fluttered like -tufts of cotton-grass. It was dropped about by the wind for miles -inland as though the wind were running in a paper chase. It was as -though sky and sea were contending in a game of pelting the land, the -one with snow, the other with foam, the one sweet, the other salt. -Judith walked where, near the edge of the cliffs, there was no snow, -and looked out at the angry ocean. All without was cold, rugged, -ruffled, wretched; and within her heart burned a fire of apprehension, -distress, almost of despair. All at once she came upon Mr. Desiderius -Mules, walking in an opposite direction, engaged in wiping the -foam-flakes out of his eyes. - -"Halloo! you here Mrs. Coppinger?" exclaimed the rector; "glad to see -you. I'm not here like S. Anthony preaching to the fishes, because I -am a practical man. In the first place, in such a disturbed sea the -fishes would have enough to do to look after themselves and would be -ill-disposed to lend me an ear. In the next place the wind is on -shore, and they would not hear me were I to lift up my voice. So I -don't waste words and over-strain my larynx. If the bishop were a mile -or a mile and a half inland, it might be different, he might admire my -zeal. And what brings you here?" - -"Oh, Mr. Mules!" exclaimed Judith, with a leap of hope in her -heart--here was someone who might if he would be a help to her. She -had indeed made up her own mind as to what was the safest road on -which to set her feet, but she was timid, shrank from falsehood, and -earnestly craved for someone to whom she could speak, and from whom -she could obtain advice. - -"Oh, Mr. Mules! will you give me some advice and assistance?" - -"Advice, by all means," said the rector. "I'll turn and walk your way, -the froth is blown into my face and stings it. My skin is sensitive, -so are my eyes. Upon my word, when I get home my face will be as salt -as if I had flooded it with tears--fancy me crying. What did you say -you wanted--advice?" - -"Advice and assistance." - -"Advice you shall have, it is my profession to give it. I mix it with -pepper and salt and serve it out in soup plates every week--am ready -with it every day, Mrs. Coppinger. I have buckets of it at your -disposal, bring your tureen and I'll tip in as much of the broth as -you want, and may you like it. As to assistance, that is another -matter. Pecuniary assistance I never give. I am unable to do so. My -principles stand in the way. I have set up a high standard for myself -and I stick to it. I never render pecuniary assistance to any one, as -it demoralizes the receiver. I hope and trust it was not pecuniary -assistance you wanted." - -"No, Mr. Mules--not that, only guidance." - -"Oh, guidance! I'm your sign-post, where do you want to go!" - -"It is this, sir. I have given poison to Mr. Coppinger." - -"Mercy on me!" the rector jumped back and turned much the tinge of the -foam plasters that were on his face. - -"That is to say, I gave him arsenic mixed with his porridge the day -before yesterday, and it made him very ill. Yesterday----" - -"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Mules, "no more of this. This is ghastly. Let -us say it is hallucination on your part. You are either not right in -your head or are very wicked. If you please--don't come nearer to me. -I can hear you quite well, hear a great deal more than pleases me. -You ask my advice, and I give it: Sign the register, that will set me -square, and put me in an unassailable position with the public, and -also, secondarily, it will be to your advantage. You are now a -nondescript, and a nondescript is objectionable. If you please--you -will excuse me--I should prefer _not_ standing between you and the -cliff. There is no knowing what a person who confesses to poisoning -her husband might do. If it be a case of lunacy--well, more reason -that I should use precautions. My life is valuable. Come, there is -only one thing you can do to make me comfortable--sign the register." - -"You will not mention what I have told you to anyone?" - -"Save and defend us! I speak of it!--I! Come, come, be rational. Sign -the register and set my mind at ease, that is all I want and ask for, -and then I wash my hands of you." - -Then away went Mr. Desiderius Mules, with the wind catching his coat -tails, twisting them, throwing them up against his back, parting them, -and driving them one on each of him, taking and cutting them and -sending them between his legs. - -Judith stood mournfully looking after him. The sign-post, as he had -called himself was flying from the traveller whom it was his duty to -direct. - -Then a hand was laid on her arm. She started, turned and saw Oliver -Menaida, flushed with rapid walking and with the fresh air he had -encountered. - -"I have come to see you," he said. "I have come to offer you my -father's and my assistance. We have just heard----" - -"What?" - -"That Captain Coppinger has turned you and Jamie out of his house." - -"Have you heard any reason assigned?" - -"Because--so it is said--he had beaten the boy, and you were incensed, -angry words passed--and it ended in a rupture." - -"That, then, is the common explanation?" - -"Everyone is talking about it. Everyone says that. And now, what will -you do?" - -"Thank you. Jamie and I are at Othello Cottage, where we are -comfortable. My aunt had furnished it intending to reside in it -herself. As for our food, we receive that from the Glaze." - -"But this cannot continue." - -"It must continue for a while." - -"And then?" - -"The future is not open to my eyes." - -"Judith, that has taken place at length which I have been long -expecting." - -"What do you mean?" - -"This miserable condition of affairs has reached its climax, and there -has been a turn." - -Judith sighed. "It has taken a turn, indeed." - -"Now that Captain Coppinger has been brought to his senses, and he -sees that your resolve is not to be shaken, and he releases you, or -you have released yourself from the thraldom you have been in. I do -not suppose the popular account of the matter is true, wholly." - -"It is not at all true." - -"That matters not. The fact remains that you are out of Pentyre Glaze -and your own mistress. The snare is broken and you are delivered." - -Again Judith sighed, and she shook her head despondingly. - -"You are free," persisted Oliver, "just consider. You were hurried -through a marriage when insensible, and when you came to consciousness -you did what was the only thing you could do--you absolutely refused -your signature that would validate what had taken place. That was -conclusive. That ceremony was as worthless as this sea-foam that blows -by. No court in the world would hold that you were bound by it. The -consent, the free consent, of each party in such a convention is -essential. As to your being at Pentyre, nothing against that can be -alleged; Miss Trevisa was your aunt and constituted your guardian by -your father. Your place was by her. To her you went when my father's -house was no longer at your service through my return. At Pentyre you -remained as long as Miss Trevisa was there. She went, and at once you -left the house." - -"You do not understand." - -"Excuse me, I think I do. But no matter as to details. When your aunt -went, you went also--as was proper under the circumstances. We have -heard, I do not know whether it be true, that your aunt has come in -for a good property." - -"For a little something." - -"Then, shall you go to her and reside with her?" - -"No; she will not have Jamie and me." - -"So we supposed. Now my father has a proposal to make. The firm to -which I belong has been good enough to take me into partnership, -esteeming my services far higher than they deserve, and I am to live -at Oporto, and act for them there. As my income will now be far larger -than my humble requirements, I have resolved to allow my dear father -sufficient for him to live upon comfortably where he wills, and he has -elected to follow me, and take up his abode in Portugal. Now what he -has commissioned me to say is--will you go with him? Will you continue -to regard him as Uncle Zachie, and be to him as his dear little niece, -and keep house for him in the sunny southern land?" - -Judith's eyes filled with tears. - -"And Jamie is included in the invitation. He is to come also, and help -my father to stuff the birds of Portugal. A new ornithological field -is opening before him, he says and he must have help in it." - -"I cannot," said Judith, in a low tone, with her head sunk on her -breast. "I cannot leave here till Captain Coppinger gives me leave." - -"But, surely, you are no longer bound to him?" - -"He holds me faster than before." - -"I cannot understand this." - -"No; because you do not know all." - -"Tell me the whole truth. Let me help you. Let my father help you. You -little know how we both have our hearts in your service." - -"Well, I will tell you." - -But she hesitated and trembled. She fixed her eyes on the wild, -foaming, leaden sea, and pressed her bosom with both hands. - -"I poisoned him." - -"Judith!" - -"It is true, I gave him arsenic, once; that your father had let me -have for Jamie. If he had taken it the second time, when I offered it -him in his bowl of porridge, he would be dead now. Do you see--he -holds me in his hands and I cannot stir. I could not escape till I -know what he intends to do with me. Now go--leave me to my fate." - -"Judith--it is not true! Though I hear this from your lips I will not -believe it. No; you need my father's, you need my help more than -ever." He put her hand to his lips. "It is white--innocent. I _know_ -it, in spite of your words." - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - -TWO ALTERNATIVES. - - -When Judith returned to Othello Cottage, she was surprised to see a -man promenading around it, flattening his nose at the window, so as to -bring his eyes against the glass, then, finding that the breath from -his nostrils dimmed the pane, wiping the glass and again flattening -his nose. At first he held his hands on the window-ledge, but being -incommoded by the refraction of the light, put his open hands against -the pane, one on each side of his face. Having satisfied himself at -one casement, he went to another, and made the same desperate efforts -to see in at that. - -Judith coming up to the door, and putting the key in, disturbed him, -he started, turned, and with a nose much like putty, but rapidly -purpling with returned circulation, disclosed the features of Mr. -Scantlebray, Senior. - -"Ah, ha!" said that gentleman, in no way disconcerted; "here I have -you, after having been looking for my orphing charmer in every -direction but the right one. With your favor I will come inside and -have a chat." - -"Excuse me," said Judith, "but I do not desire to admit visitors." - -"But I am an exception. I'm the man who should have looked after your -interests, and would have done it a deal better than others. And so -there has been a rumpus, eh? What about?" - -"I really beg your pardon, Mr. Scantlebray, but I am engaged and -cannot ask you to enter, nor delay conversing with you on the -doorstep." - -"Oh, Jimminy! don't consider me. I'll stand on the doorstep and talk -with you inside. Don't consider me; go on with what you have to do and -let me amuse you. It must be dull and solitary here, but I will -enliven you, though I have not my brother's gifts. Now, Obadiah is a -man with a genius for entertaining people. He missed his way when he -started in life; he would have made a comic actor. Bless your simple -heart, had that man appeared on the boards, he would have brought the -house down--" - -"I have no doubt whatever he missed his way when he took to keeping an -asylum," said Judith. - -"We have all our gifts," said Scantlebray. "Mine is architecture, and -'pon my honor as a gentleman, I do admire the structure of Othello -Cottage, uncommon. You won't object to my pulling out my tape and -taking the plan of the edifice, will you?" - -"The house belongs to Captain Coppinger; consult him." - -"My dear orphing, not a bit. I'm not on the best terms with that gent. -There lies a tract of ruffled water between us. Not that I have given -him cause for offence, but that he is not sweet upon me. He took off -my hands the management of your affairs in the valuation business, and -let me tell you--between me and you and that post yonder"--he walked -in and laid his hand on a beam--"that he mismanaged it confoundedly. -He is your husband, I am well aware, and I ought not to say this to -you. He took the job into his hands because he had an eye to you, I -knew that well enough. But he hadn't the gift--the faculty. Now I have -made all that sort of thing my specialty. How many rooms have you in -this house? What does that door lead to?" - -"Really, Mr. Scantlebray, you must excuse me; I am busy." - -"O, yes--vastly busy. Walking on the cliffs, eh! Alone, eh? Well, mum -is the word. Come, make me your friend and tell me all about it. How -came you here? There are all kind of stories afloat about the quarrel -between you and your husband, and he is an Eolus, a Blustering Boreas, -all the winds in one box. Not surprised. He blew up a gale against me -once. Domestic felicity is a fable of the poets. Home is a region of -cyclones, tornadoes, hurricanes--what you like; anything but a Pacific -Ocean. Now, you won't mind my throwing an eye round this house, will -you--a scientific eye? Architecture is my passion." - -"Mr. Scantlebray, that is my bedroom; I forbid you touching the -handle. Excuse me--but I must request you to leave me in peace." - -"My dear creature," said Scantlebray, "scientific thirst before all. -It is unslakable save by the acquisition of what it desires. The -structure of this house, as well as its object, has always been a -puzzle to me. So your aunt was to have lived here--the divine, the -fascinating Dionysia, as I remember her years ago. It wasn't built for -the lovely Dionysia, was it? No. Then for what object was it built? -And why so long untenanted? These are nuts for you to crack." - -"I do not trouble myself about these questions. I must pray you to -depart." - -"In half the twinkle of an eye," said Scantlebray. Then he seated -himself. "Come, you haven't a superabundance of friends. Make me one -and unburden your soul to me. What is it all about? Why are you here? -What has caused this squabble? I have a brother a solicitor at Bodmin. -Let me jot down the items, and we'll get a case out of it. Trust me as -a friend, and I'll have you righted. I hear Miss Trevisa has come in -for a fortune. Be a good girl, set your back against her and show -fight." - -"I will thank you to leave the house," said Judith, haughtily. "A -moment ago you made reference to your honor as a gentleman. I must -appeal to that same honor which you pride yourself on possessing, and, -by virtue of that, request you to depart." - -"I'll go, I'll go. But, my dear child, why are you in such a hurry to -get rid of me? Are you expecting some one? It is an odd thing, but as -I came along I was overtaken by Mr. Oliver Menaida, making his way to -the downs--to look at the sea, which is rough, and inhale the breeze -of the ocean, of course. At one time, I am informed, you made daily -visits to Polzeath, daily visits while Captain Coppinger was on the -sea. Since his return, I am informed, these visits have been -discontinued. Is it possible that instead of your visiting Mr. Oliver, -Mr. Oliver is now visiting you--here, in this cottage?" - -A sudden slash across the back and shoulders made Mr. Scantlebray jump -and bound aside. Coppinger had entered, and was armed with a stout -walking-stick. - -"What brings you here?" he asked. - -"I came to pay my respects to the grass-widow," sneered Scantlebray, -as he sidled to the door and bolted, but not till, with a face full of -malignity, he had shaken his fist at Coppinger, behind his back. - -"What brings this man here?" asked the Captain. - -"Impertinence--nothing else," answered Judith. - -"What was that he said about Oliver Menaida?" - -"His insolence will not bear reporting." - -"You are right. He is a cur, and deserves to be kicked, not spoken to -or spoken of. I heed him not. There is in him a grudge against me. He -thought at one time that I would have taken his daughter--do you -recall speaking to me once about the girl that you supposed was a fit -mate for me! I laughed--I thought you had heard the chatter about -Polly Scantlebray and me. A bold, fine girl, full of blood as a cherry -is full of juice--one of the stock--but with better looks than the -men, yet with the assurance, the effrontery of her father. A girl to -laugh and talk with, not to take to one's heart. I care for Polly -Scantlebray! Not I! That man has never forgiven me the disappointment -because I did not take her. I never intended to. I despised her. Now -you know all. Now you see why he hates me. I do not care. I am his -match. But I will not have him insolent to you. What did he say?" - -It was a relief to Judith that Captain Coppinger had not heard the -words that Mr. Scantlebray had used. They would have inflamed his -jealousy, and fired him into fury against the speaker. - -"He told me that he had been passed, on his way hither, by Mr. Oliver -Menaida, coming to the cliffs to inhale the sea air and look at the -angry ocean." - -Captain Coppinger was satisfied, or pretended to be so. He went to the -door and shut it, but not till he had gone outside and looked round to -see, so Judith thought, whether Oliver Menaida were coming that way, -quite as much as to satisfy himself that Mr. Scantlebray was not -lurking round a corner listening. - -No! Oliver Menaida would not come there. Of that Judith was quite -sure. He had the delicacy of mind and the good sense not to risk her -reputation by approaching Othello Cottage. When he had made that offer -to her she had known that his own heart spoke, but he had veiled its -speech and had made the offer as from his father, and in such a way as -not to offend her. Only when she had accused herself of attempted -murder did he break through his reserve to show her his rooted -confidence in her innocence, in spite of her confession. - -When the door was fast, Coppinger came over to Judith, and, standing -at a little distance from her, said: - -"Judith, look at me." - -She raised her eyes to him. He was pale and his face lined, but he had -recovered greatly since that day when she had seen him suffering from -the effects of the poison. - -"Judith," said he, "I know all." - -"What do you know?" - -"You did not poison me." - -"I mixed and prepared the bowl for you." - -"Yes--but the poison had been put into the oatmeal before, not by you, -not with your knowledge." - -She was silent. She was no adept at lying; she could not invent -another falsehood to convince him of her guilt. - -"I know how it all came about," pursued Captain Coppinger. "The cook, -Jane, has told me. Jamie came into the kitchen with a blue paper in -his hand, asked for the oatmeal, and put in the contents of the paper -so openly as not in the least to arouse suspicion. Not till I was -taken ill and made inquiries did the woman connect his act with what -followed. I have found the blue paper, and on it it is written, in Mr. -Menaida's handwriting, which I know, 'Arsenic. Poison: for Jamie, only -to be used for the dressing of bird-skins, and a limited amount to be -served to him at a time.' Now I am satisfied, because I know your -character, and because I saw innocence in your manner when you came -down to me on the second occasion, and dashed the bowl from my lips--I -saw then that you were innocent." - -Judith said nothing. Her eyes rested on the ground. - -"I had angered that fool of a boy, I had beaten him. In a fit of -sullen revenge, and without calculating either how best to do it, or -what the consequences would be, he went to the place where he knew the -arsenic was--Mr. Menaida had impressed on him the danger of playing -with the poison--and he abstracted it. But he had not the wit or -cunning generally present in idiots----" - -"He is no idiot," said Judith. - -"No, in fools," said Coppinger, "to put the poison into the oatmeal -secretly when no one was in the kitchen. He asked the cook for the -meal and mingled the contents of the paper into it so openly as to -disarm suspicion." - -He paused for Judith to speak, but she did not. - -He went on: "Then you, in utter guilelessness, prepared my breakfast -for me, as instructed by Miss Trevisa. Next morning you did the same, -but were either suspicious of evil through missing the paper from your -cabinet, or drawer, or wherever you kept it, or else Jamie confessed -to you what he had done. Thereupon you rushed to me to save me from -taking another portion. I do not know that I would have taken it; I -had formed a half-suspicion from the burning sensation in my throat, -and from what I saw in the spoon--but there was no doubt in my mind -after the first discovery that you were guiltless. I sought the whole -matter out, as far as I was able. Jamie is guilty--not you." - -"And," said Judith, drawing a long breath, "what about Jamie?" - -"There are two alternatives," said Coppinger; "the boy is dangerous. -Never again shall he come under my roof." - -"No," spoke Judith, "no, he must not go to the Glaze again. Let him -remain here with me. I will take care of him that he does mischief to -no one. He would never have hurt you had not you hurt him. Forgive -him, because he was aggravated to it by the unjust and cruel treatment -he received." - -"The boy is a mischievous idiot," said Coppinger; "he must not be -allowed to be at large." - -"What, then, are your alternatives?" - -"In the first place, I propose to send him back to that establishment -whence he should never have been released, to Scantlebray's Asylum." - -"No--no--no!" gasped Judith. "You do not know what that place is. I -do. I got into it. I saw how Jamie had been treated." - -"He cannot be treated too severely. He is dangerous. You refuse this -alternative?" - -"Yes, indeed, I do." - -"Very well. Then I put the matter in the hands of justice, and he is -proceeded against and convicted as having attempted my life with -poison. To jail he will go." - -It was as Judith had feared. There were but two destinations for -Jamie, her dear, dear brother, the son of that blameless father--jail -or an asylum. - -"Oh, no! no--no! not that!" cried Judith. - -"One or the other. I give you six hours to choose," said Coppinger. -Then he went to the door, opened it, and stood looking seaward. -Suddenly he started, "Ha! the Black Prince." He turned in the door and -said to Judith: "One hour after sunset come to Pentyre Glaze. Come -alone, and tell me your decision. I will wait for that." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - -NOTHING LIKE GROG. - - -The Black Prince had been observed by Oliver Menaida. He did not know -for certain that the vessel he saw in the offing was the smuggler's -ship, but he suspected it, as he knew that Coppinger was in daily -expectation of her arrival. He brought his father to the cliffs, and -the old man at once identified her. - -Oliver considered what was to be done. - -A feint was to be made at a point lower down the coast so as to -attract the coast-guard in that direction; whereas, she was to run for -Pentyre as soon as night fell, with all lights hidden, and to -discharge her cargo in the little cove. - -Oliver knew pretty well who was confederate with Coppinger, or were in -his employ. His father was able to furnish him with a good deal of -information, not perhaps very well authenticated, all resting on -gossip. He resolved to have a look at these men, and observe whether -they were making preparations to assist Coppinger in clearing the -Black Prince the moment she arrived off the cove. But he found that he -had not far to look. They were drawn to the cliffs one after another -to observe the distant vessel. - -Oliver now made his way to the coast-guard station, and to reach it -went round by Wadebridge, and this he did because he wished to avoid -being noticed going to the Preventive Station across the estuary at -the Doom Bar above St. Enodoc. On reaching his destination he was -shown into an ante-room, where he had to wait some minutes, because -the captain happened to be engaged. He had plenty to occupy his mind. -There was that mysterious confession of Judith that she had tried to -poison the man who persisted in considering himself as her husband, in -spite of her resistance, and who was holding her in a condition of -bondage in his house. Oliver did not for a moment believe that she -had intentionally sought his life. He had seen enough of her to gauge -her character, and he knew that she was incapable of committing a -crime. That she might have given poison in ignorance and by accident -was possible; how this had happened it was in vain for him to attempt -to conjecture; he could, however, quite believe that an innocent and -sensitive conscience like that of Judith might feel the pangs of -self-reproach when hurt had come to Coppinger through her negligence. - -Oliver could also believe that the smuggler captain attributed her act -to an evil motive. He was not the man to believe in guilelessness, and -when he found that he had been partly poisoned by the woman whom he -daily tortured almost to madness, he would at once conclude that a -premeditated attempt had been made on his life. What course would he -pursue? Would he make this wretched business public and bring a -criminal action against the unfortunate and unhappy girl who was -linked to him against her will? - -Oliver saw that if he could obtain Coppinger's arrest on some such a -charge as smuggling, he might prevent this scandal, and save Judith -from much humiliation and misery. He was therefore most desirous to -effect the capture of Coppinger at once and _flagrante delicto_. - -As he waited in the ante-room a harsh voice within was audible which -he recognized as that of Mr. Scantlebray. Presently the door was half -opened, and he heard the coast-guard captain say: - -"I trust you rewarded the fellow for his information. You may apply to -me----" - -"O royally, royally." - -"And for furnishing you with the code of signals?" - -"Imperially--imperially." - -"That is well--never underpay in these matters." - -"Do not fear! I emptied my pockets. And as to the information you have -received through me--rely on it as you would on the Bank of England." - -"You have been deceived and befooled," said Oliver, unable to resist -the chance of delivering a slap at a man for whom he entertained a -peculiar aversion, having heard much concerning him from his father. - -"What do you mean?" - -"That the shilling you gave the clerk for his information, and the -half-crown for his signal table were worth what you got--the -information was false, and was intended to mislead." - -Scantlebray colored purple. "What do you know? You know nothing. You -are in league with them." - -"Take care what you say," said Oliver. - -"I maintain," said Scantlebray, somewhat cowed by his demeanor, "that -what I have said to the captain here is something of which you know -nothing--and which is of importance to him to know." - -"And I maintain that you have been hoodwinked," answered Oliver. "But -it matters not. The event will prove which of us is on the right -track." - -"Yes," laughed Scantlebray, "so be it; and let me bet you, Captain, -and you Mr. Oliver Menaida--that I am on the scent of something else. -I believe I know where Coppinger keeps his stores, and--but you shall -see, and Captain Cruel also, ha, ha!" - -Rubbing his hands he went out. - -Then Oliver begged a word with the Preventive captain, and told him -what he had overheard, and also that he knew where was the cave in -which the smugglers had their boat and to which they ran the cargo -first, before removing it to their inland stores. - -"I'm not so certain the Black Prince dare venture nigh the coast -to-night," said the Captain, "because of the sea and the on-shore -wind. But the glass is rising and the wind may change. Then she'll -risk it for certain. Now, look you here. I can't go with you myself -to-night, because I must be here; and I can only let you have six -men." - -"That will suffice." - -"Under Wyvill. I cannot, of course, put them under you, but Wyvill -shall command. He bears a grudge against Coppinger, and will be -rejoiced to have the chance of paying it out. But, mind you, it is -possible that the Black Prince dare not run in, because of the -weather, at Pentyre Cove, she may run somewhere else, either down the -coast or higher up. Coppinger has other ovens than one. You know the -term. His store-places are ovens. We can't find them, but we know that -there are several of them along the coast, just as there are a score -of landing-places. When one is watched, then another is used, and -that is how we are thrown out. There are plenty of folk interested in -defrauding the revenue in every parish between Hartland and Land's -End, and let the Black Prince, or any other smuggling vessel appear -where she will, there she has ready helpers to shore her cargo, and -convey it to the ovens. When we appear it is signalled at once to the -vessel, and she runs away up or down the coast, and discharges -somewhere else, before we can reach the point. Now, I do not say that -what you tell me is not true, and that it is not Coppinger's intent to -land the goods in the Pentyre Cove, but if we are smelt, or if the -wind or sea forbid a landing there, away goes the Black Prince and -runs her cargo somewhere else. That is why I cannot accompany you, nor -can I send you with more than half a dozen men. I must be on the look -out, and I must be prepared in the event of her coming suddenly back -and attempting to land her goods at Porth-leze, or Constantine, or -Harlyn. What you shall do is--remain here with me till near dusk, and -then you shall have a boat and my men and get round Pentyre, and you -shall take possession of that cave. You shall take with you provisions -for twenty-four hours. If the Black Prince intends to make that bay -and discharge there, then she will wait her opportunity. If she cannot -to-night, she will to-morrow night. Now, seize every man who comes -into that cave, and don't let him out. You see?" - -"Perfectly." - -"Very well. Wyvill shall be in command, and you shall be the guide, -and I will speak to him to pay proper attention to what you recommend. -You see?" - -"Exactly." - -"Very well--now we shall have something to eat and to drink, which is -better, and drink that is worth the drinking, which is best of all. -Here is some cognac, it was run goods that we captured and -confiscated. Look at it. I wish there were artificial light and you -would see, it is liquid amber--a liqueur. When you've tasted that, -ah-ha! you will say, 'Glad I lived to this moment.' There is all the -difference, my boy, between your best cognac and common brandy--the -one, the condensed sunshine in the queen of fruit sublimed to an -essence; the other, coarse, raw fire--all the difference that there is -between a princess of blood royal and a gypsy wench. Drink and do not -fear. This is not the stuff to smoke the head and clog the stomach." - -When Oliver Menaida finally started, he left the first officer of the -coast-guard, in spite of his assurances, somewhat smoky in brain, and -not in the condition to form the clearest estimate of what should be -done in a contingency. The boat was laden with provisions for -twenty-four hours, and placed under the command of Wyvill. - -The crew had not rowed far before one of them sang out: - -"Gearge!" - -"Aye, aye, mate!" responded Wyvill. - -"I say, Gearge. Be us a going round Pentyre?" - -"I reckon we be." - -"And wet to the marrowbone we shall be." - -"I reckon we shall." - -Then a pause in the conversation. Presently from another, "Gearge!" - -"Aye, aye, Will!" - -"I say Gearge! where be the spirits to? There's a keg o' water, but -sure alive the spirits be forgotten." - -"Bless my body!" exclaimed Wyvill, "I reckon you're right. Here's a -go." - -"It will never do for us to be twenty-four hours wi' salt water -outside of us and fresh wi'in," said Will. "What's a hat wi'out a head -in it, or boots wi'out feet in 'em, or a man wi'out spirits in his -in'ard parts?" - -"Dear, alive! 'Tis a nuisance," said Wyvill. "Who's been the idiot to -forget the spirits?" - -"Gearge!" - -"Aye, aye, Samson!" - -"I say, Gearge! hadn't us better run over to the Rock and get a little -anker there?" - -"I reckon it wouldn't be amiss, mate," responded Wyvill. To Oliver's -astonishment and annoyance, the boat was turned to run across to a -little tavern, at what was called "The Rock." - -He remonstrated. This was injudicious and unnecessary. - -"Onnecessary," said Wyvill. "Why, you don't suppose fire-arms will go -off wi'out a charge? It's the same wi' men. What's the good of a human -being unless he be loaded--and what's his proper load but a drop o' -spirits." - -Then one of the rowers sang out: - - "Water-drinkers are dull asses - When they're met together. - Milk is meat for infancy; - Ladies like to sip Bohea; - Not such stuff for you and me, - When we're met together." - -Oliver was not surprised that so few captures were effected on the -coast, when those set to watch it loved so dearly the very goods they -were to watch against being imported untaxed. - -On reaching the shore, the man Samson and another were left in charge -of the boat, while Wyvill, Will, and the rest went up to the Rock Inn -to have a glass for the good of the house, and to lade themselves with -an anker of brandy which, during their wait in the cave, was to be -distributed among them. Oliver thought it well to go to the tavern as -well. He was impatient and thought they would dawdle there, and, -perhaps, take more than the nip to which they professed themselves -content to limit themselves. Pentyre Point had to be rounded in rough -water, and they must be primed to enable them to round Pentyre. - -"You see," said Wyvill, who seemed to suppose that some sort of an -explanation of his conduct was due. "When ropes be dry they be -terrible slack. Wet 'em and they are taut. It is the same wi' men's -muscles. We've Pentyre Point to get round. Very strainin' to the arms, -and I reckon it couldn't be done unless we wetted the muscles. That's -reason. That's convincin'." - -At the Rock Tavern the Preventive men found the clerk of S. Enodoc, -with his hands in his pockets, on the settle, his legs stretched out -before him, considering one of his knees that was threadbare, and -trying to make up his mind whether the trouser would hold out another -day without a thread being run through the thin portion, and whether -if a day, then perhaps two days, and if perchance for two days, then -for three. But if for three, then why not for four! And if for four, -then possibly for five--anyhow, as far as he could judge, there was no -immediate call for him to have the right knee of his trouser repaired -that day. - -The sexton-clerk looked up when the party entered, and greeted them -each man by name, and a conversation ensued relative to the weather. -Each described his own impressions as to what the weather had been, -and his anticipations as to what it would be. - -"And how's your missus?" - -"Middlin'--and yours?" - -"Same, thanky'. A little troubled wi' the rheumatics." - -"Tell her to take a lump o' sugar wi' five drops o' turpentine." - -"I will, thanky"--and so on for half an hour, at the end of which time -the party thought it time to rise, wipe their mouths, shoulder the -anker, and return to the boat. - -No sooner were they in it, and had thrust off from shore, and prepared -to make a second start, than Oliver touched Wyvill and said, pointing -to the land, "Look yonder." - -"What!" - -"There is that clerk. Running, actually running." - -"I reckon he be." - -"And in the direction of Pentyre." - -"So he be, I reckon." - -"And what do you think of that?" - -"Nothing," answered Wyvill, confusedly. "Why should I? He can't say -nothing about where we be going. Not a word of that was said while us -was there. I don't put no store on his running." - -"I do," said Oliver, unable to smother his annoyance. "This folly will -spoil our game." - -Wyvill muttered, "I reckon I'm head of the consarn and not you." - -Oliver deemed it advisable, as the words were said low, to pretend -that he did not hear them. - -The wind had somewhat abated, but the sea was running furiously round -Pentyre. Happily the tide was going out, so that tide and wind were -conflicting, and this enabled the rowers to get round Pentyre between -the Point and the Newland Isle, that broke the force of the seas. But -when past the shelter of Newland, doubling a spur of Pentyre that ran -to the north, the rowers had to use their utmost endeavors, and had -not their muscles been moistened they might possibly have declared it -impossible to proceed. It was advisable to run into the cove just -after dark, and before the turn of the tide, as, in the event of the -Black Prince attempting to land her cargo there, it would be made with -the flow of the tide, and in the darkness. - -The cove was reached and found to be deserted. Oliver showed the way, -and the boat was driven up on the shingle and conveyed into the -smugglers' cave behind the rock curtain. No one was there. Evidently, -from the preparations made, the smugglers were ready for the run of -the cargo that night. - -"Now," said Will, one of the Preventive men, "us hev' a' labored -uncommon. What say you, mates? Does us desarve a drop of refreshment -or does us not? Every man as does his dooty by his country and his -king should be paid for 't, is my doctrine. What do y' say, Gearge? -Sarve out the grog?" - -"I reckon yes. Sarve out the grog. There's nothing like grog--I think -it was Solomon said that, and he was the wisest of men." - -"For sure; he made a song about it," said one of the coast-guard. "It -begins: - - "'A plague of those musty old lubbers, - Who tell us to fast and to think. - And patient fall in with life's rubbers, - With nothing but water to drink.'" - -"To be sure," responded Wyvill, "never was a truer word said than when -Solomon was called the wisest o' men." - - - - -CHAPTER L. - -PLAYING FORFEITS. - - -"Here am I once more," said Mr. Scantlebray, walking into Othello -Cottage with a rap at the door but without waiting for an invitation -to enter. "Come back like the golden summer, but at a quicker rate. -How are you all? I left you rather curtly--without having had time to -pay my proper _congé_." - -Judith and Jamie were sitting over the fire. No candle had been -lighted, for, though a good many things had been brought over to -Othello Cottage for their use, candles had been forgotten, and Judith -did not desire to ask for more than was furnished her, certainly not -to go to the Glaze for the things needed. They had a fire, but not one -that blazed. It was of drift-wood, that smouldered and would not -flame, and as it burned emitted a peculiar odor. - -Jamie was in good spirits, he chattered and laughed, and Judith made -pretence that she listened, but her mind was absent, she had cares -that had demands on every faculty of her mind. Moreover, now and then -her thoughts drifted off to a picture that busy fancy painted and -dangled before them--of Portugal, with its woods of oranges, golden -among the burnished leaves, and its vines hung with purple -grapes--with its glowing sun, its blue glittering sea--and, above all, -she mused on the rest from fears, the cessation from troubles which -would have ensued, had there been a chance for her to accept the offer -made, and to have left the Cornish coast for ever. - -Looking into the glowing ashes, listening to her thoughts as they -spoke, and seeming to attend to the prattle of the boy, Judith was -surprised by the entry of Mr. Scantlebray. - -"There--disengaged, that is capital," said the agent. "The very thing -I hoped. And now we can have a talk. You have never understood that I -was your sincere friend. You have turned from me and looked elsewhere, -and now you suffer for it. But I am like all the best metal--strong -and bright to the last; and see--I have come to you now to forewarn -you, because I thought that if it came on you all at once there would -be trouble and bother." - -"Thank you, Mr. Scantlebray. It is true that we are not busy just now, -but it does not follow that we are disposed for a talk. It is growing -dark, and we shall lock up the cottage and go to bed." - -"Oh, I will not detain you long. Besides I'll take the wish out of -your heart for bed in one jiffy. Look here--read this. Do you know the -handwriting?" - -He held out a letter. Judith reluctantly took it. She had risen; she -had not asked Scantlebray to take a seat. - -"Yes," she said, "that is the writing of Captain Coppinger." - -"A good bold hand," said the agent, "and see here is his seal with his -motto, _Thorough_. You know that?" - -"Yes--it is his seal." - -"Now read it." - -Judith knelt at the hearth. - -"Blow, blow the fire up, my beauty," called Scantlebray to Jamie. -"Don't you see that your sister wants light, and is running the risk -of blinding her sweet pretty eyes." Jamie puffed vigorously and sent -out sparks snapping and blinking, and brought the wood to a white -glow, by which Judith was able to decipher the letter. - -It was a formal order from Cruel Coppinger to Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray -to remove James Trevisa that evening, after dark, from Othello Cottage -to his idiot asylum, to remain there in custody till further notice. -Judith remained kneeling, with her eyes on the letter, after she had -read it. She was considering. It was clear to her that directly after -leaving her Captain Coppinger had formed his own resolve, either -impatient of waiting the six hours he had allowed her, or because he -thought the alternative of the Asylum the only one that could be -accepted by her, and it was one that would content himself, as the -only one that avoided exposure of a scandal. But there were other -asylums than that of Scantlebray, and others were presumably better -managed, and those in charge less severe in their dealings. She had -considered this, as she looked into the fire. But a new idea had also -at the same time lightened in her mind, and she had a third -alternative to propose. - -She had been waiting for the moment when to go to the Glaze and see -Coppinger, and just at the moment when she was about to send Jamie to -bed and leave the house Scantlebray came in. - -"Now then," said the agent, "what do you think of me--that I am a real -friend?" - -"I thank you for having told me this," answered Judith, "and now I -will go to Pentyre. I beg that you will not allow my brother to be -conveyed away during my absence. Wait till I return. Perhaps Captain -Coppinger may not insist on the removal at once. If you are a real -friend, as you profess, you will do this for me." - -"I will do it willingly. That I am a real friend I have shown you by -my conduct. I have come beforehand to break news to you which might -have been too great and too overwhelming had it come on you suddenly. -My brother and a man or two will be here in an hour. Go by all means -to Captain Cruel, but," Scantlebray winked an eye, "I don't myself -think you will prevail with him." - -"I will thank you to remain here for half an hour with Jamie," said -Judith, coldly. "And to stay all proceedings till my return. If I -succeed--well. If not, then only a few minutes have been lost. I have -that to say to Captain Coppinger which may, and I trust will, lead him -to withdraw that order." - -"Rely on me. I am a rock on which you may build," said Scantlebray. "I -will do my best to entertain your brother, though, alas! I have not -the abilities of Obadiah, who is a genius, and can keep folks hour by -hour going from one roar of laughter into another." - -No sooner was Judith gone than Scantlebray put his tongue into one -side of his cheek, clicked, pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, -and seated himself opposite Jamie on the stool beside the fire which -had been vacated by Judith. Jamie had understood nothing of the -conversation that had taken place, his name had not been mentioned, -and consequently his attention had not been drawn to it away from some -chestnuts he had found, or which had been given to him, that he was -baking in the ashes on the hearth. - -"Fond of hunting, eh?" asked Scantlebray, stretching his legs and -rubbing his hands. "You are like me--like to be in at the death. What -do you suppose I have in my pocket? Why, a fox with a fiery tail. -Shall we run him to earth? Shall we make an end of him? Tally-ho! -Tally-ho! here he is. Oh, sly Reynard, I have you by the ears." And -forth from the tail-pocket of his coat Scantlebray produced a bottle -of brandy. "What say you, corporal, shall we drink his blood? Bring me -a couple of glasses and I'll pour out his gore." - -"I haven't any," said Jamie. "Ju and I have two mugs, that is all." - -"And they will do famously. Here goes--off with the mask!" and with a -blow he knocked away the head and cork of the bottle. "No more running -away for you, my beauty, except down our throats. Mugs! That is -famous. Come, shall we play at army and navy, and the forfeit be a -drink of Reynard's blood?" - -Jamie pricked up his ears; he was always ready for a game of play. - -"Look here," said Scantlebray. "You are in the military, I am in the -nautical line. Each must address the other by some title in accordance -with the profession each professes, and the forfeit of failure is a -pull at the bottle. What do you say! I will begin. Set the bottle -there between us. Now then, Sergeant, they tell me your aunt has come -in for a fortune. How much? What is the figure, eh?" - -"I don't know," responded Jamie, and was at once caught up with -"Forfeit! forfeit!" - -"Oh, by Jimminy, there am I, too, in the same box. Take your swig, -Commander, and pass to me." - -"But what am I to call you?" asked the puzzle-headed boy. - -"Mate, or captain, or boatswain, or admiral." - -"I can't remember all that." - -"Mate will do. Always say mate, whatever you ask or answer. Do you -understand, General!" - -"Yes." - -"Forfeit! forfeit! You should have said 'Yes, mate.'" Mr. Scantlebray -put his hands to his sides and laughed. "Oh, Jimminy! there am I -again. The instructor as bad as the pupil. I'm a bad fellow as -instructor, that I am, Field-Marshal. So--your Aunt Dionysia has come -in for some thousands of pounds--how many do you think! Have you -heard?" - -"I think I've heard----" - -"Mate! Mate!" - -"I think I've heard, Mate." - -"Now, how many do you remember to have heard named? Was it five -thousand? That is what I heard named--eh, Captain?" - -"Oh, more than that," said Jamie, in his small mind catching at a -chance of talking-big, "a great lot more than that." - -"What, ten thousand?" - -"I dare say; yes, I think so." - -"Forfeit! forfeit! pull again, Centurion." - -"Yes, Mate, I'm sure." - -"Ten thousand--why, at five per cent. that's a nice little sum for you -and Ju to look forward to when the old hull springs a leak and goes to -the bottom." - -"Yes," answered Jamie, vaguely. He could not look beyond the day, -moreover he did not understand the figurative speech of his comrade. - -"Forfeit again, General! But I'll forgive you this time, or you'll get -so drunk you'll not be able to answer me a question. Bless my legs and -arms! on that pretty little sum one could afford one's self a new tie -every Sunday. You will prove a beau and buck indeed some day, Captain -of Thousands! And then you won't live in this little hole. By the way, -I hear old Dunes Trevisa, I beg pardon, Field-Marshal Sir James, I -mean your much respected aunt, Miss Trevisa, has got a charming box -down by S. Austell. You'll ask me down for the shooting, won't you, -Commander-in-Chief?" - -"Yes, I will," answered Jamie. - -"And you'll give me the best bedroom, and will have choice dinners, -and the best old tawny port, eh?" - -"Yes, to be sure," said the boy, flattered. - -"Mate! mate! forfeit! and I suppose you'll keep a hunter?" - -"I shall have two--three," said Jamie. - -"And if I were you, I'd keep a pack of fox-hounds." - -"I will." - -"That's for the winter, and other hounds for the summer." - -"I am sure I will, and wear a red coat." - -"Famous! but--there I spare you this time--you forfeited again." - -"No, I won't be spared," protested the boy. - -"As for a wretched little hole like this Othello Cottage----" said -Scantlebray. "But, by the bye, you have never shown me over the house. -How many rooms are there in it, Generalissimo of His Majesty's -Forces!" - -"There's my bedroom there," said Jamie. - -"Yes; and that door leads to your sister's?" - -"Yes. And there's the kitchen." - -"And up-stairs!" - -"There's no up-stairs." - -"Now, you are very clever--clever. By Ginger, you must be to be -Commander-in-chief; but 'pon my word, I can't believe that. No -up-stairs. There must be up-stairs." - -"No, there's not." - -"But by Jimminy! with such a roof as this house has got, and a little -round window in the gable. There must be an up-stairs." - -"No there's not." - -"How do you make that out?" - -"Because there are no stairs at all." Then Jamie jumped up, but rolled -on one side, the brandy he had drunk had made him unsteady. "I'll show -you mate--mate--yes, mate. There three times now will do for times I -haven't said it. There--in my room. The floor is rolling; it won't -stay steady. There are cramps in the wall, no stairs, and so you get -up to where it all is." - -"All what is?" - -"Forfeit, forfeit!" shouted Jamie. "Say general or something military. -I don't know. Ju won't let me go up there; but there's tobacco, for -one thing." - -"Where's a candle, Corporal?" - -"There is none. We have no light but the fire." Then Jamie dropped -back on his stool, unable to keep his legs. - -"I am more provident than you. I have a lantern outside, unlighted, as -I thought I might need it on my return. The nights close in very fast -and very dark now, eh, Commander?" - -Mr. Scantlebray went outside the cottage, looked about him, specially -directing his eyes toward the Glaze. Then he chuckled and said: - -"Sent Miss Judith on a wild goose chase, have I? Ah ha! Captain -Coppinger, I'll have a little entertainment for you to-night. The -preventives will snatch your goods at Porth-leze or Constantine, and -here--behind your back--I'll attend to your store of tobacco and -whatever else I may find." - -Then he returned and going to the fire extracted the candle from the -lantern and lighted it at a burning log. - -"Halloa, Captain of thousands! Going to sleep? There's the bottle. You -must make up forfeits. You've been dishonest I fear and not paid half. -That door did you say?" - -But Jamie was past understanding a question, and Mr. Scantlebray could -find out for himself now what he wanted to know. That this house had -been used by Coppinger as a store for some of the smuggled cargoes he -had long suspected, but he had never been able to obtain any evidence -which would justify the coast-guard in applying to the justices for a -search-warrant. Now he would be able to look about it at his leisure, -while Judith was absent. He did not suppose Coppinger was at the -Glaze. He assumed that an attempt would be made, as the clerk of St. -Enodoc had informed him, to land the cargo of the Black Prince to the -west of the estuary of the Camel, and he supposed that Coppinger would -be there to superintend. He had used the letter sent to his brother to -induce the girl to go to Pentyre, and so leave the cottage clear for -him to search it. - -Now, holding the candle, he entered the bedroom of Jamie, and soon -perceived the cramps the boy had spoken of that served in place of -stairs. Above was a door into the attic, whitewashed over, like the -walls. Mr. Scantlebray climbed, thrust open the door and crept into -the garret. - -"Ah, ha!" said the valuer. "So, so, Captain! I have come on one of -your lairs at last. And I reckon I will make it warm for you. But, by -Ginger, it is a pity I can't remove some of what is here." - -He prowled about in the roomy loft, searching every corner. There were -a few small kegs of spirit, but the stores were mostly of tobacco. - -In about ten minutes Mr. Scantlebray reappeared in the room where was -Jamie. He was without his candle. The poor boy, overcome by what he -had drunk, had fallen on the floor and was in a tipsy sleep. - -Scantlebray went to him. - -"Come along with me," he said. "Come, there is no time to be lost. -Come, you fool!" - -He shook him, but Jamie would not be roused, he kicked and struck out -with his fists. - -"You won't come? I'll make you." - -Then Scantlebray caught the boy by the shoulders to drag him to the -door. The child began to struggle and resist. - -"Oh! I'm not concerned for you, fool," said Scantlebray. "If you like -to stay and take your chance--my brother will be here to carry you off -presently. Will you come?" - -Scantlebray caught the boy by the feet and tried to drag him, but -Jamie clung to the table-legs. - -Scantlebray uttered an oath--"Stay, you fool, and be smothered! The -world will get on very well without you." - -And he strode forth from the cottage. - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - -SURRENDER. - - -Scantlebray was mistaken. Coppinger had not crossed the estuary of the -Camel. He was at Pentyre Glaze awaiting the time when the tide suited -for landing the cargo of the Black Prince. In the kitchen were a -number of men having their supper and drinking, waiting also for the -proper moment when to issue forth. - -At the turn of the tide the Black Prince would approach in the -gathering darkness and would come as near in as she dare venture. The -wind had fallen, but the sea was running, and with the tide setting in -she would approach the cove. - -Judith hastened toward the Glaze. Darkness had set in, but in the -north were auroral lights, first a great, white halo, then rays that -shot up to the zenith, and then a mackerel sky of rosy light. The -growl and mutter of the sea filled the air with threat like an angry -multitude surging on with blood and destruction in their hearts. - -The flicker overhead gave Judith light for her cause; the snow had -melted except in ditches and under hedges, and there it glared red or -white in response to the changing, luminous tinges of the heavens. -When she reached the house she at once entered the hall; there -Coppinger was awaiting her. He knew she would come to him when her -mind was made up on the alternatives he had offered her, and he -believed he knew pretty surely which she would choose. It was because -he expected her that he had not suffered the men collected for the -work of the night to invade the hall. - -"You are here," he said. He was seated by the fire; he looked up, but -did not rise. "Almost too late." - -"Almost, maybe, but not altogether," answered Judith. "And yet it -seems unnecessary, as you have already acted without awaiting my -decision." - -"What makes you say that?" - -"I have been shown your letter." - -"Oh! Obadiah Scantlebray is premature." - -"He is not at Othello Cottage yet. His brother came beforehand to -prepare me." - -"How considerate of your feelings," sneered Captain Cruel. "I would -not have expected that of Scantlebray." - -"You have not awaited my decision," said Judith. - -"That is true," answered Coppinger, carelessly. "I knew you would -shrink from the exposure, the disgrace of publication of what has -occurred here. I knew you so well that I could reckon beforehand on -what you would elect." - -"But, why to Scantlebray? Are there not other asylums?" - -"Yes: so long as that boy is placed where he can do no mischief, I -care not." - -"Then, if that be so, I have another proposal to make." - -"What is that?" Coppinger stood up. - -"If you have any regard for my feelings, any care for my happiness, -you will grant my request." - -"Let me hear it." - -"Mr. Menaida is going to Portugal." - -"What!"--in a tone of concentrated rage--"Oliver?" - -"Oliver and his father. But the proposal concerns the father." - -"Go on." Coppinger strode once across the room, then back again. "Go -on," he said, savagely. - -"Old Mr. Menaida offers to take Jamie with him. He intends to settle -at Oporto, near his son, who has been appointed to a good situation -there. He will gladly undertake the charge of Jamie. Let Jamie go with -them. There he can do no harm." - -"What, go--without you! Did they not want you to go, also?" - -Judith hesitated and flushed. There was a single tallow candle on the -table. Coppinger took it up, snuffed it, and held the flame to her -face to study its expression. "I thought so," he said, and put down -the light again. - -"Jamie is useful to Mr. Menaida," pleaded Judith, in some confusion, -and with a voice of tremulous apology. - -"He stuffs birds so beautifully, and Uncle Zachie--I mean Mr. -Menaida--has set his heart on making a collection of the Spanish and -Portuguese birds." - -"Oh, yes; he understands the properties of arsenic," said Coppinger, -with a scoff. - -Judith's eyes fell. Captain Cruel's tone was not reassuring. - -"You say that you care not where Jamie be, so long as he is where he -cannot hurt you," said Judith. - -"I did not say that," answered Coppinger. "I said that he must be -placed where he can injure no one." - -"He can injure no one if he is with Mr. Menaida, who will well watch -him, and keep him employed." - -Coppinger laughed bitterly. "And you? Will you be satisfied to have -the idolized brother with the deep seas rolling between you?" - -"I must endure it. It is the least of evils." - -"But you would be pining to have wings and fly over the sea to him." - -"If I have not wings I cannot go." - -"Now hearken," said Coppinger. He clinched his fist and laid it on the -table. "I know very well what this means. Oliver Menaida is at the -bottom of this. It is not the fool Jamie who is wanted in Portugal, -but the clever Judith. They have offered to take the boy, that through -him they may attract you, unless," his voice thrilled, "they have -already dared to propose that you should go with them." - -Judith was silent. - -Coppinger clinched his second hand and laid that also on the table. "I -swear to heaven," said he, "that if I and that Oliver Menaida meet -again, it is for the last time for one or other of us. We have met -twice already. It is an understood thing between us, when we meet -again, one wets his boots in the other's blood. Do you hear? The world -will not hold us two any longer. Portugal may be far off, but it is -too near Cornwall for me." - -Judith made no answer. She looked fixedly into the gloomy eyes of -Coppinger, and said-- - -"You have strange thoughts. Suppose--if you will--that the invitation -included me, I could not have accepted it." - -"Why not! You refuse to regard yourself as married, and if unmarried, -you are free--and if free, ready to elope with----" he would not utter -the name in his quivering fury. - -"I pray you," said Judith, offended, "do not insult me." - -"I--insult you? It is a daily insult to me to be treated as I have -been. It is driving me mad." - -"But, do you not see," urged Judith, "you have offered me two -alternatives and I ask for a third, yours are jail or an asylum, mine -is exile. Both yours are to me intolerable. Conceive of my state were -Jamie either in jail or with Mr. Scantlebray. In jail--and I should be -thinking of him all day and all night in his prison garb, tramping the -tread-mill, beaten, driven on, associated with the vilest of men, an -indelible stain put, not on him only, but on the name of our dear, -dear father. Do you think I could bear that? or take the other -alternative? I know the Scantlebrays. I should have the thoughts of -Jamie distressed, frightened, solitary, ill-treated, ever before me. I -had it for a few hours once and it drove me frantic. It would make me -mad in a week. I know that I could not endure it. Either alternative -would madden or kill me. And I offer another--if he were in exile, I -could at least think of him as happy among the orange groves, in the -vineyards, among kind friends, happy, innocent--at worst, forgetting -me. _That_ I could bear. But the other--no, not for a week--they would -be torture insufferable." She spoke full of feverish vehemence, with -her hands outspread before her. - -"And this smiling vision of Jamie happy in Portugal would draw your -heart from me." - -"You never had my heart," said Judith. - -Coppinger clinched his teeth. "I will hear no more of this," said he. - -Then Judith threw herself on her knees, and caught him and held him, -lifting her entreating face toward his. - -"I have undergone it--for some hours. I know it will madden or kill -me. I cannot--I cannot--I cannot," she could scarce breathe, she spoke -in gasps. - -"You cannot what?" he asked, sullenly. - -"I cannot live on the terms you offer. You take from me even the very -wish to live. Take away the arsenic from me--lest in madness I give -it to myself. Take me far inland from these cliffs--lest in my madness -I throw myself over--I could not bear it. Will nothing move you?" - -"Nothing." He stood before her, his feet apart, his arms folded, his -chin on his breast, looking into her uplifted, imploring face. -"Yes--one thing. One thing only." He paused, raking her face with his -eyes. "Yes--one thing. Be mine wholly--unconditionally. Then I will -consent. Be mine; add your name where it is wanting. Resume your -ring--and Jamie shall go with the Menaidas. Now, choose." - -He drew back. Judith remained kneeling, upright, on the floor with -arms extended--she had heard and at first hardly comprehended him. -Then she staggered to her feet. - -"Well," said Coppinger, "what answer do you make?" Still she could not -speak. She went to the table with uncertain steps. There was a wooden -form by it. She seated herself on this, placed her arms on the board, -joining her hands, and laid her head, face downward, between them on -the table. - -Coppinger remained where he was, watching and waiting. He knew what -her action implied--that she was to be left alone with her thoughts, -to form her resolve undisturbed. He remained, accordingly, motionless, -but with his eyes fixed on the golden hair that flickered in the dim -light of the one candle. The wick had a great fungus in it--so large -and glaring that in another moment it must fall, and fall on Judith's -hand. Coppinger saw this and he thrust forth his arm to snuff the -candle with his fingers, but his hand shook, and the light was -extinguished. It mattered not. There were glowing coals on the hearth, -and through the window flared and throbbed the auroral lights. - -A step sounded outside. Then a hand was on the door. Coppinger at once -strode across the hall, and arrested the intruder from entering. - -"Who is that?" - -"Hender Pendarvis"--the clerk of St. Enodoc. "I have some'ut -partickler I must say." - -Coppinger looked at Judith; she lay motionless, her head between her -arms on the board. He partly opened the door and stepped forth into -the porch. - -When he had heard what the clerk of St. Enodoc had to say, he -answered with an order, "Round to the kitchen--bid the men arm and go -by the beach." - -He returned into the hall, went to the fireplace and took down a pair -of pistols, tried them that they were charged, and thrust them into -his belt. - -Next he went up to Judith, and laid his hand on her shoulder. - -"Time presses," he said; "I have to be off. Your answer." She looked -up. The board was studded with drops of water. She had not wept, these -stains were not her tears, they were the sweat of anguish off her brow -that had run over the board. - -"Well, Judith, our answer." - -"I accept." - -"Unreservedly?" - -"Unreservedly." - -"Stay," said he. He spoke low, indistinctly articulated sentences. -"Let there be no holding back between us. You shall know all. You have -wondered concerning the death of Wyvill--I know you have asked -questions about it. I killed him." - -He paused. - -"You heard of the wreckers on that vessel cast on Doom Bar. I was -their leader." - -Again he paused. - -"You thought I had sent Jamie out with a light to mislead the vessel. -You thought right. I did have her drawn to her destruction, and by -your brother." - -He paused again. He saw Judith's hand twitch: that was the only sign -of emotion in her. - -"And Lady Knighton's jewels. I took them off her--it was I who tore -her ear." - -Again a stillness. The sky outside shone in at the window, a lurid -red. From the kitchen could be heard the voice of a man singing. - -"Now you know all," said Coppinger. "I would not have you take me -finally, fully, unreservedly without knowing the truth. Give me your -resolve." - -She slightly lifted her hands; she looked steadily into his face with -a stony expression in hers. - -"What is it!" - -"I cannot help myself--unreservedly yours." - -Then he caught her to him, pressed her to his heart and kissed her -wet face--wet as though she had plunged it into the sea. - -"To-morrow," said he, "to-morrow shall be our true wedding." - -And he dashed out of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - -TO JUDITH. - - -In the smugglers' cave were Oliver Menaida and the party of Preventive -men, not under his charge, but under that of Wyvill. This man, though -zealous in the execution of his duty, and not averse, should the -opportunity offer, of paying off a debt in full with a bullet, instead -of committing his adversary to the more lenient hands of the law, -shared in that failing, if it were a failing, of being unable to do -anything without being primed with spirits, a failing that was common -at that period, to coast-guards and smugglers alike. The latter had to -be primed in order to run a cargo, and the former must be in like -condition to catch them at it. It was thought, not unjustly, that the -magistrates before whom, if caught, the smugglers were brought, needed -priming in order to ripen their intellects for pronouncing judgment. -But it was not often that a capture was effected. When it was, priming -was allowed for the due solemnization of the fact by the captors; -failure always entitled them to priming in order to sustain their -disappointment with fortitude. Wyvill had lost a brother in the cause, -and his feelings often overcame him when he considered his loss, and -their poignancy had to be slaked with the usual priming. It served, as -its advocates alleged, as a great stimulant to courage; but it served -also, as its deprecators asserted, as a solvent to discipline. - -Now that the party were in possession of the den of their adversaries, -such a success needed, in their eyes, commemoration. They were likely, -speedily, to have a tussle with the smugglers, and to prepare -themselves for that required the priming of their nerves and sinews. -They had had a sharp struggle with the sea in rounding Pentyre Point, -and their unstrung muscles and joints demanded screwing up again by -the same means. - -The Black Prince had been discerned through the falling darkness -drawing shoreward with the rising tide; but it was certain that for -another hour or two the men would have to wait before she dropped -anchor, and those ashore came down to the unloading. - -A lantern was lighted, and the cave was explored. Certainly -Coppinger's men from the land would arrive before the boats from the -Black Prince, and it was determined to at once arrest them, and then -await the contingent in the boats, and fall on them as they landed. -The party was small, it consisted of but seven men, and it was -advisable to deal with the smugglers piecemeal. - -The men, having leisure, brought out their food, and tapped the keg -they had procured at the Rock. It was satisfactory to them that the -Black Prince was apparently bent on discharging the cargo that night -and in that place, thus they would not have to wait in the cave -twenty-four hours, and not, after all, be disappointed. - -"All your pistols charged?" asked Wyvill. - -"Aye, aye, sir." - -"Then take your suppers while you may. We shall have hot work -presently. Should a step be heard below, throw a bit o' sailcloth over -the lantern, Samson." - -Oliver was neither hungry nor thirsty. He had both eaten and drunk -sufficient when at the station. He therefore left the men to make -their collation, prime their spirits, pluck up their courage, screw up -their nerves, polish their wits, all with the same instrument, and -descended the slope of shingle, stooped under the brow of rock that -divided the lower from the upper cave, and made his way to the -entrance, and thence out over the sands of the cove. He knew that the -shore could be reached only by the donkey-path, or by the dangerous -track down the chimney--a track he had not discovered till he had made -a third exploration of the cave. Down this tortuous and perilous -descent he was convinced the smugglers would not come. It was, he saw, -but rarely used, and designed as a way of escape only on an emergency. -A too-frequent employment of this path would have led to a treading of -the turf on the cliff above, and to a marking of the line of descent, -that would have attracted the attention of the curious, and revealed -to the explorer the place of retreat. - -Oliver, therefore, went forward toward the point where the donkey-path -reached the sands, deeming it advisable that a watch should be kept -on this point, so that his party might be forewarned in time of the -approach of the smugglers. - -There was much light in the sky, a fantastic, mysterious glow, as -though some great conflagration were taking place and the clouds over -head reflected its flicker. - -There passed throbs of shadow from side to side, and as Oliver looked -he could almost believe that the light he saw proceeded from a great -bonfire, such as was kindled on the Cornish Moors on Midsummer's Eve, -and that the shadows were produced by men and women dancing round the -flames and momentarily intercepting the light. - -Then ensued a change. The rose hue vanished suddenly, and in its place -shot up three broad ribbons of silver light; and so bright and clear -was the light that the edge of the cliff against it was cut as sharp -as a black silhouette on white paper, and he could see every bush of -gorse there, and a sheep--a solitary sheep. - -Suddenly he was startled by seeing a man before him, coming over the -sand. - -"Who goes there?" - -"What--Oliver! I have found you!" the answer was in his father's -voice. "Oh, well, I got fidgeted, and I thought I would come and see -if you had arrived." - -"For heaven's sake, you have told no one of our plans?" - -"I--bless you, boy--not I. You know you told me yourself, before going -to the station, what you intended, and I was troubled and anxious, and -I came to see how things were turning out. The Black Prince is coming -in; she will anchor shortly. She can't come beyond the point yonder. I -was sure you would be here. How many have you brought with you?" - -"But six." - -"Too few. However, now I am with you, that makes eight." - -"I wish you had not come, father." - -"My boy, I did not come only on your account. I have my poor little Ju -so near my heart that I long to put out if only a finger to liberate -her from that ruffian, whom by the way I have challenged." - -"Yes--but I have stepped in as your substitute. I shall, I trust, try -conclusions with Coppinger to-night. Come with me to the cave I told -you of. We will send a man to keep guard at the foot of the donkey -path." - -Oliver led the way; the sands reflected the illumination of the sky, -and the foam that swept up the beach had a rosy tinge. The waves -hissed as they rushed up the shore, as though impatient at men -speaking and not listening to the voice of the ocean, that should -subdue all human tongues, and command mute attention. And yet that -roar is inarticulate, it is like the foaming fury of the dumb, that -strives with noise and gesticulation to explain the thoughts that are -working within. - -In the cave it was dark, and Oliver lighted a piece of touchwood as a -means of observing the shelving ground, and taking his direction, till -he passed under the brow of rock and entered the upper cavern. - -After a short scramble, the dim yellow glow of light from this inner -recess was visible, when Oliver extinguished his touchwood and pushed -on, guided by this light. - -On entering the upper cave he was surprised to find the guards lying -about asleep, and snoring. He went at once to Wyvill, seized him by -the arm and shook him, but none of his efforts could rouse him. He lay -as a log, or as one stunned. - -"Father! help me with the others," said Oliver in great concern. - -Mr. Menaida went from one to the other, spoke to each, shook him, held -the lantern to his eyes; he raised their heads; when he let go his -hold, they fell back. - -"What is the meaning of this?" asked Oliver. - -"Humph!" said old Menaida, "I'll tell you what this means. There is a -rogue among them, and their drink has been drugged with deadly -night-shade. You might be sure of this--that among six coast-guards -one would be in the pay of Coppinger. Which is it? Whoever it is, he -is pretending to be as dead drunk and stupefied as the others, and -which is the man, Noll?" - -"I cannot tell. This keg of brandy was got at the Rock Inn." - -"It was got there and there drugged, but by one of this company. Who -is it?" - -"Yes," said Oliver, waxing wrathful, "and what is more, notice was -sent to Coppinger to be on his guard. I saw the sexton going in the -direction of Pentyre." - -"That man is a rascal." - -"And now we shall not encounter Coppinger. He will be warned and not -come." - -"Trust him to come. He has heard of this. He will come and murder them -all as he did Wyvill." - -Oliver felt as though a frost had fallen on him. - -"Hah!" said old Menaida. "Never trust anyone in this neighborhood; you -cannot tell who is not in the pay or under the control of Coppinger, -from the magistrate on the bench to the huckster who goes round the -country. Among these six men, one is a spy and a traitor. Which it is -we cannot tell. There is nothing else to be done but to bind them all, -hand and foot. There is plenty of cord here." - -"Plenty. But surely not Wyvill." - -"Wyvill and all. How can you say that he is not the man who has done -it? Many a fellow has carried his brother in his pocket. What if he -has been bought?" - -Old Menaida was right. He had not lived so many years in the midst of -smugglers without having learned something of their ways. His advice -must be taken, for the danger was imminent. If, as he supposed, full -information had been sent to Captain Cruel, then he and his men would -be upon them shortly. - -Oliver hastily brought together all the cord of a suitable thickness -he could find, and the old father raised and held each Preventive man, -while Oliver firmly bound him hand and foot. As he did not know which -was shamming sleep, he must bind all. Of the six, five were wholly -unconscious what was being done to them, and the sixth thought it -advisable to pretend to be as the rest, for he was quite aware that -neither Oliver nor his father would scruple to silence him effectually -did he show signs of animation. - -When all were made fast, old Mr. Menaida said: - -"Now, Noll, my boy, are you armed?" - -"No, father. When I went from home I expected to return. I did not -know I should want weapons. But these fellows have their pistols and -cutlasses." - -"Try the pistols. There, take that of the man Wyvill. Are you sure -they are loaded?" - -"I know they are." - -"Well, try." - -Oliver took Wyvill's pistol, and put in the ramrod. - -"Oh yes, it is loaded." - -"Make sure. Draw the loading. You don't know what it is to have to do -with Coppinger." - -Oliver drew the charge, and then, as is usual, when the powder has -been removed, blew down the barrel. Then he observed that there was a -choke somewhere. He took the pistol to the lantern, opened the side of -the lantern and examined it. The touch-hole was plugged with wax. - -"Humph!" said Mr. Menaida. "The man who drugged the liquor waxed the -touch-holes of the pistols. Try the rest." - -Oliver did not now trouble himself to draw the charges; he cocked each -man's pistol and drew the trigger. Not one would discharge. All had -been treated in like manner. - -Oliver thought for a moment what was to be done. He dared not leave -the sleeping men unprotected, and he and his father alone were -insufficient to defend them. - -"Father," said he, "there is but one thing that can be done now: you -must go at once, fly to the nearest farmhouses and collect men, and, -if possible, hold the donkey path before Coppinger and his men arrive. -If you are too late, pursue them. I will choke the narrow entrance, -and will light a fire. Perhaps they may be afraid when they see a -blaze here, and may hold off. Anyhow, I can defend this place for a -while. But I don't expect that they will attack it." - -Mr. Menaida at once saw that his son's judgment was right, and he -hurried out of the cave, Oliver holding the light to assist him to -descend, and then he made his way over the sands to the path, and up -that to the downs. - -No sooner was he gone than Oliver collected what wood and straw were -there, sailcloth, oilcloth, everything that was combustible, and piled -them up into a heap, then applied the candle to them, and produced a -flame. The wood was damp and did not burn freely, but he was able to -awake a good fire that filled the cavern with light. He trusted that -when the smugglers saw that their den was in the possession of the -enemy they would not risk the attempt to enter and recover it. They -might not, they probably did not, know to what condition the holders -of the cave were reduced. - -The light of the fire roused countless bats that had made the roof of -the cave their resting-place, and they flew wildly to and fro with -whirr of wings and shrill screams. - -Oliver set to work with all haste to heap stones so as to choke the -entrance from the lower cave, by which he anticipated that the -smugglers would enter, should they resolve on so desperate a course. -But owing to the rapid inclination, the pebbles yielded, and what he -piled up rolled down. He then, with great effort, got the boat thrust -down to the opening, and by main force drew it partly across. It was -not possible for him completely to block the entrance, but by planting -the boat athwart it, he could prevent several men from entering at -once, and whoever did enter must scramble over the bulwarks of the -boat. - -All this took some time, and he was thus engaged, when his attention -was suddenly arrested by the click of a pistol brought to the cock. He -looked hastily about him, and saw Coppinger, who, unobserved, had -descended by the chimney, and now by the light of the fire was taking -deliberate aim at him. Oliver drew back behind a rock. - -"You coward!" shouted Captain Cruel. "Come out and be shot." - -"I am no coward," answered Oliver. "Let us meet with equal arms. I -have a cutlass." He had taken one from the side of a sleep-drunk -coast-guard. - -"I prefer to shoot you down as a dog," said Coppinger. - -Then holding his pistol levelled in the direction of Oliver, he -approached the sleeping men. Oliver saw at once his object: he would -liberate the confederate. He stepped out from behind the rock, and -immediately the pistol was discharged. A bat fell at the feet of -Oliver. Had not that bat at the moment whizzed past his head and -received the ball in its soft and yielding body, the young man would -have fallen shot through his head. - -Coppinger uttered a curse, and put his hand to his belt and drew forth -his second pistol. But Oliver sprang forward, and with a sweep of his -cutlass caught him on the wrist with the blade as he was about to -touch the trigger. The pistol fell from his hand, and a rush of blood -overflowed the back of the hand. - -Coppinger remained for one minute motionless. So did Oliver, who did -not again raise his cutlass. - -But at that moment a harsh voice was heard crying, "There he is, my -men, at him; beat his brains out. A guinea for the first man who -knocks him over," and from the further side of the boat, illumined by -the glare from the fire, were seen the faces of Mr. Scantlebray, his -brother, and several men, who began to scramble over the obstruction. - -Then, and then only in his life, did Coppinger's heart fail him. His -right hand was powerless; the sharp blade had severed the tendons, and -blood was flowing from his wrist in streams. One pistol was -discharged, the other had fallen. In a minute he would be in the hands -of his deadly enemies. - -He turned and fled. The light from the fire, the illumined smoke, rose -through the chimney, and by that he could run up the familiar track, -reach the platform in the face of the cliff, thence make his way by -the path up which he had formerly borne Judith. He did not hesitate, -he fled, and Oliver, also without hesitation, pursued him. As he went -up the narrow track, his feet trod in and were stained with the blood -that had fallen from Coppinger's wounded arm, but he did not notice -it--he was unaware of it till the morrow. - -Coppinger reached the summit of the cliffs. His feet were on the down. -He ran at once in the direction of Othello Cottage. His only chance of -safety lay there. There he could hide in the attic, and Judith would -never betray him. In his desperate condition, wounded, his blood -flowing from him in streams, hunted by his foes, that one thought was -in him--Judith--he must go to Judith. She would never betray him, she -would be hacked to death rather than give him up. To Judith as his -last refuge! - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - -IN THE SMOKE. - - -Judith left Pentyre Glaze when she had somewhat recovered herself -after the interview with Coppinger and her surrender. She had fought a -brave battle, but had been defeated and must lay down her arms. -Resistance was no longer possible if Jamie was to be saved from a -miserable fate. Now by the sacrifice of herself she had assured to, -him a future of calm and innocent happiness. She knew that with Uncle -Zachie and Oliver he would be cared for, kindly treated, and employed. -Uncle Zachie himself was not to be trusted; whatever he might promise, -his good nature was greater than his judgment. But she had confidence -in Oliver, who would prove a check on the over-indulgence which his -father would allow. But Jamie would forget her. His light and -unretentive mind was not one to harbor deep feeling. He would forget -her when on board ship in his pleasure at running about the vessel -chattering with the sailors, and would only think of her if he wanted -aught or was ill. Rapidly the recollection of her, love for her, would -die out of his mind and heart; and as it died out of his, her thought -and love for him would deepen and become more fixed, for she would -have no one, nothing in the world to think of and love save her -twin-brother. - -She walked on in the dark winter night, lighted only by the auroral -glow overhead, and was conscious of a smell of tobacco-smoke that so -persistently seemed to follow her that she was forced to notice it. -She became uneasy, thinking that someone was walking behind the hedge -with a pipe, watching her, perhaps waiting to spring out upon her when -distant from the house, where her cries for help might not be heard. - -She stood still. The smell was strong. She climbed the hedge on one -side and looked over; as far as she could discern in the red glimmer -from the flushed sky there was no one there. She listened, she could -hear no step. She walked hastily on to a gate in the hedge on the -opposite side and went through that. The smell of burning tobacco was -as strong there. Judith turned in the lane and walked back in the -direction of the house. The smell pursued her. It was strange. Could -she carry the odor in her clothes? She turned again and resumed her -walk toward Othello Cottage. Now she was distinctly aware that the -scent came to her on the wind. Her perplexity on this subject served -as a diversion of her mind from her own troubles. - -She emerged upon the downs, and made her way across them toward the -cottage that lay in a dip, not to be observed except by one close to -it. The wind when it brushed up from the sea was odorless. - -Presently she came in sight of Othello Cottage, and in spite of the -darkness could see that a strange, dense, white fog surrounded it, -especially the roof, which seemed to be wearing a white wig. In a -moment she understood what this signified. Othello Cottage was on -fire, and the stores of tobacco in the attic were burning. Judith ran. -Her own troubles were forgotten in her alarm for Jamie. No fire as yet -had broken through the roof. - -She reached the door, which was open. Mr. Scantlebray in leaving had -not shut the door, so as to allow the boy to crawl out should he -recover sufficient intelligence to see that he was in danger. - -It is probable that Scantlebray, senior, would have made further -efforts to save Jamie, but that he believed he would meet with his -brother, and two or three men he was bringing with him, near the -house, and then it would be easy unitedly to drag the boy forth. He -did, indeed, meet with Obadiah, but also at the same time with Uncle -Zachie Menaida and a small party of farm-laborers, and when he heard -that Mr. Menaida desired help to secure Coppinger and the smugglers, -he thought no more of the boy and joined heartily in the attempt to -rescue the Preventive men and take Coppinger. - -Through the open door dashed Judith, crying out to Jamie whom she -could not see. There was a dense, white cloud in the room, let down -from above, and curling out at the top of the door, whence it issued -as steam from a boiler. It was impossible to breathe in this fog of -tobacco-smoke, and Judith knew that if she allowed it to surround her -she would be stupefied. She therefore stooped and entered, calling -Jamie. Although the thick mattress of white smoke had not as yet -descended to the floor, and had left comparatively clear air beneath -it--the in-draught from the door--yet the odor of the burning tobacco -impregnated the atmosphere. Here and there curls of smoke descended, -dropped capriciously from the bed of vapor above, and wantonly played -about. - -Judith saw her brother lying at full length near the fire. Scantlebray -had drawn him partly to the door, but he had rolled back to his former -position near the hearth, perhaps from feeling the cold wind that blew -in on him. - -There was no time to be lost. Judith knew that flame must burst forth -directly--directly the burning tobacco had charred through the rafters -and flooring of the attic and allowed the fresh air from below to rush -in and, acting as a bellows, blow the whole mass of glowing tobacco -into flame. It was obvious that the fire had originated above in the -attic. There was nothing burning in the room, and the smoke drove -downward in strips through the joints of the boards overhead. - -"Jamie, come, come with me!" She shook the boy, she knelt by him and -raised him on her knee. He was stupefied with cognac, and with the -fumes of the burning tobacco he had inhaled. - -She must drag him forth. He was no longer half-conscious as he had -been when Mr. Scantlebray made the same attempt; the power to resist -was now gone from him. - -Judith was delicately made, and was not strong, but she put her arms -under the shoulders of Jamie and herself on her knees and dragged him -along the floor. He was as heavy as a corpse. She drew him a little -way and desisted, overcome, panting, giddy, faint. But time must not -be lost. Every moment was precious. Judith knew that overhead in the -loft was something that would not smoulder and glow, but burst into -furious flame--spirits. Not, indeed, many kegs, but there were some. -When this became ignited their escape would be impossible. She drew -Jamie further up; she was behind him. She thrust him forward as she -moved on upon her knees, driving him a step further at every advance. -It was slow and laborious work. She could not maintain this effort -for long and fell forward on her hands, and he fell also at the same -time on the floor. - -Then she heard a sound, a roar, an angry growl. The shock of the fall, -and striking his head against the slate pavement, roused Jamie -momentarily and he also heard the noise. - -"Ju! the roar of the sea!" - -"A sea of fire, Jamie! Oh, do push to the door." - -He raised himself on his hands, looked vacantly round, and fell again -into stupid unconsciousness. Now still on her knees, but with a brain -becoming bewildered with the fumes, she crept to his head, placed -herself between him and the door, and holding his shoulders, dragged -him toward her, she moving backward. - -Even thus she could make but little way with him; his boot-tops caught -in the edge of a slate slab ill fitted in the floor and held him, so -that she could not pull him to her with the additional resistance thus -caused. Then an idea struck her. Staggering to her feet, holding her -breath, she plunged in the direction of the window, beat it open, and -panted in the inrush of pure air. With this new current wafted in -behind her she returned amid the smoke, and for a moment it dissipated -the density of the cloud about her. The window had faced the wind, and -the rush of air through it was more strong than that which entered by -the door. And yet this expedient did not answer as she had expected, -for the column of strong, cold air pouring in from a higher level -threw the cloud into confusion, stirred it up as it were, and lessened -the space of uninvaded atmosphere below the descending bed of vapor. - -Again she went to Jamie. The roar overhead had increased, some vent -had been found, and the attic was in full flagrance. Now, drawing a -long breath at the door, near the level of the ground, she returned to -her brother and disengaged his foot from the slate, then dragged, then -thrust, sometimes at his head, sometimes at his side; then again she -had her arms round him, and swung herself forward to the right knee -sideways; then brought up the other knee, and swung herself with the -dead weight in her arms again to the right, and thus was able to work -her way nearer to the door, and, as she got nearer to the door, the -air was clearer, and she was able to breathe freer. - -At length she laid hold of the jamb with one hand, and with the other -she caught the lappel of the boy's coat, and assisted by the support -she had gained, was able to drag him over the doorstep. - -At that moment passed her rushed a man. She looked, saw and knew -Coppinger. As he rushed passed, the blood squirting from his maimed -right hand fell on the girl lying prostrate at the jamb to which she -had clung. - -And now within a red light appeared, glowing through the mist as a -fiery eye, not only so, but every now and then a fiery rain descended. -The burning tobacco had consumed the boards and was falling through in -red masses. - -Judith had but just brought her brother into safety, or comparative -safety, and now another, Coppinger, had plunged into the burning -cottage, rushed to almost certain death. She cried to him as well as -she could with her short breath. She could not leave him within. Why -had he run there? She saw on her dress the blood that had fallen from -him. She went outside the hut and dragged Jamie forth and laid him on -the grass. Then, without hesitation, inhaling all the pure air she -could, she darted once more into the burning cottage. Her eyes were -stung with the smoke, but she pushed on, and found Coppinger under the -open window, fallen on the floor, his back and head against the wall, -his arms at his side, and the blood streaming over the slate pavement -from his right gashed wrist. Accident or instinct--it could not have -been judgment--had carried him to the only spot in the room where pure -air was to be found, and there it descended like a rushing waterfall, -blowing about the prostrate man's wild long hair. - -"Judith!" said he, looking at her, and he raised his left hand. -"Judith, this is the end." - -"Oh, Captain Coppinger, do come out. The house is burning. Quick, or -it will be too late." - -"It is too late for me," he said. "I am wounded." He held up his -half-severed hand. "I gave this to you and you rejected it." - -"Come--oh, do come--or you and I will be burnt." In the inrushing -sweep of air both were clear of the smoke and could breathe. - -He shook his head. "I am followed. I will not be taken. I am no good -now--without my right hand. I will not go to jail." - -She caught his arm, and tearing the kerchief from her neck, bound it -round and round where the veins were severed. - -"It is in vain," he said. "I have lost most of my blood. Ju!"--he held -her with his left hand--"Ju, if you live, swear to me, swear you will -sign the register." - -She was looking into his face--it was ghastly, partly through loss of -blood, partly because lighted by the glare of the burning tobacco that -dropped from above. Then a sense of vast pity came surging over her -along with the thought of how he had loved her. Into her burning eyes -tears came. - -"Judith!" he said, "I made my confession to you--I told you my sins. -Give me also my release. Say you forgive me." - -She had forgotten her peril, forgotten about the fire that was above -and around, as she looked at his eyes, and, holding the maimed right -arm, felt the hot blood welling through her kerchief and running over -her hand. - -"I pray you, oh, I pray you, come outside. There is still time." - -Again he shook his head. "My time is up. I do not want to live. I have -not your love. I could never win it, and if I went outside I should be -captured and sent to prison. Will you give me my absolution?" - -"What do you mean?" And in her trembling concern for him--in the -intensity of her pity, sorrow, care for him--she drew his wounded hand -to her and pressed it against her heaving bosom. - -"What I mean is, can you forgive me?" - -"Indeed--indeed I do." - -"What--all I have done?" - -"All." - -She saw only a dying man before her, a man who might be saved if he -would, but would not because her love was everything to him, and -_that_ he never, never could gain. Would she make no concession to -him? could she not draw a few steps nearer? As she looked into his -face and held his bleeding arm to her bosom, pity overpowered -her--pity, when she saw how strong had been this wild and wicked -man's love. Now she truly realized its depth, its intensity, and its -tenderness alternating with stormy blasts of passion, as he wavered -between hope and fear, and the despair that was his when he knew he -must lose her. - -Then she stooped, and, the tears streaming over her face, she kissed -him on his brow, and then on his lips, and then drew back, still -holding his maimed hand, with both of hers crossed over it, to her -heaving bosom. Kneeling, she had her eyes on his, and his were on -hers--steady, searching, but with a gentle light in them. And as she -thus looked she became unconscious, and sank, still holding his hand, -on the floor. - -At that instant, through the smoke and raining masses of burning -tobacco, plunged Oliver Menaida. He saw Judith, bent, caught her in -his arms, and rushed back through the door. - -A moment after and he was at the entrance again, to plunge through and -rescue his wounded adversary; but the moment when this could be done -was past. There was an explosion above, followed by a fall as of a -sheet of blue light, a curtain of fire through the mist of white -smoke. No living man could pass that. Oliver went round to the window, -and strove to enter by that way; the man who had taken refuge there -was still in the same position, but he had torn the kerchief of Judith -from the bleeding arm, and he held it to his mouth, looking with fixed -eyes into the falling red and blue fires and the swirling flocks of -white smoke. - -There were iron bars at the window. Oliver tore at these to displace -them. - -"Coppinger!" he shouted, "stand up--help me to break these bars!" - -But Coppinger would not move, or, possibly, the power was gone from -him. The bars were firmly set. They had been placed in the windows by -Coppinger's orders and under his own supervision, to secure Othello -Cottage, his store-place, against invasion by the inquisitive. - -At length Oliver succeeded in wrenching one bar away, and now a gap -was made through which he might reach Coppinger and draw him forth -through the window. He was scrambling in when the Captain staggered to -his feet. - -"Let me alone," said he. "You have won what I have lost. Let me -alone. I am defeated." - -Then he stepped into the mass of smoke and falling liquid blue fire -and dropping masses of red glowing tobacco. A moment more, and the -whole of the attic floor, with all the burning contents of the garret, -fell in. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - -SQUAB PIE. - - -Next morning, at an early hour, Judith, attended by Mr. Zachary -Menaida, appeared at the rectory of St. Enodoc. She was deadly pale, -but there was decision in her face. She asked to see Mr. Desiderius -Mules in his study, and was shown into what had, in her father's days, -been the pantry. - -Mr. Menaida had a puzzled look in his watery eyes. He had been up all -night, and indeed it had been a night in which few in the neighborhood -had slept, excepting Mr. Mules, who knew nothing of what had happened. -The smugglers, alarmed by the fire at Othello Cottage, and by the -party collected by Mr. Menaida to guard the descent to the beach, had -not ventured to force their way to the cave. The Black Prince, finding -that no signal was made from the ledge above the cave, suspected -mischief, heaved anchor and bore away. The stupefied members of the -Preventive service were conveyed to the nearest cottages, and there -left to recover. As for Othello Cottage, it was a blazing and smoking -mass of fire, and till late on the following day could not be -searched. There was no fire-engine anywhere near; nor would a -fire-engine have availed to save either the building or its contents. - -When Mr. Mules appeared, Judith said in a quiet but firm tone, "I have -come to sign the register. Mr. Menaida is here. I do it willingly, and -with no constraint." - -"Thank you. This is most considerate to my feelings. I wish all my -flock would obey my advice as you are now doing," said the rector, and -produced the book, which Judith signed with trembling hand. - -Mr. Desiderius was quite ignorant of the events of the night. He had -no idea that at that time Captain Coppinger was dead. - -It was not till some days later that Judith understood why, at the -last moment, with death before his eyes, Coppinger had urged on her -this ratification of her marriage. It was not till his will was found, -that she understood his meaning. He had left to her, as his wife, -everything that he possessed. No one knew of any relatives that he -had, for no one knew whence he came. No one ever appeared to put in a -claim against the widow. - -On the second day the remains of the burnt cottage were cleared away, -and then the body of Cruel Coppinger was found, fearfully charred, and -disfigured past recognition. There were but two persons who knew that -this blackened corpse belonged to the long dreaded captain, and these -were Judith and Oliver. When the burnt body was cleared from the -charred fragments of clothing that were about it one article was -discovered uninjured. About his throat Coppinger had worn a silk -handkerchief, and this as well as the collar of his coat had preserved -his neck and the upper portion of his chest from injury such as had -befallen the rest of his person. And when the burnt kerchief was -removed, and the singed cloth of the coat-collar, there was discovered -round the throat a narrow black band, and sewn into this band, one -golden thread of hair, encircling the neck. - - * * * * * - -Are our readers acquainted with that local delicacy entitled, in -Cornwall and Devon, Squab Pie? To enlighten the ignorant, it shall be -described. First, however, we premise that of squab pies there are two -sorts: Devonian squab and Cornish squab. The Cornish squab differs -from the Devonian squab in one particular; that shall be specified -presently. - -_How to Make a Squab Pie._--Take half a pound of veal, cut into nice -square pieces, and put a layer of them at the bottom of a pie-dish. -Sprinkle over these a portion of herbs, spices, seasoning, lemon-peel, -and the yolks of eggs cut in slices; cut a quarter of a pound of -boiled ham very thin, and put in a layer of this. Take half a pound of -mutton cut into nice pieces, and put a layer of them on the top of the -veal. Sprinkle as before with herbs and spices. Take half a pound of -beef, cut into nice pieces, and put a layer of them on top of the -mutton. Sprinkle as before with herbs and spices. Cut up half a dozen -apples very fine, also half a dozen onions, mix, and proceed to ram -the onions and apples into every perceivable crevice. Take half a -dozen pilchards, remove the bones, chop up and strew the whole pie -with pilchards. Then fill up with clotted cream, till the pie-dish -will hold no more. (For Cornish squab add, treated in like manner, a -cormorant.) Proceed to lay a puff paste on the edge of the dish. Then -insert a tablespoon and stir the contents, till your arm aches. Cover -with crust or ornament it with leaves, brush it over with the yolk of -an egg, and bake in a well-heated oven for one or one and a half hour, -or longer, should the pie be very large (two in the case of a Cornish -squab, and the cormorant very tough). - -In one word, a squab pie is a scrap pie. So is the final chapter of a -three-volume novel. It is made up, from the first word to the last, of -scraps of all kinds, toothsome and the reverse. - -Now let the reader observe--he has been already supplied with scraps. -He has learned the result of Mr. Menaida's collecting men to assist -him against the smugglers. Also of his expedition along with Judith to -the rectory of St. Enodoc. Also he has heard the provisions of Captain -Coppinger's will; also that this will was not contested. He has also -heard of the recovery of the Captain's body from the burnt cottage. - -Is not this a collection of scraps cut very small? But there are more, -of a different character, with which this chapter will be made up, -before the pie-crust closes over it with a flourishing "Finis" to -ornament it. - -Mr. Scantlebray had lost his wife, who had been an ailing woman for -some years, and being a widower, cast about his eyes for a second -wife, after the way of widowers. There was not the excuse of a young -family needing a prudent housewife to manage the children, for Mr. -Scantlebray had only one daughter, who had been allotted by her father -and by popular opinion to Captain Coppinger, but had failed to secure -him. Mr. Scantlebray, though an active man, had not amassed much -money, and if he could add to his comforts, provide himself with good -eating and good drinking, by marrying a woman with money, he was not -averse to so doing. Now, Mr. Scantlebray had lent a ready ear to the -voice of rumor which made Miss Dionysia Trevisa the heiress who had -come in for all the leavings of that rich old spinster, Miss Ceely, of -St. Austell, and Mr. Scantlebray gave credit to this rumor, and acting -on it, proposed to and was accepted by Miss Dionysia. - -Now when, after marriage, Mr. Scantlebray found out that the sweet -creature he had taken to his side was worth under a quarter of the sum -he had set down at the lowest figure, at which he could endure her, -and when the late Miss Trevisa, now the second Mrs. Scantlebray, -learned from her husband's lips that he had married her only for her -money, and not for her good looks or for any good quality she was -supposed to be endowed with, the reader, knowing something of the -characters of these two persons, may conjecture, if he please, what -sort of scenes ensued daily between them, and it may be safely -asserted that the bitterest enemies of either could not have desired -for each a more unenviable lot than was theirs. - -Very shortly after the death of Captain Coppinger, Judith and Jamie -left Bristol in a vessel, with Uncle Zachie, bound for Lisbon. Oliver -Menaida had gone to Oporto before, to make arrangements for his -father. It was settled that Judith and her brother should live with -the old man, and that the girl should keep house for him. Oliver would -occupy his old quarters, that belonged to the firm in which he was a -partner. - -It is a strange thing--but after the loss of Coppinger Judith's mind -reverted much to him, she thought long and tenderly of his -considerations for her, his patience with her, his forbearance, his -gentleness toward her, and of his intense and enduring love. His -violence she forgot, and she put down the crimes he had committed to -evil association, or to an irregulated, undisciplined conscience, -excusable in a measure in one who had not the advantages she had -enjoyed, of growing up under the eye of a blameless, honorable, and -right-minded father. - -In the Consistory Court of Canterbury is a book of the marriages -performed at the Oporto factory, by the English chaplain resident -there. It begins in the year 1788 and ends in 1807. The author has -searched this volume in vain for a marriage between Oliver Menaida -and Judith Coppinger. If such a marriage did take place, it must have -been after 1807, but the book of register of marriages later than this -date is not to be found in the Consistory Court. - -Were they married? - -On inquiry at St. Enodoc no information has been obtained, for neither -Judith nor the Menaidas had any relatives there with whom they -communicated. If Mrs. Scantlebray ever heard, she said nothing, or, at -all events, nothing she said concerning them has been remembered. - -Were they ever married? - -That question the reader must decide as he likes. - - -FINIS. - - - - -Transcriber's Note - -A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber for the -convenience of the reader. - -Saint is abbreviated to both S. and St. in this book. - -The author refers to plants by the names of escallonica and -eschalonia. It's likely that both are errors for escallonia, but they -are preserved as printed. - -Instances of archaic spelling (e.g. taught meaning taut) are preserved -as printed. Variant spelling (e.g. jewelry and jewellery) is preserved -as printed except where there was a clear prevalence of one form over -another, as follows: - - Page 21--Wyvell amended to Wyvill--"... on one occasion a - preventive man named Ewan Wyvill, ..." - - Page 21--Wyvell amended to Wyvill--"Wyvill had disappeared, - and the body was recovered ..." - - Page 79--jassamine amended to jessamine--"... a-smelling to - the jessamine is the surveyor ..." - - Page 191--stupified amended to stupefied--"... so stupefied - was he by his terrors, ..." - -Hyphenation usage has been made consistent. - -Minor punctuation errors have been repaired. - -The following printer errors have been fixed: - - Page 31--contion amended to condition--"The chancel of the - church was in that condition ..." - - Page 32--omitted 'a' added for sense--"... was to be - anticipated from a broken-hearted widow and helpless - children ..." - - Page 34--repeated 'the' deleted--"... who occupied a - double cottage at the little hamlet of Polzeath." - - Page 35--she amended to he--"... with a jerk of the rein and - a set of the brow he showed ..." - - Page 56--Bluet amended to Blue--"... Boy Blue blew his horn, - ..." - - Page 63--companian amended to companion--"... the friend and - companion of Judith." - - Page 70--it amended to in--"... the voice summoned her to - come in, ..." - - Page 104--repeated 'had' deleted--"... had seen him with his - carriers defile out of the lane ..." - - Page 120--keenist amended to keenest--"A cry of intensest, - keenest anguish ..." - - Page 126--repeated 'the' deleted--"That star on the black - sea--what did it mean?" - - Page 162--aught amended to ought--"... but that he was told - it was there, he ought to see it, ..." - - Page 163--hime amended to home--"... "may I get out now and - go home?"" - - Page 168--springs amended to sprigs--"... covered with sprigs - of nondescript pink and blue flowers." - - Page 238--repeated 'and' deleted--"... and never once as I'm - a Christian ..." - - Page 241--coldnesss amended to coldness--"... formed the - resolution to break down the coldness ..." - - Page 247--or amended to of--"... to take this accumulation - of wreckage ..." - - Page 248--officient amended to officiant--"... immediately - over the head of the officiant, ..." - - Page 259--remorselesss amended to remorseless--"... - remorseless and regardless of others, ..." - - Page 278--Judiah amended to Judith--""Nothing," answered - Judith, ..." - - Page 285--Travisa amended to Trevisa--"... by a little - sentiment for Miss Judith Trevisa, ..." - - Page 337--chose amended to choose--"... and if I choose to - live in it I can." - - Page 351--superfluous 'where' deleted before 'there'--"Judith - walked where, near the edge of the cliffs, there was no snow, - ..." - - Page 362--breakfeast amended to breakfast--"... in utter - guilelessness, prepared my breakfast for me, ..." - - Page 397--kness amended to knees--"... and herself on her - knees and dragged him ..." - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's In the Roar of the Sea, by Sabine Baring-Gould - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA *** - -***** This file should be named 40631-8.txt or 40631-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/6/3/40631/ - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Sam W. and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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