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diff --git a/old/54795-0.txt b/old/54795-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b022247..0000000 --- a/old/54795-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7496 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poacher's Wife, by Eden Phillpotts - -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/license - - -Title: The Poacher's Wife - -Author: Eden Phillpotts - -Release Date: May 27, 2017 [EBook #54795] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POACHER'S WIFE *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -THE POACHER’S WIFE - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - LYING PROPHETS - CHILDREN OF THE MIST - SONS OF THE MORNING - THE STRIKING HOURS - THE RIVER - THE AMERICAN PRISONER - THE SECRET WOMAN - KNOCK AT A VENTURE - THE PORTREEVE - THE HUMAN BOY - FANCY FREE - MY DEVON YEAR - UP ALONG AND DOWN ALONG - - - - - THE POACHER’S WIFE - - BY - - EDEN PHILLPOTTS - - METHUEN & CO. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - - _First Published in 1906_ - - _This story originally appeared in the Weekly Edition of THE - TIMES, and is now issued in book form by arrangement with the - Proprietors of that journal._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. AT THE “WHITE HART” 1 - - II. HANGMAN’S HUT 15 - - III. GUNS IN THE NIGHT 27 - - IV. THE WEDDING DAY 40 - - V. A GHOST OF A CHANCE 53 - - VI. THE WEDDING NIGHT 70 - - VII. THE BAD SHIP “PEABODY” 85 - - VIII. MR SIM TELLS A LIE 99 - - IX. IN MIDDLECOTT LOWER HUNDRED 116 - - X. DAN’S LETTER 130 - - XI. THE LAST OF THE “PEABODY” 146 - - XII. HENRY VIVIAN TRIES TO DO HIS DUTY 160 - - XIII. THE OBI MAN 177 - - XIV. JESSE’S FINGER-NAIL 195 - - XV. DANIEL EXPLAINS 210 - - XVI. “OBI” AT MORETON 225 - - XVII. THE CONFESSION 238 - - XVIII. A BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE 247 - - XIX. MR SIM TELLS THE TRUTH 264 - - XX. FIVE MILES IN FIVE MINUTES 279 - - XXI. JOHNNY BEER’S MASTERPIECE 293 - - - - -THE POACHER’S WIFE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -AT THE “WHITE HART” - - -The bar of the “White Hart,” Moretonhampstead, was full, and, in the -atmosphere of smoke and beer, a buzz of sound went up from many throats. - -In one corner, round a table, men sat and laughed, but the object of -their amusement did not share the fun. He was a powerful, bull-necked man -with a clean-shorn face, grey whiskers, and dark eyes that shone brightly -under pent-house brows, bushy and streaked with grey. - -Mr Matthew Sweetland heard the chaff of his companions and looked grim. -He was head gamekeeper at Middlecott Court, and no man had a worthier -reputation. From his master to his subordinates, all spoke well of him. -His life prospered; his autumn “tips” were a splendid secret known only -to himself and his wife. He looked forward presently to retiring from the -severe business of a gamekeeper and spending the end of life in peace. -One thorn alone pricked Matthew; and from that there was no escape. -His only son, Daniel Sweetland, had disappointed him. The keeper’s -wife strove to make her husband more sanguine; neighbours all foretold -pleasant things concerning Daniel; but the lad’s reputation was not good. -His knowledge of sport and his passion for sport had taken a sinister -turn. They were spiced with a love of adventure and very vague ideas -on the law of property. Flogging had not eradicated these instincts. -When the time came to make choice of a trade, Daniel decided against -gamekeeping. - -“I be too fond of sport,” he said. - -And now he worked at Vitifer Mine on Dartmoor, and was known to be the -cleverest poacher in the district. - -On coming of age, the youth made his position clear to his parents. - -“I don’t think the same as you, father, because I’ve larned my lessons -at the Board School, an’ ideas be larger now than they was in your time. -I must have my bit o’ sport; an’ when they catches me, ’twill be time -enough to pull a long face about it. But this I’ll promise on my oath; -that never do I set foot inside Middlecott woods, an’ never will I help -any man as does. I’ll not lift a gun against any bird of your raising; -but more I won’t say. As to game in general--well, I’ve got my opinions; -an’ being a Radical with large ideas about such things, I’ll go my way.” - -“Go your way to the gallows,” said Matthew Sweetland. “If I’d knowed what -I was breeding you for, I’d have sent you to your uncle the cobbler to -London, an’ never taught you one end of a gun from t’other. ’Tis poor -payment for a good father’s care to find his only one be an ungrateful -toad of a boy, an’ a disgrace to the nation.” - -“Sporting will out,” answered Daniel, calmly. “I ban’t a bad sort; an’ -I’ll disgrace nobody. I’m a honest, plain dealer--according to my own -lights; an’ if I don’t agree with you about the rights of property in -wild things like birds an’ fish, an’ a hare now an’ again--well, what of -it?” - -“’Tis the beginning,” declared his father. “From the day I catched you -setting a wire in a hedge unbeknownst to me, I felt that I’d done wrong -to let you bide in the country.” - -And now Matthew Sweetland’s beer tasted sour as he heard the talk of his -neighbours in the bar of the “White Hart.” - -A handsome, fair man was speaking. He looked pale for a country dweller, -and indeed his business kept him much within doors; for he was a -footman at Middlecott Court. His eyes were blue, his face was long, -and his features regular. He spoke slowly and with little accent, for -he had copied his master’s guests carefully and so mended the local -peculiarities of his speech. - -“’Tis said without doubt, Sweetland, that the burglars must have been -helped by somebody--man or maid--who knew the house and grounds. What did -Bartley here think when first he heard about it?” - -The footman turned to a thin, weak-faced, middle-aged person who sat next -to him. Luke Bartley was a policeman, at present off duty, and a recent -burglary of valuable plate was the subject they now discussed. - -Mr Bartley had a feeble mouth and shifty eye. He avoided the gamekeeper’s -scowling glance and answered the footman. - -“Well, we must judge of folks by their records. I don’t say Dan -Sweetland’s ever been afore the Bench; but that’s thanks to his own -wicked cleverness. His father may flash his eyes at me; but I will say -that taking into account Dan’s character an’ pluck an’ cheek, I ban’t -going to rule him out of this job. He might have helped to do it very -easily. He knows Westcombe so well as anybody, and his young woman was -under-housemaid in the house till a week afore the burglary. Well, I -won’t say no more. Only ’tis my business as a police constable to put -two and two together; which I shall do, by the help of God, until I be -promoted. Besides, where was Daniel that night?” - -“He was fishing on the Moor,” said another man--a young and humble -admirer of Daniel Sweetland. - -“So he may have told you; but what’s his word worth?” - -Then the youth, who was called Prowse, spoke again and turned to the -footman. - -“Anyway, it ban’t a very seemly thing of you, Titus Sim, to say a word -against Dan; for ’tis well known that you was after Minnie Marshall -yourself.” - -Titus Sim grew paler than usual and turned roughly on the youngster. - -“What fool is this! And impertinent with it! You ought to go back to -school, Samuel Prowse. ’Tisn’t right that you should talk and drink with -grown men, for you’re too young to see a joke apparently. D’you think I -don’t know Daniel better than you? D’you think I’d breathe a word against -him--the best friend I’ve got in the world? Of course he had no hand in -the burglary at Westcombe. If I thought he had--but it’s a mad idea. -He’s got his own sense of honour, and a straighter man don’t walk this -earth. As to Miss Marshall--she liked him better than she liked me; and -there’s an end of that.” - -“I’m sorry I spoke, then,” said Dan’s young champion. “I beg your pardon, -Titus Sim.” - -“Granted--granted. Only remember this: I’m Dan’s first friend, and best -and truest friend, and he’s mine. We’m closer than brothers, him and me; -and if I make a joke against him now and then, to score against Bartley -here, it’s friendship’s right. But I’ll not let any other man do it.” - -The policeman nodded. - -“There was the three of you,” he said. “Dan, an’ you, an’ Sir Reginald’s -son, Mr Henry. When you were all boys, ’twas a saying in Moreton that -one was never seed without t’others. But rare rascals all three in them -days! You’ve made my legs tired a many times, chasing of ’e out of the -orchards.” - -“Such friendships ought to last for ever,” declared Titus, thoughtfully. -“Mister Henry’s a good friend to me yet. When I got weakly about the -breathing, ’twas him that made Sir Reginald take me on indoors. Though -you’ll witness, Sweetland, that I’d have made a good enough gamekeeper.” - -The grey man nodded. - -“You was larning fast,” he admitted. - -“But not so fast as Daniel. He took to it like a duckling to water--in -his blood, of course.” - -“An’ be Mr Henry his friend still?” asked the policeman. - -Titus Sim hesitated. - -“Mr Henry’s like his father--a stickler for old ways and a pillar of the -nation. He got his larning at Eton--’tis different from what Dan got at -the Board School. He hears these rumours about poaching, and he’s an -awful hard young man--harder than his father; because there’s nobody in -the world judges so hard as them that never have been tempted. No, to be -frank, Mr Henry ain’t so favourable to Daniel as he used to be.” - -“Well, well,” said Bartley; “if ’tis proved as Dan had no hand in the -burglary at Westcombe, I, for one, shall be thankful, an’ hope to see him -a credit to his father yet. But that’s a very serious job, I warn ’e. -Near five thousand pounds of plate gone, as clean as if it had all been -melted and poured into a bog. Not a trace. An’ the house nearly eight -mile by road from the nearest station.” - -“They think the thieves had a motor-car,” said the youngest of the party, -Daniel’s admirer, the lad Prowse. “’Twas your son himself, Mr Sweetland, -who thought of that; for I heard him tell the inspector so last week at -the Warren Inn; an’ the inspector--Mr Gregory, I mean--slapped his leg -an’ said ’twas the likeliest thing he’d heard.” - -They talked at length and the glasses were filled again. - -“As to Dan,” summed up Mr Bartley, “come a few weeks more an’ he’ll be -married. There’s nought like marriage for pulling a man together; an’ -she’m a very nice maiden by all accounts. Ban’t I right, gamekeeper?” - -“You are,” answered Sweetland. “Though I say it, Minnie Marshall’s too -good for my son. I never met a girl made of properer stuff--so quiet and -thoughtful. Many ladies I’ve seen in the sporting field weren’t a patch -on her for sense an’ dignity. God He knows what she seed in Daniel. I -should have thought that Sim here, with his nice speech, an’ pale face, -an’ indoor manners, was much more like to suit her.” - -Under the table Titus Sim clenched his hands until the knuckles grew -white. But on his face was a resigned smile. - -“Thank you for that word, Sweetland. ’Twas a knock-down blow; but, of -course, my only wish is her happiness now. I pray and hope that Dan will -make a good husband for her.” - -“She’ve got a power over him as I never thought no female could get over -Dan,” said Prowse. - -“That’s because you’m a green boy an’ don’t know what the power of the -female be yet,” answered Bartley. “There he is!” he added. “He’m sitting -in the trap outside, an’ Mr Henry’s speaking to him.” - -Sweetland and the rest turned their eyes to the window. - -“He’s borrowed the trap from Butcher Smart,” said Daniel’s father. “He’s -going to drive Minnie out to the Warren Inn on Dartmoor this evening. -There’s a cottage there, within two miles of Vitifer Mine; an’ if she -likes it, he’s going to take her there to dwell after they’m married.” - -At the door of the White Hart stood a horse and trap. A young woman -held the reins and beside the vehicle two men talked and walked up -and down. The threads of their lives were closely interwoven, though -neither guessed it. Birth, education, position separated them widely; -it had seemed improbable that circumstance could bring them more nearly -together; but chance willed otherwise, and time was to see the friendship -of their boyhood followed by strange and terrible tests and hazards -involving the lives of both. - -Young Henry Vivian had just come down from Oxford. His career was -represented by a first-class in Classics and a “Blue” for Rugby football. -He thought well of himself and had a right to do so. He had imbibed -the old-fashioned, crusted opinions of his race, and his own genius -and inclinations echoed them. He was honourable, upright and proud. He -recognised his duty to his ancestors and to those who should follow him. -Time had not tried him and, lacking any gift of imagination, he was -powerless to put himself in the place of those who might have stronger -passions, greater temptations and fewer advantages than himself. Thus -his error was to be censorious and uncharitable. Eton had also made him -conceited. He was a brown, trim, small-featured man, with pride of race -in the turn of his head and haughty mouth. His small moustache was curled -up at the ends; his eyes were quick and hard. He placed his hand on -Daniel Sweetland’s shoulder as they walked together; and he had to raise -his elbow pretty high, for Dan stood six feet tall, while young Vivian -was several inches shorter. - -“We’re old friends, Daniel, and I owe you more than you’d admit--to shoot -straight, and to ride straight too, for that matter. So it’s a sorrow to -me to hear these bad reports.” - -“Us don’t think alike, your honour,” said Daniel. “But for you I’d do all -a man might. There’s few I’d trouble about; but ’twould be a real bad day -for me if I thought as you was angry with me.” - -“Go straight then--in word and deed. With such a father as Matthew, -there’s no excuse for you. And such a wife, too. For I’ll wager that -young woman there will be a godsend, Daniel. My mother tells me that Lady -Giffard at Westcombe says she never had a better servant.” - -Daniel’s eyes clouded at a recollection. - -“Her ladyship tells true,” he said; “and yet there be knaves here and -there go about saying that Minnie had a hand in the burglary a fortnight -since, and that she helped me to know the ways of the house. I knocked -Saul Pratt down in the public street last Wednesday for saying it; an’ -broke loose two of his front teeth.” - -“I’d have done the same, for I know that rumour is a lie, Dan; and so -does every other man who knows you. By the way, I’ve got something for -you. It will show you that I’m going to forget the poaching stories -against you. If you’ll come up to-morrow night at nine o’clock and ask -for me, I’ll tell them to bring you to my study, and we’ll have a yarn -about old times. It’s a gun I have for you--a real good one--as a wedding -present. And well I know you’ll never put it to a dishonest use, Daniel.” - -Young Sweetland grinned and grew hot with pleasure. He was a fine, -powerful man, very like his father, but with some magic in his face the -parent lacked. Dan’s deep jaw was underhung a trifle; his forehead sloped -back rather sharply, and his neck was thick and sinewy. Every line of -him spoke the fighter, but he was bull-dog in temper as well as build. -Good-nature dwelt in his countenance and he never tired of laughing. -Strong, natural sense of right and honour marked him. He was clever, -observant, and well-educated. Only in the matter of game Dan’s attitude -puzzled his friends and caused them to mistrust him. Women liked him -well, for there was that in his face, and black eyes, and curly hair, -that made them his friends. Children loved him better than he loved them. -As for his sweetheart, she trusted him and trusted herself to cure Dan’s -errors very swiftly after they should be married. - -“I’m sure I’m terrible obliged to you; an’ I’ll walk up to-morrow night, -if you please; an’ every time I pull trigger I’ll think kindly of you, -Mister Henry, sir. Out by Vitifer, where I be going to live if my young -woman likes it, there’s scores of rabbits, and a good few golden plover -an’ crested plover in winter, not to name scores o’ snipe.” - -“I’ll come out occasionally,” said Henry Vivian, “and when you can get a -day off, you shall show me some sport.” - -“Sport I warrant you. An’ you’ll be riding that way to hounds often, no -doubt. There’ll always be a welcome for ’e an’ a drop of drink to my -cottage, your honour.” - -“To-morrow night, then. But don’t keep your young woman waiting any -longer.” - -Dan touched his hat and turned to the dog-cart, while his friend nodded -and entered the White Hart. - -There Henry Vivian found his father and two other Justices of the Peace -at their luncheon in a private room. Sir Reginald and his friends were -full of the burglary at Westcombe. All knew Lady Giffard, a wealthy -widow, and all sympathised with her grave loss. But no theory of the -crime seemed plausible, and the police were at fault. The subject was -presently dismissed, for August had nearly run its course, and partridges -were the theme proper to the time. - -“I shall have some fun with them,” said young Vivian; “but I’m afraid -the pheasants won’t see much of me this year.” - -His father explained. - -“My son is going to visit our West Indian estates this winter. I want to -be rid of them, for though they made my grandfather’s fortune before the -days of the Emancipation, they’ve been rather a white elephant to our -family for the last half century and more. The returns go from bad to -worse. Indeed, there is more in it than meets the eye. But Hal’s no dunce -at figures, and they’ll not hoodwink him out there, even if they attempt -it.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HANGMAN’S HUT - - -Minnie Marshall was a quiet, brown girl, with a manner very reserved. Her -parents were dead, her years, since the age of sixteen, had been spent in -service. Now marriage approached for her and, at twenty, she contemplated -without fear or mistrust a husband and a home. Of immediate relations the -girl possessed none, save an old aunt at Moreton, who kept a little shop -there. Minnie was a beauty and well experienced in the matter of suitors, -but Daniel Sweetland’s romance ran smooth and she left him not long in -doubt. That young Titus Sim had been a better match, most folks declared; -and even Daniel, from the strong position of success, often asked Minnie -why she had put him before his friend. - -Now, as the lad drove his sweetheart to inspect a cottage near his work -on Dartmoor, they overtook Mr Sim returning to Middlecott Court. - -“Jump up, Titus, an’ I’ll give ’e a lift to the lodge,” said Daniel. - -The footman took off his hat very politely to Minnie, then he climbed -into the vacant seat at the back of the trap and the party drove forward. - -Dan was full of the interview with Henry Vivian, and the two young men -both sang the praises of their old companion. - -“He’s off to foreign parts in a few weeks, but he hopes to be at my -wedding,” said Dan. “He’d be very sorry not to be there. But he’ve got to -go pretty soon to look after Sir Reginald’s business, by all accounts.” - -“There’s been a lot of talk about the sugar estates in the West Indies,” -explained Sim. “I overhear these things at table. Mr Henry’s going out -to look into affairs. There’s an overseer--the son of Sir Reginald’s -old overseer. But master doubts whether his figures can be trusted, -and whether things are as bad as he says they are. So Mr Henry Vivian -is going to run out without any warning. He’ll soon have the business -ship-shape and find out any crooked dealings--such a clever man as he is.” - -“Awful strict sure enough,” said Dan, with a chuckle. “He’d heard I was a -bit of a free-trader in matters of sporting, an’ he was short an’ sharp, -I promise you. However, ’tis only the point of view, an’ all owing to me -being a Radical in politics. He knows that I’d not do a dirty trick, -else he wouldn’t have bought me a new gun for a wedding present. I’ll -show him some sport on Dartymoor come presently.” - -Sim changed the subject. - -“I hope you’ll like your home upalong, Miss Marshall,” he said. - -Her lips tightened a little; she turned round and her fearless eyes met -the speaker’s. - -“Thank you, Mr Sim; and I hope so too.” - -Her voice was cold and indifferent. - -“An’ no man will be welcomer there than you, Titus,” said Sweetland. “You -an’ me will have many a good bit of sporting upalong, I hope.” - -“You’ll have something better to do than that, Dan,” said Minnie. -“Sporting be very well for a bachelor, but work an’ wages must be the -first thought come a man’s got a wife.” - -“No need to tell me that. I’ll work for ’e as hard as a horse; an’ well -you know it.” - -A lodge rose beside them and Daniel pulled up at the main entrance to -Middlecott. Noble gates of iron ascended here. Ancient leaden statues -ornamented the four posts of this entrance, and one of them, a Diana, -had a bullet wound under her left breast. Others among these figures -were also peppered with small shot--the folly of bygone sportsmen of the -Vivian clan. From the gates a wide avenue of Spanish chestnuts extended, -and half a mile away, rising above the heads of stately conifers, stood -Middlecott Court. Behind it, ridge on ridge, billowed the fringes of the -Moor. The gate-lodge was Daniel Sweetland’s home, and the sound of wheels -brought his mother from the door. Mrs Sweetland smiled as she saw Minnie, -and came out and kissed her. - -“So you’m going up for to see the li’l house, my pretty? I do hope you’ll -like it. ’Tis small but weather-proof, an’ all very nice an’ water-sweet.” - -“I shall like it very well, mother, if Dan likes it,” answered the girl. - -“Us will be back by eight o’clock or earlier, an’ Minnie will stay an’ -eat a bit with us,” declared Daniel. - -Then he drove on and left his mother looking after them. Mr Sim had -already started upon his way to the Hall. - -“Poor old Titus,” said Dan, as he walked by the trap presently to ease -the horse at a stiff hill. “However did you come to like me best, Min?” - -“Who can tell?” - -“I wish, all the same, you thought kinder of him. You’m awful cold to the -man.” - -“He makes me cold. For my part, I wish you didn’t like him so well as you -do.” - -Dan grew rather red. - -“No man, nor woman neither, will ever stand between me an’ Titus Sim,” he -said. - -“You might think ’twas jealousy,” she answered quietly, “for you are sun, -an’ air, an’ life to me, Daniel. ’Tis my love quickens my heart. But -I’m not jealous. Only I can’t pretend to care for him. I’ve got nought -against him save a womanly, nameless dread. An’ why it’s in my heart I -don’t know, for I ban’t one to mislike folks without a cause.” - -“Then best to get it out of your heart,” he said roughly. “You’m not used -to talk nonsense. The man’s one in a thousand--kind, honest, gentle, -an’ as good a shot as there is in the county. Straight as a line, too. -Straighter than I be myself, for that matter. He’ve behaved very game -over this, for well I know what it cost him to lose you.” - -“I wish I felt to respect him like you do. ’Tis wicked not to, yet I be -asking myself questions all the time. He’m so rich, they say. How can he -be rich, Daniel? Where do the money come from?” - -“From the same place as my own father’s; from gentlefolks’ pockets. -The men he waits on make no more of a five pound note than we do of a -halfpenny. Titus will die a rich man, and glad am I to think it; for he’s -been a most unlucky chap in other ways. There was his health first, as -wouldn’t let him be a keeper, though he wanted to, and then--you. An’ a -worthless beggar like me--I can do what I please an’ win you. All the -same, I don’t think no better of you for not thinking better of my best -friend.” - -“I hope you’ll never find there was a reason for what I feel, Daniel.” - -“I swear I never shall; an’ I’ll thank you to drop it, Minnie. I don’t -want to think my wife is a fool. Nothing on God’s earth shall come -between me an’ Sim--be sure of that.” - -The girl’s lips tightened again, but she was too wise to answer. In -truth she had no just grievance against her sweetheart’s friend. Titus -had asked her to marry him a week before Daniel put the question; and -she had refused him. Two days later with passion he had implored her to -reconsider her decision; and when again she answered “No,” he had spoken -wildly and called Heaven to witness that she should be his wife sooner -or later. His white face had flamed red for once, and his smooth, steady -voice had broken. But on their next meeting Titus was himself again. He -had then begged Minnie’s pardon for his temper; and when their little -world knew that she was going to take the gamekeeper’s son, Mr Sim was -the first to give Daniel joy and congratulate Minnie. - -She had no definite case against him; but a deep intuition dominated her -mind, and frankly she regretted Daniel’s affection for his old rival. - -Now, however, she returned silence to her lover’s angry words, according -to her custom. Soon the climb to the Moor was accomplished, and the cold -wind lit Minnie’s eyes and calmed her sweetheart. Over the great expanse -of autumnal purple and gold they took their way, and now sank into -valleys musical with falling water, and now trotted upon great heaths, -where sheep ran, ponies galloped, and the red kine roamed. To the horizon -rose the granite peaks of the land. Eastward there billowed Hameldon’s -huge, hogged back, and to the north rolled Cosdon; but Yes Tor and High -Willhayes--the loftiest summits of the Moor--were hidden. Westerly a -mighty panorama of hills and stony pinnacles spread in a semicircle, and -the scene was bathed with the clear light that follows rain. The sun -began to sink upon his cloud pillows and heaven glowed with infinite -brilliance and purity. - -“’Twill be good to live up here in this sweet air, along with you, dear -heart,” said Minnie. - -“Yes, an’ it will; an’--an’ I’m sorry I spoke harsh a minute agone, my -own dear darling Min,” he cried. - -“I forgived ’e afore the words was out of your mouth,” she answered. - -Whereupon he dropped the reins and hugged her close and nearly upset the -trap. - -Presently they passed Bennett’s Cross, where that mediæval monument -stands deep in the heather; then they came to the Warren Inn, perched on -lofty ground under Hurston Ridge in the middle of the Moor. - -As Daniel drew up, a man came out of the hostelry, walked to the horse’s -nose and stroked it. - -He was almost hairless. His small eyes glittered out of his round -countenance like a pig’s; his short figure was of amazing corpulence. -A smile sat on his fat face, and his voice came in a thin and piping -treble, like a bird’s. - -“Here you be then?” - -“Yes, Johnny, here us be. This is Minnie Marshall, who’s going to marry -me presently. Minnie, this here man is Johnny Beer--beer by name an’ -barrel by nature! There’s not a better chap ’pon the Moor, and him an’ -his wife will be our only neighbours for three miles round.” - -Mr Beer beamed and shook Minnie’s outstretched hand. - -“A bowerly maiden, sure enough,” he said frankly. “I hope you’ll like -the cot, my dear. ’Tis lonesome to a town-bred mind, but very pleasant -you will find. And wi’ a husband handy, you’ll have all you want. An’ -my missis for your friend, I hope. She’m not a beauty, but she wears -something wonderful, an’ she’ve a heart so wide as a church-door, though -fretful where the poultry’s concerned. Everybody to Postbridge will tell -you of her qualities. Of course it ban’t my place. But never was a one -like she in all the blessed West Countree.” - -“Bring a pint of liquor an’ the key of the cottage, Johnny,” said young -Sweetland; “an’ then after a drink, us’ll walk down, an’ Minnie can make -up her mind.” - -“There’s only one thing against the place, an’ that is the name,” -declared Mr Beer. “Though for my part I don’t see why you shouldn’t -change the name. It can be done without any fuss or documents, I believe. -’Tis called ‘Hangman’s Hut,’ because the first person as lived there -killed himself, being tired of having the world against him. With an old -peat knife, he took his life. But if I was you, I should just change that -an’ call it by some pretty name, like ‘Moor View Villa,’ or what not.” - -“Never,” declared Daniel. “I’m above a small thing like that--so’s my -girl. ‘Hangman’s Hut’ be a good, grim name--not easy to forget. Shall be -left so--eh, Minnie?” - -“The name’s nought if the place is weather-tight, an’ healthy, an’ clean. -Call it what you please, Daniel.” - -Sweetland turned triumphantly to the innkeeper. - -“That’s the sort she is,” he said. - -“Ah--strong-minded, without a doubt,” admitted Mr Beer. “Wish my Jane -was. Wish I was too. ’Tis a very good gift on Dartymoor; but we’m soft in -heart as well as body. We live by yielding. I couldn’t bide in a place by -that name. It’s owing to the poetry in me. ’Twill out. I must be rhyming. -So sure as there comes a Bank Holiday, or the first snow, or an extra -good run with hounds, then verses flow out of me, like feathers off a -goose.” - -The lovers drank a pint of beer between them turn and turn about; but -Minnie’s share was trifling. Then they walked off to Hangman’s Hut, where -it stood alone in a dimple of the hillside half a mile from the high road. - -The cottage looked east and was approached by a rough track over the -moor. High ground shielded it from the prevalent riot of the west wind; -and nearly two miles distant, in the midst of a chaos of broken land and -hillocks of _débris_, a great waterwheel stood out from the waste and a -chimney rose above Vitifer Mine. - -Minnie gravely examined the cottage and directed Daniel where to take -measurements. The place was in good repair, and had only been vacant two -months. It was not the last tenant who had destroyed himself, but an -unhappy water-bailiff many years previously. - -“The golden plover nearly always come this way when they first arrive in -winter. Many’s the pretty bird I’ll shoot ’e, Min.” - -She nodded. Her thoughts were on the kitchen range at the time. - -“You’ll often see hounds in full cry--’tis a noble sight.” - -But Minnie was examining the larder. - -She spent an hour in the cottage, and no experienced housewife could have -shown more judgment and care. Then, much to Daniel’s satisfaction, his -sweetheart decided for Hangman’s Hut. - -“But I wish you could get it for five shillings a week, instead of six, -Dan.” - -“No, no, I can’t beat Beer down. He’m too good a neighbour, an’ ’twould -never do to begin with a difference of opinion. Six ban’t too much. An’ -I’m to get twenty shillings wages after Christmas. You always forget -that. There’ll be tons of money.” - -Mrs Beer greeted them on their return to the Warren Inn. She was a plain, -careworn soul who let her poultry get upon her nerves and take the place -of children as a source of anxiety. In her sleep she often cried out -about laying hens and foxes; but everybody knew her for the best creature -on Dartmoor. The women talked together and the men drank. Then Daniel -prepared to start, and soon he and Minnie were jogging home under the -dusk of night. Dartmoor stretched vast and formless round about them, -and Minnie discussed second-hand furniture. She held that carpets were a -luxury not to be named; but Daniel insisted upon one in the parlour. - -“For our bedroom,” he said, “I’ve got six jolly fine mats made of skins. -One’s a badger’s, an’ one’s a foxhound’s, an’ three be made out of a -horse’s skin, an’ one’s that old collie as I used to have. There was a -touch of Gordon setter in him; an’ a very pretty mat for your little feet -he’ll make. An’ proud he’d be if he knowed it, poor old devil.” - -“They’ll do very nice if the moth don’t get in them,” said Minnie. - -Then, weary of sordid details, Dan let his girl take the whip and reins; -and while she drove he cuddled her. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -GUNS IN THE NIGHT - - -Time sped swiftly for the young miner and his sweetheart, and Daniel told -his friend Prowse, as a piece of extraordinary information, that he had -killed nothing that ran, or swam, or flew, for the space of three weeks. -Seeing that these innocent days formed part of the month of September, -the greatness of the occasion may be judged. Every moment of the man’s -leisure was spent at Hangman’s Hut; and once he took a whole holiday -and went with Minnie to Plymouth, that he might spend ten pounds on -furniture. He also purchased a ready-made suit of grey cloth spotted with -yellow, which seemed well adapted for his wedding day. It proved too -small in the back, but Daniel insisted on buying it, and Minnie promised -to let out the shoulders. - -Then came the night before his wedding, and the young man looked round -his new home and reflected that he would not enter it again until he came -with a wife on his arm. Mrs Beer had proved of precious worth during -these preparations, and now all was ready. Even the little evening meal -that would greet Minnie on her arrival had been prepared. A cold tongue, -a cold fowl, two big red lettuces from Johnny Beer’s garden, cakes, a -bottle of pale ale, and other delicacies were laid in. Groceries and -stores had been secured; and many small matters destined to surprise -and delight the housewife were in their places; for, unknown to Minnie, -Daniel had spent five pounds--the gift of his mother--and the money -represented numerous useful household contrivances. - -It began to grow dusk when young Sweetland’s work was done. Then the -ruling passion had play with him and an enterprise long since planned -occupied his attention for the rest of his last bachelor night. It was -now October. - -“A brace of pheasants would look mighty fine in Minnie’s larder,” thought -Dan, “an’ there they shall be afore I go home to-night.” - -He had some vague idea of giving up his dishonest sport after marriage, -but in his heart he knew that no such thing would happen. - -Much talk of poaching was in the air at Moretonhampstead about this -season, and raids and rumours of raids at Middlecott and elsewhere kept -the keepers anxious and wakeful; but no sensation marked the opening of -the season, though Matthew Sweetland had secret troubles which he only -imparted to his second in command, a young and zealous man called Adam -Thorpe. Birds had gone and there were marks in the preserves that told -ugly tales to skilled eyes; but Sweetland failed to bring the evil-doers -to justice, and a cloud presently rose between his subordinate and -himself. For Thorpe did not hesitate to declare that the headkeeper’s -own son was responsible. With all his soul Daniel’s father resented this -suspicion, and yet too well he knew the other had just grounds for it. -Once only the father taxed Daniel, and the younger man fell into a rage -and reminded old Sweetland how, long ago, he had sworn upon his oath -never to enter Middlecott preserves. - -“You ought to know me better than think it,” he said bitterly. “Be I what -I may, you’ve no just right to hold me an oath-breaker; an’ if I meet -that blustering fool, Thorpe, I’ll mark him so’s he’ll carry my anger -to the grave. Any fool could hoodwink him. He walks by night like an -elephant. There’s no fun in taking Middlecott pheasants. Anyway I never -have, an’ never will.” - -But the preserves at Westcombe, Daniel regarded differently. They -extended under Hameldon on the skirt of the Moor; and this night -he meant to visit them and kill a bird or two. The moon would rise -presently, and he knew where the pheasants roosted quite as well as the -keeper who had bred them. - -In the one spare room of Hangman’s Hut were possessions of the young -couple not yet arranged. Here stood the two little tin boxes that held -all Minnie’s possessions; and various parcels and packages belonging -to Daniel were also piled together in the chamber. A certain square -wooden case was locked, and now, lighting a candle and pulling down -the window-blind, Dan opened it. Not a few highly suspicious objects -appeared. There were nets and wires here, with night-lines and a variety -of mysterious things whose uses were known to the owner only. None other -had ever set eyes upon them. A long black weapon of heavy metal lay at -the bottom of the box, and this the poacher drew forth. Then he oiled it, -pumped it, and loaded it. The thing was an air gun, powerful enough to -destroy ground game at fifty yards. For a moment, however, Dan hesitated -between this engine and another. Among his property was a neat yellow -leather case with D.S. painted in black letters upon it. Within reposed -the gun that Henry Vivian had given his friend as a wedding present. - -The owner hesitated between these weapons. His inclination was towards -the fowling-piece; his instinct turned him to the silent air-gun. - -“Two shots at most, then a bolt,” he reflected. “Anyway, there won’t be a -soul that side to-night, for Wilkins and the others at Westcombe will all -be down on the lower side, where they are having a battoo to-morrow. So -I’ll chance it.” - -He broke open a box of cartridges, loaded the gun, and then left -Hangman’s Hut, locking the door behind him. - -Westcombe lay midway between Middlecott and the Moor. Of old there had -existed great rivalry between the houses of Vivian and Giffard as to -their game, but for many years the first-named estates produced heavier -bags, and, after the death of Sir George Giffard, Westcombe went steadily -down, for Sir George’s son and heir had little love of sport. Old Lady -Giffard, however, still dwelt at Westcombe, and rejoiced to entertain the -decreasing numbers of her late husband’s friends. A shooting party was -now collected at the old house, and a big battue had been planned for the -following day. - -“’Twould keep any but Mister Henry away from my wedding,” thought Daniel. -“Of course not one man in a million would put another chap’s wedding -afore a battoo. I wouldn’t. But he will. ’Tis an awful fine thing never -to break your word, no doubt. You can trust that man like you can the -sun.” - -The young poacher pursued his way without incident and sank into the -underwoods of Westcombe as the moon rose. He waited an hour hidden within -ten yards of the keepers’ path, but silence reigned in the forest, -and only the faint tinkle of frost under white moonlight reached his -ear. Once or twice an uneasy cry or flutter from a bird that felt the -gathering cold fell upon the night; and once, far away, Dan’s ears marked -gun-fire. The sound interested him exceedingly, for it certainly meant -that somebody else was engaged upon his own rascally business. Long he -listened, and presently other shots in quick succession clearly echoed -across the peace of the hour. They were remote, but they came from -Middlecott, as Daniel well knew. - -“’Tis Thorpe an’ my father for sartain,” he said to himself. “Well, I -hope father haven’t met with no hurt to keep him away from my wedding.” - -Now Dan turned his attention to his own affairs and was soon in the -coverts. He crept slowly through the brushwood and lifted his head -cautiously at every few steps. Often for five minutes together he -remained motionless as the dead fern in which he stood, often he might -have been a stock or stone, so still was he. Only the light in his eyes -or the faint puff of steam at his lips indicated that he was alive. The -pheasants slept snug aloft, and Dan heard a fox bark near him and smiled. - -“You’m wanting your supper, my red hero, no doubt, an’ can’t reach it. -Well, well, you’ll have to go content wi’ a rabbit; the long-tails be for -your betters.” - -He had crossed a drive ten minutes later and was now in the midst of the -preserves. Presently, at a spinney edge, he got the moon between himself -and the fringe of the wood, and sneaked stealthily along examining the -boughs above him as they were thrown into inky relief against the shining -sky. Many birds he passed until at length he came to two sitting near -together. Then, working to a point from which one bird came half into -line with the other, he fired and dropped both. Like thunder the gun -bellowed in that deep silence, and a lurid flame dimmed the silver of the -night. Then peace returned, and long before a flat layer of smoke had -risen above the tree-tops and dislimned under the moon; while still a -subdued flutter and cry in the woods told of alarm, and the sharp smell -of burnt powder hung in the air, Daniel Sweetland was off the Moor with -two fine pheasants under his coat and his gun on his shoulder. - -A mile away three keepers, watching round the best and richest covers -of Westcombe, heard the poacher’s gun and used bad language. Then two -started whence the sound had come. - -“I’ve christened you, anyway,” said Dan to his new weapon. “Come to think -of it, old Wilkins, the keeper at Westcombe, never gived my Minnie a -wedding present, though a cousin by marriage. So now these here birds -will do very nice instead, an’ make us quits.” - -Within the hour he was back in the Moor and soon returned to his cottage. -But a surprise awaited him, for upon the high road, as he passed the -Warren Inn and prepared to turn off to where Hangman’s Hut lay, with its -two little windows glimmering like eyes under the moon, Daniel heard -steady feet running slowly behind him and saw a man approaching along -the way. Dan leapt off the high road instantly and hid himself beside -the path. But the other apparently had not seen him, for he trotted past -and went forward. Daniel left his hiding-place just in time to see a man -vanishing into the night. - -No little remained to be done before he sought the room he occupied in -his father’s house at Middlecott lodge gates. First he returned to -Hangman’s Hut; then he put up his gun and, taking a hammer, a big nail, -and a piece of string, entered his garden and lifted the cover off a -little well that stood there. He then bent over it and drove in his -nail as far down as he could reach from the top. Next he fastened his -pheasants to the string and lowered them twenty-five yards into the gloom -beneath. The string he fastened to the nail. - -“They’ll do very nice an’ comfortable there till us feel to want ’em,” he -thought. Then he locked up the house once more and started for Middlecott. - -Again, as he passed over the Moor to the main road, did he hear the sound -of feet not far off, and again did a man take shape out of the darkness -and move away before him. This time the figure leapt up out of the heath -right in his path, and hastened in the direction of Hangman’s Hut. - -“Be blessed if the whole parish ban’t up an’ doing to-night!” laughed -Daniel. “’Tis some blackguard trapping Johnny Beer’s rabbits, I lay.” - -Then he set off briskly homewards and did not stop until he passed the -corner of Westcombe woods and saw two men standing together at the stile -over which he had himself crept some hours before. - -“Seen anybody upalong, mate?” asked one. - -“Yes, I did,” answered Daniel. “A chap in a hurry, too--running for his -life.” - -“You be Dan Sweetland!” cried the other man. “Did you hear a gun fire -awhile back, Sweetland?” - -“I heard several,” replied the young man. “They’ve been busy down to -Middlecott, or I’m mistaken. For my part, I wish I’d been there; but I -wasn’t. Too much on my hands, you see, to trouble about sporting. I’m -going to be married to-morrow; an’ you can tell your old man, Wilkins, -that my sweetheart was rather astonished he didn’t give her a wedding -present--him being related by marriage.” - -The keepers laughed. Both felt morally certain that Daniel had fired the -shot which brought them from the distant woods; both knew that to prove -it would be impossible. - -“An’ I dare say there’ll be a nice pheasant for supper to-morrow night at -Hangman’s Hut--eh, Dan?” asked one. - -“Oh, no, there won’t, Jack Bates. I like my game hung a bit, same as the -quality do. If you’ll come to supper this day week, I’ll see what I can -do for ’e.” - -The keepers laughed again, and Sweetland went his way. - -At home yet another surprise awaited him. His father’s cottage flamed -with lights. Instead of silence and sleep brooding here, with the -glimmering leaden statues standing like sentinels above, as he had often -seen them on returning from nocturnal enterprises, Dan found his father’s -cottage awake and full of stir and bustle. The door was open and from the -kitchen came Matthew’s voice. - -When Dan entered Mr Sweetland was sitting in an old eared chair by the -fire in his nightshirt. A red nightcap covered his head, and his person -was largely exposed, where Mrs Sweetland applied vinegar and brown paper -to red bruises. The keeper evidently endured great agony, but no sign of -suffering escaped his lips. - -He turned to Dan and spoke. - -“Be that you? Where was you this night, Daniel?” - -“Not in Middlecott Woods, father; that I’ll swear to. But I’m feared that -you was--to poor purpose. Have ’e catched anybody?” - -“No; but Adam Thorpe was hit an’ went down. Me an’ him have long knowed -what was doing, an’ we gived it out at the White Hart bar in mixed -company that we was to be in Thorley Bottom to-night. Then we went to -the coverts instead, an’, sure enough, surprised my gentlemen. Two of -’em. They fired two shots, an’ we laid wait an’ went for ’em as they -came out wi’ birds. I got one down an’ he bested me. What he’ve broken, -if anything, I can’t say. T’other fired on Thorpe an’ he couldn’t get -up. Afterwards, when they’d got clear, I found he was alive but couldn’t -speak. Then I crawled to the house, an’ some of the gentlemen and a -indoor man or two comed out. ’Twas only eleven of the clock at latest. -They carried Thorpe to the cottage hospital at Moreton, an’ sent me home. -Us’ll hear to-morrow how he fares, poor soul.” - -“I knowed he’d catch it sooner or late,” said Dan. “Such a cross-grained -bully as him. But I hope ’twill larn him wisdom. An’ you. Be you hurt in -the breathing? Will ’e be at my wedding to-morrow? It shall be put off if -you can’t come.” - -“’Tis all right if you can swear you had no hand in this. That’s the best -plaster to my bruises,” answered his father. - -“Of course I can. Why for won’t you trust me? I know nought about -it--God’s my judge.” - -“Then you’d better get to your bed an’ sleep,” said his mother. - -“All’s done at the Hut,” he answered, “an’ the carriage be ordered. After -us be married, we’ll walk over to Minnie’s aunt an’ have the spread as -the old woman have arranged; then we’ll drive straight away off to the -Moor. An’ if ’tis wet weather, us be going to have a covered cab; for I -won’t have Minnie drowned on her wedding-day. Please God, you’ll be up to -coming to church, father.” - -“I shall be there,” said Matthew--“there an’ glad to be there, since -you wasn’t doing any harm this night. But Mr Henry may not come. I had -speech with him, for the gentlemen hadn’t gone to bed. Sir Reginald’s in -a proper fury. They’ll leave no stone unturned to take the rascals. My -man won’t travel far, I should reckon, for I gived him quite as good as I -got, maybe better.” - -“You’ve got enough anyway,” declared the keeper’s wife. “Now lean on Dan -an’ me, an’ we’ll fetch ’e up to your chamber.” - -Without a groan Matthew Sweetland let them help him to his bed; but not -until dawn did the pain of his bruises lessen and suffer him to sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE WEDDING DAY - - -Daniel’s wedding day dawned gloriously, and at the lodge gates a -splendour of autumn foliage blazed in the morning light. But Mr Sweetland -woke black and blue, and stiff in all his joints. He had broken a finger -of the right hand; that, however, did not prevent him dressing in his -best clothes and setting out to see his son married. - -Daniel wished his friend, Titus, to be best man; but the circumstances -made that impossible, since poor Sim himself had been a suitor. The lad, -Sam Prowse, therefore filled that important post, and Minnie’s aunt, an -ancient widow named Mary Maine, gave the bride away. - -Daniel and his party were the first to arrive at church; for Mr Sweetland -called at the cottage hospital on his way and had his broken finger -attended to. There he heard black news, but the keeper kept it to himself -and presently joined his wife at church. People began to drop in by twos -and threes, and Daniel, from a place in the choir stalls, kept turning -his head to the door. But those he looked for did not appear. Neither -Titus Sim nor Henry Vivian was at his wedding, and the circumstance cast -a gloom upon the bridegroom. He grumbled under his breath to Sam Prowse -concerning the matter. - -“I could have sworn them two men would have been here, come what might. -Titus would never have missed seeing me turned off, if there wasn’t some -good reason against it. As for Mr Henry--he gave me his word, an’ his -word no man have known him to break. Something be wrong, Prowse, else -they’d be here, both of ’em. ’Tis last night’s work in the woods.” - -“Be that as it will, better not keep stretching forward so, else you’ll -burst thicky coat,” said the cautious Prowse. “I see the seams of un -a-bulging over your back something cruel. There’s Johnny Beer an’ his -missus. I knowed they’d come.” - -Five-and-twenty people formed the little congregation; the vicar -appeared; the bride with her aunt walked up the aisle. - -Minnie was self-possessed as usual. She wore a light blue dress, white -thread gloves, and a hat with a jay’s wing in it that Dan had given her. -One swift peep up at the face of her lover she gave, one little smile -touched her mouth and vanished; then, without a quiver, she pulled off -her gloves and opened her prayer-book. Dan had his ready also. Beside -her niece stood Mrs Maine, in a bright purple dress, and a bonnet that -trembled with magenta roses and red ribbons. On Daniel’s right young -Prowse appeared. He kept one hand in his trouser pocket and held the ring -tightly on the tip of his little finger, so that it should be ready for -the bridegroom when the critical moment came. - -Mrs Sweetland was early dissolved in moisture, and Mrs Beer likewise -wept. Matthew Sweetland seemed distracted and his thoughts were -elsewhere, for a great terror sat at the man’s heart. - -Then the ceremony concluded; the bellringers clattered back to the -belfry; the wedding party entered the vestry. - -A cloud hung dark over Daniel, and only Minnie had power to lessen it. -He signed his name moodily and was loud to all who would listen in -expressions of wonder and regret that Henry Vivian and Titus Sim had not -been at his wedding. - -“Of course there was the battoo at Westcombe--yet somehow--he promised, -mind you--he promised. As to Sim, he must be sick; nought but illness -would have kept him.” - -“Don’t judge the young youth,” said Mary Maine. “You forget he wanted -Minnie too. Perhaps, when it comed to the point, he felt he couldn’t -bear the wrench of seeing her made over to you by holy Prayer-book for -evermore.” - -A brave banquet was spread at Mrs Maine’s, and since all invited to -it could not get into the parlour, an overflow of feeders took their -dinner in the kitchen. Mr Beer’s pleasure was spoilt entirely by this -circumstance, and his wife never liked Minnie’s aunt again. For the -publican, by reason of his bulk, was invited to join the minor company in -the kitchen; and then, when the time came, Daniel roared to him from the -other room to come into the parlour and propose the bride’s health. - -But this Mr Beer stoutly refused to do. His lady answered for him and her -tartness struck all the wedding guests with consternation. Sour words -from Mrs Beer were like bad grapes from a good vine. - -“We’m very comfortable here, thank you, Mr Sweetland,” she shrilled back -in answer to Daniel. “We know our place, since Mrs Maine has made it so -clear. Us will tell our own speeches in the kitchen; an’ you can tell -yours in the parlour; an’ it may be news to Mrs Maine that all the jugs -on our table be empty--have been this long while.” - -“An’ the room, small though it be, ban’t so small as the beer was,” added -Mr Beer, with the note of an angry blackbird. - -The empty jugs were filled; but nothing could remedy Mrs Maine’s error. -So she lost her temper and began making pointed remarks about a silk -purse and a sow’s ear. The visitors hastened to finish their meal, and -Dan’s wedding breakfast ended without speeches or health-drinking. Since -the beginning of the festivity there had indeed been a shadow in the air, -and men and women whispered under their breath concerning the tragedy -of the previous night. But the truth was hidden with general kindness -of mind from the young bride and bridegroom. Now, indeed, it could be -concealed no longer, and, horrible as a sudden death, there burst upon -Daniel Sweetland and his new-made wife the tragedy of their lives. - -The time for departure came and Daniel noticed that a crowd considerably -larger than might have been expected began to gather at the railings -of Mrs Maine’s cottage garden. Once or twice he saw Luke Bartley, the -policeman, pass and order the people further back; then, as he himself -emerged, with Minnie on his arm, the crowd overpowered Mr Bartley and -came close. Daniel stared and his jaw stuck out and hardened, for no -cheer or friendly shout greeted him now. Instead there rose hisses in the -air and a hoarse under-sound, or growl, as of angry beasts. - -Turning to learn the cause, two men suddenly approached him. One was -the local inspector of police, a strong, brisk officer in uniform; the -other Daniel had never seen before. Even at that tremendous moment young -Sweetland’s interest was arrested. The stranger who now spoke to him -stood six feet six inches and was evidently as powerful as he was tall. -He dwarfed the people about him and his big voice rolled out so that it -seemed to smother the church bells, which were now clashing a final peal -of farewell to the departing pair. - -“Who be you--Goliath of Gath, I should reckon?” said Dan stoutly, as the -big man barred his way. - -“No matter who I am,” he answered. “The question is--Who are you?” - -“’Tis Daniel Sweetland--just married,” declared Inspector Gregory, who -knew the Sweetlands well. “Sorry I am, Dan, to come between you an’ -the joy of life at this minute; but so it must be. This here man’s a -plain-clothes officer from Plymouth; an’ he’ve got the warrants all right -an’ regular. You’m arrested for the murder of Adam Thorpe last night -in Middlecott Lower Hundred. He was shot in the belly, an’ he died to -hospital just after dawn this morning.” - -The prisoner fell back and the world swam round him. Then his wife’s -small hand came into his. - -“Be a man, Dan. Swear afore God you didn’t do it; an’ to God leave the -rest,” she said loud and clear so that all heard her. - -“Afore God, an’ humans, an’ angels, I be innocent of this,” said -Daniel. “Never in all my life have I lifted a hand against any -fellow-creature--except Saul Pratt when he insulted me in the street. Who -brings this against me? Who charges me?” - -The facts were briefly stated--not by the police, but by Daniel’s friend, -Titus Sim. He broke through the crowd and spoke in the other’s ear. - -“Listen to me, Dan. ’Tis life or death for ’e. Who had your gun last -night? All hinges on that. At dawn yesterday I was called up by Mr Henry, -and only then did I know what had falled out. He told me of the raid and -ordered me to come down straight into the woods an’ search the ground -to find any mark or trace of the murderer. For murder it was, because -at cock-light came the news from Moreton Hospital that Thorpe was dead. -We went--him and me alone--and searched the ground foot by foot. Then I -found your gun--one barrel empty, t’other loaded. I knew ’twas the new -one he had given you, and, in sudden fear, I was just going to try and -hide it. But Mr Henry had seen it. He came over and recognised it at -once.” - -“If it hinges on that, I’m safe,” said Daniel. “’Tis all right, Minnie. I -be safe enough! You go to Hangman’s Hut, ’pon Dartymoor, my bold heroes, -an’ you’ll find my gun in its case, where I put it last night with my own -hands.” - -“Won’t do, Daniel,” answered the Inspector. “We had a warrant for -search as well as for arrest. I was at Hangman’s Hut at midday with -this man here. Us did no harm, I promise you. But we found the -gun-case--empty--also a box of cartridges broke open an’ two missing.” - -“You’ll have plenty of time to talk later on,” said the big man. “But -you’ve got to come along wi’ us to Plymouth now, Daniel Sweetland, so the -sooner we start the better. I hope as you’ll prove yourself innocent -with all my heart; but that’s your business. Now I must do mine.” - -In an instant Dan’s hands were fastened together. Powerful and stout -though he was, he found himself a child in the giant’s grasp. Indeed, the -young man made no struggle. He felt dazed and believed that from this -nightmare he must presently awaken. - -The steel clicked over his wrists and his mother screamed. At the same -moment Bartley brought up a dog-cart. In it a big, restive horse leapt to -be gone. - -Daniel turned to Titus Sim. - -“I can’t believe I’m waking, old pal,” he said. “Be I married? Be I -dreaming? Murder--to murder a man! Do your best, Titus; do what you can -for me. Try an’ bring a spark of hope to father an’ mother. They know I’m -innocent of this--so does Minnie. Do what you can. An’ Mr Henry--he don’t -think ’twas me? He wouldn’t judge me so cruel?” - -“He’s hard and a terrible stickler for justice. But be sure we’ll do what -men may, Daniel.” - -“Then ’tis to you I’ll trust--to you an’ my own wits. Good-bye, Minnie; -keep up your brave heart as well as you can. ’Twill come right. I must -think--I can prove--at least. There--be brave, all of ’e. Don’t you -weep, mother. You’ve got my solemn word I didn’t do it; an’ if the rope -was round my neck, I’d say the same.” - -The old woman sank away from him and fainted; Minnie stood close to him -until he was helped into the trap; Sim shook his handcuffed hand. The -crowd was divided and men’s voices rose in argument. The last to speak -was Daniel’s father. - -“Keep a stiff upper-lip, my son,” he said. “Us’ll do what we can. I’ll go -to Lawyer Jacobs to Newton this very day. Us’ll fight for ’e with all our -power.” - -Daniel nodded. - -“Bid mother cheer up when she comes to,” he said. “I ban’t feared. An’ -take care o’ Minnie.” - -He sat on the front of the trap and the big man drove. Upon the back seat -were Inspector Gregory and the policeman, Luke Bartley. - -The horse was given its head, and soon Daniel had vanished. He was to be -driven over the Moor to Plymouth. - -For a moment Minnie seemed to be forgotten. Then she went quietly to her -weeping aunt and kissed her. - -“I be going now,” she said. - -“Going--going where, you poor, deserted, tibby lamb? Where should you go?” - -“To my home,” answered the girl. “I’m Mrs Daniel Sweetland now. I’ve got -to keep up Dan’s name afore the world an’ be the mistress of his house. -’Tis waiting for me. I’ll have it vitty for him when he comes backalong.” - -“Go up there all alone to that wisht hovel in the middle of them deadly -bogs? You sha’n’t do it, Minnie--I won’t let you.” - -“An’ the name of the place!” groaned Mr Beer. “I prayed un to alter it -too. ’Twas bound to bring ill fortune. Now ’tis an omen.” - -“I’m going, however. ’Tis my duty. An’ so soon as may be I’ll get down to -Plymouth to see him,” declared the girl. - -A cab, that was to have driven Daniel and Minnie, still waited. Now she -walked to it and opened the door. - -“Drive me up to Warren Inn ’pon Dartymoor, my boy,” she said. “From there -I can walk.” - -Then she turned and approached Mrs Sweetland. - -“My place is in his home, mother. Don’t you fear nothing. I’ll be a good -wife to your son, an’ a good daughter to you. Our Dan be in the hands of -God. Good-bye, all--good-bye.” - -She drove away, and the men who had hissed at her husband cheered her. - -“Dammy--a good pucked un!” cried a thin, gnarled figure with a green -shade over his eye. “Lucky’s the he that gets that she, whether it be yon -chap or another after he swings!” - -The man was called Rix Parkinson, and he held the proud dual position of -leading drunkard and leading poacher in Moreton. He was drunk now, but -people nearly always found themselves in agreement with him when he was -sober and cared to talk. - -A buzz and babel turned round Mrs Maine and the Sweetlands. Then the -gamekeeper and Titus Sim talked apart. - -“There’s a train to Newton Abbot half after six,” said Matthew. “I’ll go -by it an’ have a tell with Lawyer Jacobs.” - -“And what I can do with Mr Henry I will do,” said Sim. - -His eyes were upon Minnie Sweetland’s carriage as it drove away with the -little blue figure sitting bravely in it--alone. - -Johnny Beer’s wife had been forgotten, and she wept in a small circle of -children who had gathered about her. - -“What a wedding night for a dinky maiden!” sobbed Jane Beer; “but me an’ -my man will go over to hearten her up, if ’tis in mortal power to do it.” - -Anon the people scattered, and the day was done. A grey gloaming settled -upon the Moor, and their eternal cloud-caps rolled over the tors and -stifled the light of evening. - -A dog-cart with a fine trotting horse in it swept along over the long, -straight stretch to the Warren Inn, and some miles in the rear of it -Daniel Sweetland’s wife followed behind. She sat in an open fly and was -drawn by an old grey mare who had assisted at a hundred weddings. But her -driver had taken the ribbons off his whip and flung away the flowers from -his buttonhole. He numbered only twelve years; yet he had sense to see -that the moment was not one for show of joy. - -“They’ll never hang such a rare fine chap,” he said; “I’m sure they never -would do such a terrible rash thing, miss.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A GHOST OF A CHANCE - - -His first experience of life crushed down with all the weight of the -world on Daniel Sweetland and kept him dumb. He stared straight before -him and only answered with nod or shake of head the remarks addressed to -him by Luke Bartley and the inspector. - -“Better leave the lad in peace,” said the kindly giant, who drove. “He -wants to think, an’ no doubt he’s got a deal to think about.” - -The prisoner’s native genius now worked swiftly with him, and his sole -thought was of escape as dusk gathered on Dartmoor. He puzzled his head -in vain to see the drift of these doings. It seemed that his gun had been -found beside the spot where Adam Thorpe was shot. What human hands could -have put it there? He knew of no enemy on earth. Measuring the chances -of establishing an _alibi_, he saw that they were small. Search could -prove the fact that he had killed pheasants on the previous night, and it -was quite possible for him to have killed a man also. He might have shot -Thorpe at Middlecott and have spoken to the other keepers at Westcombe -afterwards. Indeed, the hours agreed. Then he remembered the shadow that -had leapt up out of the heath when he left Hangman’s Hut for the last -time. That man it was who had destroyed him; and that man would never be -found unless Daniel himself made the discovery. Revolving the matter in -his young brains, the poacher believed that his only chance was present -escape. - -Once free and beyond the immediate and awful danger of the moment, Daniel -Sweetland trusted that he might establish his innocence and prove the -truth. But as a prisoner on trial, with his present scanty knowledge, -there appeared no shadow of hope. He looked up at the man who drove and -instinctively strained the steel that handcuffed his wrists. Escape -seemed a possibility as remote as any miracle. - -“What be your name, policeman?” asked Daniel, meekly. “You took me very -quiet an’ gentle, an’ I thank you for it.” - -“I’m called Corder--Alfred Corder. I’m the biggest man in the force.” - -“An’ so strong as you’m big, by the looks of it.” - -“Well, I’ve yet to meet my master,” said the officer. He had one little -vanity, and that was his biceps. - -“Be you any relation to Alf Corder, the champion of Devon wrestling, -then?” - -“I am the man,” said Mr Corder. “Never been throwed since I was -twenty-two; an’ now I’m thirty-four.” - -Daniel nodded. - -“A very famous hero. I should have thought you’d make more money -wrestling in London than ever you would doing cop’s work to Plymouth.” - -The giant was interested at this intelligent remark. - -“I’ve often been tempted to try; but I’m not a man that moves very quick -in my mind; though I can shift my sixteen stone of carcase quick enough -when it comes to wrestling or fighting. Once my hand gets over a limb, it -sticks--like a bull-dog’s teeth. ’Tis the greatest grip known in the West -Country--to say it without boasting.” - -Daniel nodded and relapsed into silence. He was thinking hard now. All -his ideas centred on the wild hope to escape. Scheme after scheme sped -through his brains. Once a shadowy enterprise actually developed, but he -dismissed it as vain. - -Then Luke Bartley spoke to Mr Corder and suggested another line of action. - -“This here was the man who had that cute thought that the burglars to -Westcombe got away on a motor-car--didn’t he, Gregory?” - -The inspector admitted it. - -“Yes; I gave you all credit for that, Sweetland. ’Twas a clever opinion, -and the right one. I’m sure of that. Hue an’ cry was so quick that they -never could have got clear off with any slower vehicle.” - -Daniel made no answer; but he jumped at the topic of the recent burglary -and turned it swiftly in his mind. Here, perhaps, was the chance he -wanted. For half an hour he kept silence; then he spoke to Bartley. - -“’Twas you who first thought as I might have a hand in that business -myself, Luke?” - -“No, no; Mr Gregory here.” - -“Of course, I hope you hadn’t; but you might have had. Anyhow, that will -be a mystery for evermore, I reckon,” said the inspector. - -“Five thousand pounds’ worth of plate they took,” explained Daniel to his -driver; but Mr Corder knew all about it. - -“Five thousand and more. ’Twas always a great regret to me that I wasn’t -in that job.” - -“You couldn’t have done no better than I done,” struck in Gregory. “That -I’ll swear to. The London man gave me great credit for what I did do. He -said he’d never known such a nose for a clue. That was his own words.” - -“It was,” declared Bartley. “That was the very word of the London man, -for I heard it.” - -“They are not a bit smarter than us to Plymouth really,” said Corder. -“I’ve known them make mistakes that I’d have blushed to make. But ’tis -just London. If a thing comes from London it must be first chop. They -only beat Plymouth in one matter as I knows about; an’ that’s their -criminal classes.” - -“Not but what we’ve got our flyers at a crime too,” said Mr Gregory, -who was highly patriotic. “Take that there burglary job to Westcombe. -’Twasn’t a fool who planned and carried that out.” - -“But they comed down from London for certain,” argued Corder. - -“They might, or they might not,” answered the inspector. - -“Then, for murders like this here murder of Adam Thorpe,” added Bartley. -“I’m sure the county of Devon stands so high as anybody could wish. -’Tisn’t a deed to be proud of, certainly; but I won’t allow for one that -London beats Devonsheer in anything. As many hangs to Exeter gaol as to -any other county gaol in my knowledge.” - -“Shall I hang over this job, do ’e reckon, Mr Corder?” asked Daniel, -humbly. - -“Ban’t for me to say, my son. A gun be a very damning piece of evidence. -But if you can prove you wasn’t there, that’s all that need be done.” - -“I was using my gun, but--” - -“Don’t say nothing to me,” interrupted the giant. “I wish you well; but -anything you say is liable to be used against you according to law. -Therefore you’ll do wisest to keep your mouth shut till you can get your -lawyer to listen to you.” - -Silence fell; then the Warren Inn came into sight, and at the same moment -Mr Corder pulled up and looked anxiously down his horse’s flank. - -“Just jump out, will ’e, one of you men, an’ see if he’s picked up a -stone. He has gone lame all of a sudden--in the near hind leg, I think.” - -Bartley alighted and lifted the horse’s hoof. Then he examined the -others. But there was no stone. Yet the horse went lame when they started -again. - -“He’s hurt his frog. He’ll be all right in an hour,” said Gregory, who -was learned on the subject. “Here’s the Warren Inn just handy. You’ll do -well to put up there for a bit. Us can go in the parlour an’ wait; then, -if there’s any in the bar, they won’t see us.” - -John Beer and his wife were, of course, not yet at home; but a potman -kept house and waited in the public room. - -The place was empty. Mr Corder and Gregory took Daniel Sweetland into a -little parlour, while Bartley stabled the lame horse. - -Presently he returned and brought a lamp with him, for it was now growing -dark. - -“An hour I’ll wait, and only an hour,” declared Corder. “Then, if the -horse be still lame, we must get another.” - -The officers sent for bread, cheese and beer. They asked Daniel to join -them, and he agreed; then suddenly, while they were at their meal, he -spoke. - -“I’ve got a word to say to you chaps. ’Tis a terrible matter, but I’d -rather have it off my mind than on it just at present. Will you do the -fair thing if I tell you, an’ give me credit after?” - -“You’d better far keep quiet,” said Corder. - -“’Tis like this. The cleverness of you three men mazes me. To think as -Gregory here saw so clear about the burglary; an’ Bartley too! Well, -now your horse goes lame an’ everything. ’Tis fate, an’ so I’ll speak if -you’ll listen. Only I ax this as a prisoner; I ax this as the weak prays -the strong for mercy; that you’ll remember to my credit how I made a -clean breast of everything without any pressure from any of you.” - -Mr Corder stared. - -“Trouble’s turned your head, my son, by the looks of it. Whatever rummage -be you talking about?” - -“’Tis sense, I promise you. I nearly told just now when us was speaking -about the burglary. Then, just here of all places, your horse falls lame. -’Tis like Providence calling me to speak.” - -Daniel was playing his solitary card. The chances were still a thousand -to one against him; but he saw a faint possibility, if things should -fall out right. His swift mind had seized the accident of the horse’s -lameness, and his plot was made. - -“Be plain if you can,” said Corder. “Don’t think I’m against you. Only I -say again, there’s no power in us to help you, even if we had the will.” - -“I’m thinking of last August--that burglary. Well, now, how about it -if I was able to help you chaps to clear that up? Wouldn’t I be doing -you a good turn, Greg, if you was able to say at headquarters that by -cross-questioning me you’d wormed the truth out of me?” - -Mr Gregory stared. He licked his lips at the very idea. - -“An’ if Mr Corder here was agreeable, an’ let me explain, you might find -that when you drive into Plymouth in a few hours’ time, you would be -taking five thousand pounds of silver plate along with you, besides me. -Wouldn’t there be a bit of a stir about it--not to name the reward? Why, -you’d all be promoted for certain.” - -“Twelve hundred and fifty pounds’ reward was offered by the parties,” -said Mr Corder. - -“And do you mean that you know anything?” asked the inspector, much -excited. - -“I mean this. You was right, Gregory, I didn’t do the burglary, but -I knowed about it, and I can tell you all an’ more than you want to -know. There’s twelve hundred and fifty pounds for the men who recover -that Giffard silver; an’ it can be done. But what I ax you three men is -this--If I put that money into your pockets, will you do something for -me?” - -“That’s impossible,” answered Corder, firmly. “I know what’s in your -mind, my lad; and ’tis natural enough that it should be; but you might -so soon ask them handcuffs on your wrist to open without my key as ask me -to help you now, if that’s your game.” - -“It isn’t,” answered Daniel. “Afore God, no such thought as axing you to -let me go comed in my mind. ’Twould be like offering you three men five -thousand pound to let me off. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. You’re -honourable, upright chaps, an’ I respect you all a lot too much to do it. -Five thousand pound divided into three be only a dirty little sixteen -hundred or so apiece. Though, as a matter of fact, there was far more -took than that. But I never meant no such thing. I’m booked for trial, -an’ you can’t help me. No, you can’t help me--none of you. ’Tis my poor -little wife I be breaking my heart for.” - -A fly crawled up to the inn as Daniel spoke and stopped at the door. -Looking out through the open window, he caught a passing glimpse of -Minnie herself under the lamp at the door, and heard her voice. She paid -the driver and he went into the bar; but Daniel knew that Minnie was now -walking alone across the Moor to Hangman’s Hut. - -“Go on,” said Gregory. “Let’s hear all you’ve got to say. No harm in -that. My heart bleeds for your mother, not your wife, Sweetland. Little -did she think that she was bringing such a bad lot into the world the day -you was born.” - -“I’m not so bad neither. Anyway, time’s too short to be sorry now. ’Tis -like this. It’s not in my mind to ax anything for myself; but I pray for -a bit of mercy for my wife. If I swing over this, what becomes of her? -She’ve got but fifty-five pounds in the world.” - -“’Tis enough to keep her till an honest man comes along an’ marries her,” -said Bartley. “For that matter, Titus Sim will wed her if the worst -overtakes you, Daniel.” - -“You put it plain,” answered the prisoner, “an’ I thank you for it, Luke. -All the same, they may not hang me; an’ if I get penal servitude, Minnie -can’t marry any other man. Now the reward for finding out that burglary -job be twelve hundred an’ fifty pounds, as Mr Corder says. That divided -betwixt the three of you would be four hundred odd apiece. An’ I want to -know just what you’ll do about it. In exchange for the money an’ fame an’ -glory this job will bring you men, I want two hundred pounds--not for -myself, but for my poor girl. Ban’t much to ax, an’ not a penny less will -I take. That’s my offer, an you’d best to think upon it. If you refuse, I -shall make it to somebody else.” - -Silence followed. Then Dan spoke again. - -“’Tis terrible awkward eating bread an’ cheese wi’ handcuffs on. Will e’ -take ’em off for a bit, please? I can’t get out of the winder, for ’tis -too small; so if you stands afore the door, you needn’t fear I’ll give -you the slip.” - -Mr Corder perceived the truth of this and freed the prisoner’s hands. - -“You’ve put a pretty problem afore us, young man,” he said; “an’ us must -weigh it in all its parts. Can’t say as ever I had a similar case in my -experience.” - -“Nor me neither,” declared Inspector Gregory. - -Bartley remained silent. He was asking himself what it would feel like to -be the richer by hundreds of pounds. - -Daniel ate his bread and cheese, drank a pint of beer, and held out his -wrists for the handcuffs. - -Then Mr Corder himself went to see to his horse, and while he was away -Daniel spoke to the others. - -“You chaps know how hard a thing it is to get the public ear. -Surely--surely ’tis worth your while to find out this great burglary job -an’ put money in your pockets? You’m fools to hesitate. But if you be -such greedy souls that you won’t spare a crumb to my poor wife, then you -sha’n’t have a penny, so help me.” - -“’Tis throwing away money to refuse,” declared Bartley to Corder, who -now returned. “You see, that money have got to be earned, an’ why for -shouldn’t we earn it? There’s no under-handed dealings, or playing with -the law.” - -“The hoss is all right again, an’ the sooner we go the better,” answered -Mr Corder. - -“You won’t fall in then?” asked Daniel, with a sinking heart. - -“I don’t say that; but if you’m in earnest, you can tell us all about it -as we go along.” - -“An’ you’ll swear, all three of you, to give Minnie Sweetland two hundred -pounds of the reward?” - -“I will,” said Bartley. “’Tis flying in the face of Providence to do -otherwise.” - -“If it can be proved we’m not straining the law, I’ll do the same,” -declared Inspector Gregory. “What do you say, Corder?” - -“The law’s clear, for that matter,” answered the big man. “The law ban’t -strained. The law have nothing to do with a private bargain. This here -man comes to us an’ says, ‘I’ll put you chaps in the way to make twelve -hundred an’ fifty pounds between you.’ An’ we says, ‘Do it.’ Then he -says, ‘But I must have two hundred for my wife; because I, who be her -natural support, be taken from her.’ Well--there it is. My conscience is -clear. Since he’s brought to book an’ may go down on it, the burglary -never will be any use to him; so he peaches. For my part I’ll promise -what he wants this minute.” - -“And so will I,” said Bartley. “’Tis a very honest, open offer for a -condemned man.” - -“Not condemned at all--merely an arrested man,” corrected Gregory. “An’ -I’ll take his offer too,” he added; “so it only remains for him to tell -us where the stuff be hidden.” - -Daniel looked straight into Corder’s face. - -“That was why I axed you not to be in a hurry,” he said. “The Giffard -plate from Westcombe was brought up to the Moor, an’ such a fuss have -been made that the burglars haven’t been able to get it clear for all -these weeks. Nobody dared to go near it. But I’ve kept secret watch on it -for ’em. As for the stuff, ’tis within a mile of this very house, though -I daresay Johnny Beer would have a fit if he knowed about it.” - -“Within reach of us?” gasped Bartley. - -“That’s why I said you could take it along to Plymouth to-night, if you -had a mind to. Drive across with me into King’s Oven under Hurston Ridge -an’ borrow a spade or two, an’ I’ll wager you’ll have every pennyweight -of the silver in your trap in two hours or less from this minute. Take it -or leave it. I’m in solemn earnest; that I swear to. Only this I’ll say: -you’ll not find it without me--not if you dig for ever an’ a day. ’Tis -safe enough.” - -The policemen held a hurried colloquy aside. In Gregory’s mind was a -growing suspicion that the prisoner did not speak the truth. But the -others believed him. - -“What motive should he have to lie about it?” asked Corder, under his -breath. “It won’t advantage him if we find nothing. If we do find it, the -credit is ours. An’ I sha’n’t grudge his wife her share of the reward, -I’m sure. Ban’t even as if ’twas blood money; for that stealing job won’t -make any difference to this hanging one. Better let him show us the stuff -now. Who be the worse? If he’s fooling us, he’s not helping himself. For -my part, I believe him. He’s just come from marrying his wife; an’ ’tis -human nature that she should be the uppermost thought in his heart.” - -“King’s Oven do lie no more than a mile from here,” said Gregory; “so -there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get going. You put in the hoss, Luke. -Sooner this job’s over an’ we’m on the Plymouth road again, the better -I’ll be pleased.” - -Corder spoke to Daniel. - -“We’ll fall in with your offer, young man. Show us that stuff an’ your -missis shall have her two hundred pounds so soon as the reward is paid.” - -“Very well. If you slip a spade and a pick or two in the trap afore we -start, ’twill be all the better. An’ a bit of rope, for that matter. Us -have got our work cut out,” answered the prisoner. “What they Londoners -will say to me for turning traitor, I don’t know; an’ I don’t care now -neither,” he added. - -“You won’t give ’em up?” - -“Not the men. Only the stuff--for my wife’s sake.” - -Bartley brought the trap to the door, and as Sweetland was helped in, Mr -Beer and his wife drove up in their little market cart. - -The police said nothing, and soon they were on their way again, but not -before Johnny Beer had spoken to his friend. - -“Keep a cheerful face in this terrible case. Us’ll do all we can for our -old pal, Dan. To think of the tragedy on your wedding day! It have so got -hold upon me that I’ve made tragical rhymes upon it all the way back from -Moreton. Please God, I’ll get the chance to tell ’em to ’e some day.” - -“I hope you will, Johnny, though it don’t look very likely.” - -The trap drove off. Its lamps were lighted, and they cast a bright blaze -forward into a dark night. Presently Daniel stopped them, and Bartley -jumped down and took the horse’s head. - -“Now keep over the grass track to the right an’ us will be in King’s Oven -in ten minutes,” said Sweetland. - -Swaying and jolting, their dog-cart proceeded into the great central -silence and stillness of the Moor. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE WEDDING NIGHT - - -Furnum Regis, or the King’s Oven, is a wild and lonely spot lying -beneath a cairn-crested hill of mid Dartmoor. Here in centuries past -was practised the industry of tin-smelting, and to the present time a -thousand decaying evidences of that vanished purpose still meet the eye. -The foundations of ruins are yet apparent in a chaos of shattered stone; -broken pounds extend their walls into the waste around about; hard by a -mine once worked, and much stone from the King’s Oven was removed for the -construction of buildings which are to-day themselves in ruins. Now the -fox breeds in this fastness, and only roaming cattle or the little ponies -have any business therein. A spot better adapted for the bestowal of -stolen property could hardly be conceived. - -Three hundred yards from the entrance of the Oven, Daniel stopped the -trap and the men alighted. - -“I must get two of the rocks in line with the old stones ’pon top the -hill,” said Daniel. “That done, I know where to set you fellows digging.” - -They proceeded as he directed. Corder walked on one side of the prisoner -and Gregory upon the other; while Luke Bartley, with two spades and a -pickaxe on his shoulder, came behind them. - -The moon now rose and the darkness lifted. Sweetland walked about for -some time until a certain point arrested him. This rock, after some -shifting of their position, he presently brought into line with another, -and then it seemed that both were hidden by the towering top of the cairn -that rose into the moonlight beyond them. - -“Here we are,” he said. “An’ first you’ve got to shift this here gert -boulder. It took three men to turn it over and then pull it back into its -place; an’ it will ax for all you three can do to treat it likewise.” - -The rope was brought, and with the help of the mighty Corder a large -block of granite was dragged out of its bed. The naked earth spread -beneath. - -“You’ll find solid stone for two feet,” declared Daniel, “for we filled -up with soil an’ granite, an’ trampled all so hard an’ firm as our feet -could do it. The hole we dug goes two feet down; then it runs under -thicky rock to the left.” - -Without words the men set to work and Daniel expressed increasing -impatience. - -“Lord! to see you chaps with spades! But, of course, you haven’t been -educated to it. You’ll be all night. I wish I could help you; but I -can’t.” - -“We’ll shift it,” declared Corder. “Wait till the moon’s a thought -higher; then we’ll see what we’re at easier.” - -He toiled mightily and cast huge masses of earth out of a growing hole; -but the ground was full of great stones; and sometimes all three officers -had to work together to drag a mass of granite out of the earth. - -“You chaps wouldn’t have made your fortunes at spade work--that’s a -fact,” said Daniel. “I wish you’d let me help. If you freed my hands, -there’d be no danger in it so long as you tied my legs.” - -Bartley stopped a moment to rest his aching back. - -“’Tis a fair offer,” he said. “If you make fast the man’s legs, he -couldn’t give us the slip. I can’t do no more of this labour, anyway. -I’ve earned my living with my brains all my life, an’ I ban’t built to do -ploughboy’s work now I’m getting up in years. I be sweating my strength -out as ’tis.” - -Gregory agreed. - -“Time’s everything,” he said. “If you take that there rope an’ tie him by -the leg to this stone what we’ve moved, he’s just as safe as if he was -handcuffed. Then he can dig for us, as he well knows how.” - -Mr Corder considered this course, and then agreed to it. The rope was -knotted round Daniel’s leg, and he found himself tied fast to the great -rock that had been recently moved; then Mr Corder took off the handcuffs. - -“No tricks mind,” he said. “I’m a merciful man an’ wish you no harm; but -if you try to run for it, I’ll knock you down as if you was a rabbit.” - -“You’re right not to trust me,” answered the poacher, calmly; “but give -me that spade an’ you’ll see I’m in earnest. I want two hundred pound for -my wife, don’t I? If we take turn an’ turn about, we’ll soon shift this -muck. ’Twill be better for two to dig. Ban’t room for three.” - -The critical moment of Daniel’s plot now approached; but he kept a grip -on his nerves and succeeded in concealing his great excitement. All -depended on the next half hour. - -He and Corder now began to work steadily, while the others rested and -watched them. The moon shone brightly, and a mound of earth and stone -increased beside the hole they dug. Presently Gregory and Bartley took a -turn; but the latter had not dug five minutes when Daniel snatched his -spade from him and continued the work himself. - -“I can’t stand watching you,” he said. “Such weak hands I never seed in -my life. A man would be rotten long afore his grave was dug, if you had -the digging.” - -“I works with the intellects,” answered Mr Bartley. “My calling in life -is higher than a sexton’s, I hope.” - -After another period of labour, Corder took the inspector’s place, and -soon the aperture gaped two feet deep. - -“That’s it; now we’ve got to sink to the left,” explained Sweetland. “We -run another two feet under this here ledge and then we come to the stuff.” - -Now he was working with Gregory again and the moment for action had -arrived. Opportunity had to be made, however, and Daniel’s escape -depended entirely upon Mr Corder’s answer to his next question. He knew -that with the giant present his plans must fail; but if Corder could be -induced to go aside, Daniel felt that the rest was not difficult. - -“Can’t see no more,” he said. “If you’ll fetch one of the gig lamps, -Mr Corder, us will know where we are. You’ll want the lamp in a minute -anyway, when we come to the plate, for ’twas all thrown loose into the -earth.” - -Without answering, the big policeman fell into the trap. He had to go -nearly three hundred yards for the lamp, and, allowing him above a minute -for that journey, Daniel Sweetland made his plunge for liberty. Suddenly, -without a moment’s warning, he turned upon Gregory as the inspector bent -beside him, and struck the man an awful blow with his spade full upon the -top of the head. - -“Sorry, Greg!” he cried, as the officer fell in a heap, “but if I’ve got -to swing, it shall be for something, not nothing.” - -Even as he spoke Daniel had reached to the length of his rope and -collared Bartley. The strong man he had struck senseless according to his -intention; the weak one he now prepared to deal with. Bartley screamed -like a hunted hare, for he supposed that his hour was come. Then Daniel -saw the distant light leap forward. Only seconds remained, and only -seconds were necessary. - -“Be quiet and hand me your knife, or I’ll smash your skull in too!” he -shouted to the shaking policeman; then he stretched for the handcuffs, -which Corder had put on a stone beside him, and in a second Luke Bartley -found himself on the ground beside his colleague. A moment later and he -was chained to the recumbent and senseless person of the inspector, while -Daniel knelt beside him and extracted from his pocket the knife he now -required. With this he cut the rope that held him prisoner and, during -the ten seconds that remained, before Mr Corder rushed upon the scene, -Daniel had put forty yards of darkness between himself and his guards. - -The Plymouth man now found his work cut out for him. Gregory was still -unconscious and Bartley had become hysterical and was rolling with his -face on the earth howling for mercy. Mr Corder liberated him and kicked -him into reason. Then Luke told his tale while the other tended the -unfortunate inspector. - -“He falled upon the man with his spade, like a devil from hell, an’ afore -I could start my frozen limbs an’ strike him down, he’d got me in his -clutches an’ handcuffed my wrist to this poor corpse here.” - -But Gregory was not a corpse. In two minutes he had recovered his senses -and sat up with his feet in the pit. - -“What’s happened?” he asked. “Where’s Daniel Sweetland to? Who hit me? -Was it lightning?” - -“’Twas him,” answered Corder; “an’ there’s no time to lose. If you can -walk, take my arm an’ we’ll go back this minute. I’m going to drive to -Princetown at once an’ give the alarm there. ’Tis only a matter of ten -mile, an’ the civil guard at the prison know the Moor an’ will lend a -hand to catch the man as soon as daylight comes. He can’t be off much -sooner.” - -“An’ this here silver treasure?” asked Mr Bartley. - -“This here silver grandmother!” answered the other bitterly. “He’s -done us--done me--me as have had some credit in my time, I believe. -There--don’t talk--I could spit blood for this!--but words be vain. I -sha’n’t have another peaceful moment till I’ve got that anointed rascal -in irons again. ’Tis a lesson that may cost me a pension.” - -Corder gave his arm to Gregory and Bartley walked in front with the -lantern. - -“A gashly company we make, sure enough,” said the pioneer. “The -wickedness of that limb! An’ I thought for certain as my death had come. -Talk about London--I’d like to see a worse unhung ruffian there, or -anywhere. The man don’t live that’s worse than Sweetland. I never knowed -there was such a liar in the universe.” - -A last surprise awaited them and made the long journey to Princetown -impossible until dawn. - -When they reached the dog-cart they found it supported by the shafts -alone, for the horse was gone. - -“He’ll get to Plymouth after all, I reckon,” said Corder, blankly; “but -we sha’n’t--not this side of morning. Us have got to walk ten mile on end -to reach Princetown, let alone Plymouth. That’s what us have got to do.” - -“While we talked, he took the hoss. The devil’s cunning of that man!” -groaned Bartley. - - * * * * * - -Meantime Daniel Sweetland was riding bare-backed over Dartmoor to his new -home. - -He knew the way very well and threaded many a bog and leapt a stream or -two; then breasted a hill and looked down where, like a glow-worm, one -little warm light glimmered in the silver and ebony of the nocturnal -desert. - -For the first time that day his heart grew soft. - -“Her--all alone!” he thought. “I might have knowed she’d come. That’s her -place now; an’ mine be alongside her!” - -He formed the resolution to see Minnie at any cost. - -“Us’ll eat supper alone together for once, though the devil gets the -reckoning,” he said. “I lay my pretty have had no stomach for victuals -this night.” - -Five minutes later a horse stopped at Hangman’s Hut, and Minnie, -unlocking the door, found herself in her husband’s arms. - -“Ban’t much of a wedding night,” he said; “but such as ’tis us’ll make -the most of it. I’ve foxed ’em very nice with a yarn about that burglary, -of which I know no more than the dead really. But you’ll hear tell about -that presently. An’ to-night they’ll have a pretty walk to Princetown, -for the only horse except this one within five miles belongs to Johnny -Beer; an’ ’tis tired out after the journey to Moreton.” - -Minnie was far less calm than when she left him in the morning. Even her -steady nerve failed her now, and for the only time in his life Daniel saw -her weep. - -“Don’t you do that,” he said. “Ban’t no hour for tears. Fetch in all the -food in the house, an’ that bottle of wine I got for ’e. Can’t stop long, -worse luck.” - -“I know right well you’m an innocent man, Daniel; an’ I’ll never be happy -again until I’ve done my share to prove it,” she said. - -“’Tis just that will be so awful hard. Anyway I felt that the risk of a -trial was too great to stand, if there was a chance to escape. And the -chance offered. The lies I’ve told! But I needn’t waste time with that. -Keep quiet about my visit to-night. Ban’t nobody’s business but ours. A -purty honeymoon, by God! All the same, ’tis better than none.” - -Minnie hastened to get the food; then, when she had brought it, he put -out the light and flung the window open. - -“Us must heed what may hap. They might come this way by chance, though -there’s little likelihood of it.” - -He listened, but there was no sound save the sigh of a distant stream and -the stamp of the horse’s hoofs at the door. - -“To leave you here in this forsaken place!” he cried. “You mustn’t stop. -You shall not.” - -“But I shall, for ’tis so good as any other,” she answered. “I’ve got to -work for you while you are far off, Daniel. I’ve got to clear you; an’ I -will, God helping. What a woman can do, I’ll do for ’e.” - -“An’ more than any woman but you could do! I know right well that if -truth is to come to light ’twill be your brave heart finds it. You an’ -Sim. Trust him. He’ll do what a friend may. He’ll work for me with all -his might.” - -“An’ what will you do?” she asked. - -“Make myself scarce,” he answered. “’Tis all I can do for the present. -No good arguing while the rope’s round your neck. I can’t prove I’m -innocent, so ’tis vain stopping to do it. I’ll get out of harm’s way, -if I can. I mean to get to Plymouth afore morning an’ go down among the -ships. Then I’ll take the first job any man offers me, an’ if my luck -holds, I did ought to be in blue water to-morrow.” - -“They’ll trace you by the horse if you ride.” - -“So they would, of course. ’Tis the horse I trust to help me again as -he’ve helped to-night. Like enough, when you hear next about me, they’ll -tell you as I’ve been killed by the horse. But don’t you feel no fear. I -shall be to Plymouth very comfortable.” - -She ministered to him, and he ate and drank heartily. - -“One hour I’ll bide along wi’ my own true love, then off I must go,” said -Daniel. “I’ve hit poor Gregory rather hard; but I hope he’ll get over it. -Anyway, it had to be done. Only you go on being yourself, Min, an’ keep -up your courage, an’ fill your time working for me. The case is clear. -Some man have shot Adam Thorpe; but he didn’t shoot him with my gun, -because my gun was in my own hand when Thorpe fell, an’ I was a good few -mile away. To be exact, I was getting pheasants for ’e in Westcombe woods -at the time--you’ll find ’em in the well; an’ I heard the shots fired at -Middlecott quite clear, though I was five mile off. But the thing be to -show that I was five mile off.” - -“And your gun, Daniel?” - -“I put my gun back in the case in the next room to this long afore -midnight yesterday,” he said. - -“Then ’twas fetched away after midnight?” - -“Yes, it was; an’ if you can find the man as took my gun, then you’ll -find the man who killed the keeper.” - -“’Twill be the first thought an’ prayer of my life to do it, Daniel.” - -“An’ you will do it--if Sim don’t,” he prophesied. - -Within an hour Daniel reluctantly prepared to leave his home. - -“’Tis a damned shame I must go,” he said; “but I’ve no choice now. Only -mind this, Minnie Sweetland. Don’t you think you’m a widow to-morrow when -they comes an’ tells you so. If they bring my carpse to ’e, then believe -it; but they won’t.” - -“Take care of yourself, Daniel,” she answered, “for your life’s my -life. I’ll only live an’ think an’ work an’ pray for you, till you come -homealong again.” - -“Trust me,” he said. “You’m my star wheresoever I do go. Up or down, so -long as I be alive, I’ll have you first in thought, my own li’l wife. -Nought shall ever come atween me an’ you but my coffin-lid. An’ well God -knows it.” - -“Go,” she said. “An’ let me hear how you be faring so soon as you can.” - -“Be sure of that. If I daren’t write to you, I’ll write to Sim. But -remember! it may be an awful long time, if I have to go across seas.” - -“Write to me--to me direct,” she begged earnestly. “Send my letter -through no other man or woman. ’Twill be my life’s blood renewed to get -it. An’ I can wait; I can wait as patient as any stone. Time’s nothing so -long as we come together again some day. We’ve got our dear memories, an’ -they’ll never grow dim, though we grow grey.” - -“Not the memory of this day an’ night, that’s brought the greatest ill -an’ the greatest joy into my life to once,” he answered her. “Green for -evermore ’twill be.” - -Then again and again they kissed, and Daniel Sweetland rode away. - -At the top of the next dark hill he turned and looked back, but he saw -nothing. Minnie had not lighted her lamp again. She stood and watched him -vanish. Then she went to her bed in the dark and prayed brave prayers -until the dawn broke. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE BAD SHIP “PEABODY” - - -Daniel Sweetland had decided on his course of action before he bade -his wife farewell. Now he rode back to Furnum Regis, found the King’s -Oven empty as he expected, and turned his horse’s head to the south. -He crossed the main road, struck down a saddle path, and presently -approached Vitifer Mine. Here the land was cut and broken into wild chaos -of old-time excavations and deep natural gulleys and fissures. The place -was dangerous, for terrific disused shafts opened here, and a network of -rails and posts marked the more perilous tracts and kept the cattle out. -Sweetland knew this region well, and now, dismounting, he led his horse -to a wide pit known as Wall Shaft Gully, and tethered it firmly where -miners, going to their work, must see it on the following morning. An -ancient adit lined with granite yawned below, and local report said that -it was unfathomable. Two years before a man had accidentally destroyed -himself by falling into it, and though the fact was known, the nature of -the place made it impossible to recover his corpse. - -Now Daniel took a pencil and paper from his pocket. Then, under the -waning moon, he wrote the words “Good-bye, all. Let Sim break it to my -wife--D. Sweetland.” Next he took a stick, stuck it up, and set his -message in a cleft of it; and lastly he kicked and broke the soil at -the edge of the shaft, so that it should seem he had cast himself in -with reluctance. That done, he set out for Plymouth at his best pace, -consulted his watch, and saw that if all went well he might reach the -shelter of the streets by four o’clock in the morning. - -That information respecting his escape must be there before him, he knew. -As soon as the police reached Princetown, telegrams would fly to Exeter -and Plymouth and elsewhere. But Daniel trusted that early news would -come from the Moor. Then, if once it was supposed that he had committed -suicide, the severity of the search was certain to relax. - -His estimate of the distance to be travelled proved incorrect, and the -runaway found himself surprised by the first grey of morning long before -he had reached the skirts of the town. He turned, therefore, into the -deep woods that lie among those outlying fortresses which surround the -great seaport, and near the neighbourhood of Marsh Mills, where the -river Plym runs by long, shining reaches to the sea, Daniel hid close -under an overhanging bank beside the water. Here he was safe enough, -and saw no sign of life but the trout that rose beneath him. The food -that Minnie made him carry was soon gone, and another nightfall found -Sweetland ravenous. At dusk he lowered himself to the river and drank his -fill, but not until midnight was past did he leave his snug holt and set -forth again. - -By three o’clock on the following morning he was in Plymouth, and turned -his steps straightway to the Barbican. For Daniel sought a ship. He had -debated of all possibilities, and even thought of hiding upon the Moor -and letting Minnie feed him by night, until the truth of Thorpe’s murder -came to be known; but the futility of such a course was manifest. To -intervene actively must be impossible for him without discovery; he felt -it wiser, therefore, to escape beyond reach of danger for the present. -Then, once safe, he hoped to communicate with his friends and hear from -them concerning their efforts to prove his innocence. - -The Barbican grew out of dawn gradually, and its picturesqueness and -venerable details stood clear cut in the light of morning. It woke -early, and Daniel hastened where a coffee-stall on wheels crept down to -the quay from an alley-way that opened there. He was the first customer, -and he made a mighty breakfast, to the satisfaction of the merchant. -Daniel was cooling his third cup when other wayfarers joined him. Some -were fishermen about to sail on the tide; some were Spanish boys, just -setting out on their rounds with ropes of onions; some were sailors from -the ships. - -A thin, hatchet-faced man in jack-boots and a blue jersey attracted -Daniel. He wore his hair quite long in oily ringlets; gold gleamed in his -ears; his jaws were clean-shaven, and his teeth were yellow. - -“Have any of you chaps seen a Judas-coloured man this morning?” he asked -of the company. “His name’s Jordan, and he carries a great red beard -afore him, and the Lord knows where he’s got to. Went off his ship last -night and never came back.” - -A fisherman was able to give information. - -“I seed the very man last night. He was drinking along with some pals and -females at the ‘Master Mariner’--that publichouse at the corner. He’s got -into trouble, mister.” - -“Of course, of course; I might have knowed it. He’s a man so fiery as his -colour. Have they locked him up?” - -“That I couldn’t tell you. There was a regular upstore an’ pewter mugs -flying like birds. First a woman scratched the man’s face; then three -chaps went for him all at once. The police took him away, but whether -he’s to the lock-up or the hospital I couldn’t tell ’e. One or t’other -for sartain.” - -The sailor with the earrings showed no great regret. - -“Let him stop there, the cranky, spit-firing varmint. But we sail after -midday on the tide, and the question is where am I going to pick up a -carpenter’s mate between now and then?” - -“What’s your ship?” asked Daniel Sweetland. - -“The _Peabody_, bound for the West Indies, and maybe South America after.” - -“How long will you be away from England?” - -“Can’t say to a month. Might be twelve weeks, might be twenty; but most -like we shall be home by end of February.” - -“I’ll come,” said Daniel. “I want a ship, an’ I want it quick.” - -“D’you know your job?” - -“Ess, fay; an’ what I don’t know I’ll larn afore we’m off the Eddystone -light-house.” - -“Come on then,” answered the other. “I’m in luck seemingly. You’re all -right--eh? Ban’t running away from anybody?” - -“I’m running away from my wife,” answered Daniel, frankly. - -The other shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, well, that’s a home affair--your business, not mine. Sometimes -there’s nought better than a bit of widowhood for females. You’ll make -friends when you go back, no doubt.” - -“Very likely we shall.” - -“There was one man shipped with me who told that story, and I thought no -more of it at the time. But afterwards I found that the chap had murdered -his missis afore he ran away from her. You haven’t done that, I hope?” - -“No, no--just left her for her good for the present,” explained Daniel. -“And who be you, if I may ax?” - -“My name is James Bradley, and I’m mate of the _Peabody_,” answered his -companion. “I’ll not deceive you. I’m offering you nothing very well -worth having. The _Peabody’s_ an old tank steamer, and rotten as an -over-ripe pear. Sometimes I think the rats will put their paws through -her bottom afore long. A bad, under-engined, under-manned ship.” - -“Why do you sail in her then?” - -“That’s not here or there. I’m mate, and men will risk a lot for power. -Besides, I’m a philosopher, if you know what that is, and I’ve got a -notion, picked up in the East, that what will happen will happen. If I’m -going to be drowned, I shall be drowned. Therefore, by law an’ logic, I’m -as safe in the _Peabody_ as I should be in a battleship. But perhaps your -mind is not used to logic?” - -“Never heard of it,” said Daniel. - -“I’ll larn you,” answered Mr Bradley. “There’s the ship alongside that -quay. I’ll lay you never saw a uglier.” - -The _Peabody_ was not an attractive craft, but Daniel had no eye for a -ship and merely regarded the steamer as an ark of refuge until better -days might dawn. She lay low in the water, had three naked, raking masts, -and bluff bows. Her engines were placed right aft. The well of the ship -was not five feet above the water-line. - -Mr Bradley, ignorant of the fact that the new carpenter’s mate had seldom -seen a ship in his life, and never been upon one, supposed that Daniel -was taking in the steamer with a sailor’s eye. - -“A better weather boat than you’d think, for all she’s so low. Ten knots -with a fair wind. We’re taking out a mixed cargo and we shall bring back -all sorts and probably cruise around on the South American coast till we -can fill up somehow.” - -“What sort of a captain have you got?” - -“A very good old man. Too good for most of us. A psalm-smiter, in fact.” - -“I’ll come an’ see the captain, an’ have a bit more breakfast, if you’ve -no objection,” said Daniel. - -“He won’t be there. He’s along with his wife and family at Devonport. -He’ll only come aboard an hour afore we sail. But I’m in command now. -We’ll sign you on right away. What sort of a sailor are you?” - -“Never knowed what it was to be sea-sick in my life,” said Daniel, -laughing to himself at the joke. - -“Lucky for you. The _Peabody_ finds the weak spots in a man’s system when -she’s in a beam sea--that I promise you. I’m always ill for a week after -I’ve been ashore a fortnight. Here’s Chips.” - -The man addressed as “Chips” was standing at the entrance of the -forecastle as Bradley and Daniel crossed a gangway and arrived on the -deck of the ship. - -He came forward to the mate. - -“Have ’e heard or seen aught of Jordan?” he asked. - -“Seen nought; heard all I want to hear. He’s either in hospital or -police-station. There won’t be time for him to come back now, even if -he wants to. Tell the boy to pack his kit-bag and send it ashore to the -‘Master Mariner.’ They’ll know where he’s been taken. And this man has -come in his place. What’s your name, my son?” - -“Bob Bates.” - -“Come and eat your breakfast, Bob Bates,” said the carpenter. “Then I’ll -find you plenty to do afore we sail.” - -“I’m a thought out of practice, but I’ll soon get handy,” answered Daniel. - -“Where’s your papers?” asked the mate. - -“Haven’t got none,” answered the other. - -“Old man will never take you without papers.” - -The carpenter, who liked the look of his new mate, intervened. “Leave -that, Bradley. Cap’n will listen to me, if not to you. Seeing this man -ships in such a hell of a hurry, ’twill be all right. Then, if he’s the -proper sort, old man will soon forget.” - -“You can pretend I’m a stowaway an’ not find me till we’re out to sea,” -suggested Daniel. - -“No need, no need; ’twill be all right,” answered the other. - -Time proved that the carpenter of the _Peabody_ was correct. His injured -mate did not reappear, and in the hurry of sailing no questions were -asked. That night, in a weak ship rolling gunwales under, Sweetland made -acquaintance with the ailment he had never known, and Mr Bradley, who -found him under the light of an oil lamp in an alley-way, regarded the -prostrate wreck of Daniel with gloomy triumph. - -“I told you as this ship would twist your innards about a bit. I’m awful -bad myself. Drink a pint of sea-water; ’tis the only thing to do. If it -don’t kill you, it cures you.” - -The landsman grunted inarticulately. He was thinking that to perish -ashore, even with infamy, would be better than the dreadful death that -now prepared to overtake him. - -But after twenty-four hours the _Peabody_ was ship-shape and panting -solidly along on an even keel. Daniel quickly recovered, and what he -lacked in knowledge he made up in power to learn and power to please. -Chips, of course, discovered that his new mate was no carpenter, and -Bradley also perceived that Daniel had never been to sea before. But your -land-lubber, if he be made of the right stuff, will often get on with -a ship’s company better than a seasoned salt. Sweetland was unselfish, -hard-working, and civil. The men liked him, and the captain liked him. He -prospered and kept his own dark cares hidden. - -To detail at length the life on shipboard is not necessary, since no -events of importance occurred to be chronicled, and within a few weeks -of sailing, accident withdrew Sweetland from the _Peabody_ for ever. The -usual experience befell him; the wonders of the deep revealed themselves -to him for the first time; but only one thing that the sea gave up -interested Sweetland, and that chanced to be an English newspaper. It -happened thus. When off the Azores on the Sunday after sailing, a big -steamer overhauled the _Peabody_, went past her as if she was standing -still, and in two hours was hull down again on the horizon. - -“’Tis the _Don_,” said Bradley. “One of the Royal Mail boats from -Southampton for Barbados and Jamaica.” - -Sweetland frowned to himself and wondered how it came about that the -vessel’s name should be familiar to him. Then he remembered that it had -entered his ear before the tragedy. Henry Vivian intended to sail by this -ship. Doubtless he was on her now. - -The liner passed within two hundred yards of the tramp. Then, just as -she drew ahead, somebody pitched a newspaper over her taffrail into the -water. It was crumpled up, and the sea being smooth, the journal floated, -and a current drifted it across the bows of the _Peabody_. A man forward -saw it, guessed that it contained later news than any on the ship, and -prepared to fish it up. Three sailors with lines were ready for the -floating paper as it passed the side of the steamer, and the second -angler secured it. It proved to be _The Times_ of a date one day later -than the sailing of the _Peabody_. - -The journal was carefully dried and then, in turn, each man who cared to -do so studied it at leisure. - -For Daniel Sweetland it contained one highly interesting paragraph, and -he smiled to see how successful his crude deception had proved. - -The item of news may be reproduced, for it defines the supposed situation -left behind by Sweetland, and fittingly closes this chapter of his life’s -story. - - “THE TRAGEDY ON DARTMOOR - - “A sensational sequel is reported to the arrest of the man - Daniel Sweetland on his wedding day. It will be remembered - that Sweetland, a notorious poacher, was suspected--on the - evidence of his own gun--to have murdered a gamekeeper in - the woods of Middlecott Court estate near the little town - of Moretonhampstead, Devon. Three officers arrested him and - started to convey him to Plymouth. But accident detained the - party in the lonely central region of the Moor, and their horse - falling lame, they spent some time at a solitary publichouse - known as the Warren Inn. Here Sweetland, taking the police into - his confidence, confessed to being an accomplice in the recent - famous burglary at Westcombe--the seat of the Giffards not far - distant from Middlecott Court.…” - -The journal, after giving a very accurate account of all that had -happened at Furnum Regis, proceeded-- - - “The hoodwinked officers lost no time in reaching Princetown, - and from the convict establishment at that village, telegraphic - communication was set up with the neighbouring districts. But - early morning brought the sequel to the incident, for at dawn - certain labourers proceeding to their work in Vitifer Mine, - some few miles from the King’s Oven, discovered the horse on - which Sweetland had ridden off. It was tethered in the midst - of a wild and savage region full of old workings, where lie - some tremendous and unfathomable shafts, sunk in past years - but long deserted. Here the unfortunate poacher appears to - have deliberately taken his own life, for at the head of the - Wall Shaft Gully--a famous chasm which has already claimed - human victims in the past--a stake was discovered with a letter - fastened to the top of it. The words inscribed thereon ran as - follows:--‘_Good-bye all. Let Sim break news to my wife.--D. - Sweetland._’ The writing bears traces of great agitation, but - those familiar with Sweetland’s penmanship are prepared to - swear that these pathetic syllables were actually written by - him. Absolute proof, however, is impossible, since the profound - depths of the Wall Shaft Gully cannot be entered. In the case - of an accident during 1883, when a shepherd was seen to fall - in, all efforts to recover his body proved fruitless, owing - to the fact that foul air is encountered at a depth of about - one hundred yards beneath the surface of the ground. The man - ‘Sim’ alluded to in the poacher’s last message is a footman - at Middlecott Court, and appears to have been Sweetland’s - only friend. We understand that he has carried out the trust - imparted to him by his ill-fated companion. Search at the - King’s Oven has proved unavailing. It is clear that no treasure - of any kind was secreted there.” - -“That’s all right,” said Daniel. “Now the sooner I get back to help ’em -find out who killed Thorpe, the better. If I’d known that ’twould all -work out so suent an’ easy, I’d not have gone at all. If it weren’t for -the thought of Minnie an’ mother, I could laugh.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -MR SIM TELLS A LIE - - -Though Daniel had expressly asked Minnie to tell his friend Titus Sim -that he was not at the bottom of Wall Shaft Gully but far away in present -safety, the wanderer’s wife did no such thing. She would not trust -herself to associate Sim with her husband’s tragic misfortune; for she -could not yet feel certainty that the footman was all he pretended and -declared. His conduct after Sweetland’s disappearance proved exemplary. -He fulfilled the mission left behind by Daniel with all possible tact and -judgment. Alone he visited Minnie, and broke the news to her that she was -a widow. But she surprised him more than he dismayed her. - -“I pray that you an’ everybody be mistaken, Mr Sim,” she said. “I hope -my Daniel’s not at the bottom of that awful place. But whether his days -are over an’ he lies there, or whether he’s safe an’ beyond the reach of -those who want to take him, my part is the same. I’ll never rest till -I’ve done all a faithful wife can do to clear his memory of this wicked -thing. You know so well as I do that he was an innocent man.” - -“Yes, and trust me to prove him so, if wit and hard work can do it.” - -“Those who loved him must labour to clear him. Let them who want my good -word an’ good-will right Daniel. ’Tis the only way to my heart, an’ I -don’t care who knows it.” - -Perhaps those words were the cleverest that Minnie had ever uttered. -At any rate, they produced a profound effect on Titus Sim. He pondered -deeply before replying; then he nodded thoughtfully to himself more than -once. - -“’Tis the great task before us all; to make his memory sweet. Rest sure -enough that I’ll do my share,” he promised. - -But Minnie Sweetland found her dislike of Sim not lessened by his correct -attitude during these dark and troubled days. She avoided him when -possible. She kept the secret of her husband’s flight very close. Indeed, -two living souls alone knew it beside Minnie, and they were her husband’s -parents. Dan need have been in small concern for his mother, because on -the morning after the poacher’s flight Minnie had private speech with -the Sweetlands, and made them understand the truth. The woman was wise, -and perceiving that her son’s salvation probably hung upon this secret, -she kept it. Matthew Sweetland also preserved silence. His melancholy -was profound, and only Minnie had any power to lift him out of it. Her -energy and determination deeply impressed him; her absolute belief and -trust in her husband’s honour put life into him. He told her all that he -knew concerning the death of Adam Thorpe, and promised to take her to the -scene of the outrage that she might study it for herself. - -“If only we can prove that he had no hand in it,” said Matthew. “But -there, ’tis vain to hope so--look which way you will. If he was innocent, -why for did he run?” - -“Innocent men have done so for nought but terror,” she answered. - -“Maybe; but not Daniel. He was never afeared. No--no; he’s gone with -blood on his hands. ’Twill never be known till Judgment Day. Then the -record will be cried from the Book.” - -“Why for shouldn’t us believe him?” she asked. “He never told me a lie in -his life. Can you call home that you ever catched him in one?” - -But the father refused to argue. - -“He may have throwed himself down Wall Shaft Gully for all he told you -he would not. And no man would have taken on that dreadful death if he -wasn’t in fear of a dreadfuller. However, you can come to the place an’ -welcome. I’ll show you where one rogue got me down an’ nearly hammered -the life out of me; an’ I’ll show you where the other man let moonlight -into poor Thorpe. The detectives have tramped every yard of the ground, -but they found nothing good or bad. The man or woman as can prove my son -innocent will have my blessing, I promise you, though too well I know -he’s guilty. I’ve heard him threaten Thorpe myself.” - -In process of time, therefore, Minnie visited the coverts of Middlecott -Court and traversed the exact ground where Daniel was supposed to have -destroyed Adam Thorpe. Many other more highly trained observers had done -the like; but public interest in the affair perished with Sweetland’s -supposed suicide; and even the police when the events of Furnum Regis -and Wall Shaft Gully came to their ears, pursued their operations at -Middlecott Lower Hundred and elsewhere with less ardour. Their labours -threw no light upon the past; nor could they find Daniel’s accomplice. -Mr Sweetland swore to a second poacher; for one man fought with him and -broke his finger, while the other fired on Thorpe; but both rascals had -worn masks, and no trace of either appeared after the affray, excepting -only the gun--Henry Vivian’s gift to Daniel. - -Proceedings presently terminated tamely enough, and it was not until a -fortnight after the last detective had left Middlecott that Minnie with -her father-in-law visited the theatre of Thorpe’s death. - -But they took a detour, for Sweetland had fresh troubles upon his hands. - -“We’ll go by Flint Stone Quarry in the east woods,” he said, “for there -it was that more birds were killed last night. You’d think the anointed -ruffians had done enough; but they be at it still. ’Twas a great -roosting-place--very thick and warm, with snug shelter from north and -east. They might have killed scores o’ dozens for all me an’ the new -keeper could do. For all I know, they did. Of course when us got there -all was silent as the grave; but Thomas went again first thing this -morning and found one dead bird an’ one lamed but living, stuck in a tree -fork. An’ there was feathers everywhere an’ marks of feet. Ten pounds -worth of birds at least they took.” - -The girl listened quietly. - -“Maybe ’tis the old hands, father?” - -“Or new ones, as have larned their wicked tricks from my dead son.” - -“I shall never love you while you say these things against Daniel.” - -The keeper did not answer. He was surveying the glaring evidence of -another poaching raid. A stone quarry stood in the centre of heavy woods -here, and gleamed white with flint and yellow with gravel where it had -been gouged out of the hillside. All round it there crowded trees, and an -undergrowth of juniper and rhododendron grew to the forehead of the cleft. - -“Look!” said Matthew Sweetland. “The scamps comed down there; an’ one -slipped, I reckon. See how the soil be tored away. I lay he fell pretty -heavy. ’Twas this here more[1] catched his foot an’ over he comed. Here’s -feathers an’ blood where he fell.” - - [1] _More_: a tree root. - -Minnie stood by her father-in-law and examined the marks he indicated. It -was clear that some heavy body had crashed over the edge of the quarry -and fallen six feet into a bed of fern beneath. While the man examined -the ground, Minnie picked up a feather or two, regarded the clotted blood -beneath, and wondered whether it came from a dead pheasant or a living -poacher. She peeped about among the fern, then started, bent down, picked -up a small object and put it into her pocket quickly. When the keeper -returned she was looking listlessly at the wound on the quarry. - -“The man must have fallen heavy, if ’twas a man,” she said. - -“The Dowl looks arter his own,” answered Mr Sweetland. “’Twould have -broke the neck of any honest chap, no doubt.” - -They proceeded a mile into the sweet recesses of the woods. Then Minnie -stood on the scene of the murder and regarded, not without emotion, the -spot where her husband was declared to have killed Adam Thorpe. - -His father gloomily pointed out the place where Daniel’s gun had been -discovered by Titus Sim. - -“It have aged the poor wretch twenty year,” he said. “Sim be a hang-dog -creature now, an’ slinks past me as though he was to blame for Dan’s -downfall. But I won’t have that. He only done his duty. There was the -gun, an’ he had to show it. ’Tis all summed up in that. How did it come -to be there, if my son was not? An’ why for did he run away or else kill -himself, if he had the power to prove himself guiltless? Who can answer -those questions?” - -“’Tis for me to do it,” replied Minnie. “An’ right’s my side, father. If -he was dead, ’tis for me to live to right his memory; but he be living, -’tis for me to clear him more than ever, so that he may come back an’ -stand afore your face again like an honest man.” - -“Never--never,” he answered. “That’s where us picked up Thorpe; an’ -that’s where the gun was; an’ there, alongside that fallen tree in the -brambles, was the spot where t’other blackguard got me down an’ nearly -beat the life out of me.” - -The girl looked round about her and nodded. - -“Now you go about your business, for I lay this not a pleasant place to -you,” she said. “I’ll just peep around, if you please.” - -“There’s no eyes of all them that have searched here was so bright as -yours, my dear; but think twice afore you waste your time here. ’Tis not -likely you’ll find aught; an’ if you find anything more than others have -found, ’tis most certain to be sorrow.” - -“I don’t think it. My heart tells me as there be that hid here as will -pay for finding. I’ve felt it all along, an’ never more than to-day.” - -“Seek then, an’ if you can find my son’s innocence, me an’ his mother -will bless you for evermore, when us wakes and when us lies down. You’ve -my leave to come here as often as you will, an’ I’ll tell Thomas an’ -t’others that you’m free of the woods. Your way home along is by the path -yonder. ’Twill fetch ’e out ’pon the side of Hameldon; then to the high -road ban’t above a mile.” - -The old man left her, and Minnie, sitting down upon the fallen tree -which he had pointed out, made a quiet and systematic plan of search. -But her thoughts were divided between this present site and that whereon -she had stood half-an-hour earlier. Now she mapped out the region of -the fray, and began her work where Daniel’s gun had been discovered by -Titus Sim. She took a reel of stout white thread from her pocket and -with sticks marked out a space of three square yards. Then yard by yard -she went over the ground, lifting every leaf and examining every inch -of grass and soil. Not an atom of ground escaped this most laborious -scrutiny. With immense patience and care she pursued the task, and at the -end of three hours, in the silent heart of the woods, she had inspected -six square yards. Nothing rewarded the examination: but only a very -trifling tract out of that involved was yet inspected, and Minnie, having -carefully marked the portion investigated, left Middlecott Lower Hundred -and prepared to return home. - -She still lived at Hangman’s Hut, and the fifty pounds with which Daniel -had started life promised to keep her there until time should pass and -news of her husband reach her. Already the wonder waned and folks began -to talk of the “widow Sweetland” and ask each other how long she must in -decency remain alone before taking another husband. That Titus Sim would -be the man few doubted. He often visited her, and he strove valiantly in -many directions to discover the secret of Thorpe’s death. Sometimes he -grew elated at the shadow of a clue; then, again, he became cast down as -the hope of explanation vanished and the problem evaded him. - -Three nights after Minnie’s first great search, Mr Sim called upon her. -Of late he had seen her not seldom, because the family at Middlecott was -away and the servants consequently enjoyed unusual leisure. - -Titus found Mrs Beer with her neighbour, for the innkeeper’s wife often -spent an evening hour at the lonely girl’s cottage, and Mr Beer also -would occasionally run over if business was quiet. But his motives were -selfish, for Minnie proved a good listener, and though she did not praise -the fat man’s poetry, she was always prepared to give it respectful -hearing. - -The footman knocked and entered, according to his custom; then he sat by -the fire and stretched his gaitered legs to the blaze. - -“A rough night,” he said. “I had a regular fight with the wind coming up -over the heath; but you’m snug enough seemingly. I do welcome these days -when our people are away; for they give me a chance to be in the air. -Sometimes I’m sore tempted to throw up this life and get out-of-door work -again.” - -“You wasn’t meant for a flunkey, I’m sure,” declared Mrs Beer. “I never -can think ’tis a very dignified calling for a grown man, though of course -the quality must have ’em.” - -“You are almost so fond of the woods and the wild things as my Daniel -is,” declared Minnie. - -“True for you,” he answered. “True for you, Mrs Sweetland.” - -“I dare say you get a breath of the woods now an’ again while the folks -are away?” - -“All I can. These stirring times make me long to be a gamekeeper--just -like when the country goes to war, we men all want to be soldiers. I’m -afraid poor old Sweetland gets beyond his work. There’s been more trouble -in the preserves since Sir Reginald went to Scotland.” - -This information apparently reminded the mistress of Hangman’s Hut that -she had offered Titus no hospitality. - -“I’ll draw some cider for ’e. ’Tis all I’ve got. Dan promised never to -drink nought else after we was married. An’ if you want for to smoke, -please do it.” - -The footman pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a pipe from his pocket; as -he did so he groaned. - -“What’s the matter?” inquired Mrs Beer. “That’s the noise my old man -makes in his sleep when the rheumatics be at him.” - -“My side. I had a cruel dig in the ribs two days agone. Slipped and fell -on the cellar stairs with a scuttle o’ coals. I thought I’d broke every -bone in my body. And a pang shoots through an’ through my side yet when I -move my right arm. But ’tis better than ’twas.” - -Minnie expressed active regret and brought Mr Sim a cushion for his back. -His bright eyes looked round the little comfortable kitchen hungrily. -He already pictured the time when he might fill a dead man’s shoes, for -he was among the many who believed that Daniel Sweetland had in reality -perished and would be heard of no more. Minnie never undeceived him. - -Now the mistress of Hangman’s Hut poured her visitor out his drink, then -sat and watched the tobacco smoke curl from his lips. Presently she spoke. - -“Do you still use that wooden pipe what my Dan gived ’e? ’Twas cut very -cunning in the shape of a fox’s mask wi’ li’l black beads for eyes. I -should like to think as you smoke it sometimes an’ remember him as gived -it to you.” - -“And so I do. ’Tis my best pipe--for great occasions only. There’s nought -belongs to me I treasure more. I had it betwixt my teeth only this -morning.” - -The woman looked at him and nodded gravely. There was nothing in her face -that showed his speech particularly interested her. And yet, in wide -ignorance of facts, Sim had spoken words that might some day lead to his -discomfiture and ruin. For he had lied, and Mrs Sweetland knew it. - -He drank, talked on and suggested in his speech and ideas a man of simple -rectitude and honourable mind. His admiration for Minnie he made no -attempt to conceal. It presently fired Mrs Beer into a rather personal -remark. - -“Lord! what a couple you’d make!” she said, eying them. “I do hope, to -say it without rudeness, as you’ll see your way, my dear; for Titus here -be cut out for you; an’ everybody be of the same opinion. When a man’s -saved enough to open a publichouse, that man’s a right to look high for -his partner, and he has a right to the respect of us females. Take the -case of my Beer. He waited, so patient as Job, till the critical cash -was to his name in the Bank at Moreton. Then he flinged over service as -gardener up to Archerton and lifted his eyes to me; but not afore he’d -got three figures to his name. An’ we all know that Mr Sim be a very snug -man.” - -“I won’t deny it,” said Titus. “’Twould be idle to do so. I am a snug -man as young men go. The guests at Middlecott are generous, and five -pound notes soon mount up. But we mustn’t talk of that. Mrs Sweetland -hopes that my poor friend and her dear husband be still in the land of -the living. And, though it cuts the ground from beneath me, I hope so -too. Have ’e heard ’bout drunkard Parkinson? They say he’s not likely to -get over his last bout. Now there’s a man famed for poaching since his -childhood, and as clever at it as any chap ever I heard of. It strikes me -that he knows a lot more than his fellow creatures have heard him speak. -Anyway, I’m going to see him to-morrow, if he’s well enough to see me. -He’s not above a bit of sport by night still, though I guess he’s shot -his last bird now, poor chap! Put a gun in that man’s hand, and he is -sober in a minute. ’Tis an instinct with him.” - -Minnie listened and said nothing. She appeared to be working on a piece -of red flannel, but in reality her mind and attention were elsewhere. She -had private reasons for a close personal scrutiny of Titus, and now, -from under veiled lids, observed his every action, his dress, his speech. - -The man clearly endured physical pain from time to time. He moved his -right shoulder gingerly and occasionally, forgetting it, puckered his -mouth into the expressions of suffering, when a twinge reminded him of -his accident. He was clad in an old shooting jacket and breeches, the -gift of one of his master’s guests at the end of a shooting season. One -leg was torn and the rent had been carefully drawn together. His gaiters -were fastened with yellow horn buttons; but upon the right leg a button -was missing. It had, however, been replaced with a black one. - -Sim smoked and finished his cider; then he loaded his pipe again, talked -ten minutes longer and prepared to depart. - -“I was forgetting,” he said. “Mrs Sweetland, at the lodge, sent a special -message by me. She wants for you to come down and take supper along with -her to-morrow. And she was so kind as to ask me also. And I said as I -would do it and be proud to see you home after, if agreeable to you.” - -“I’ll come gladly. I shall be at Moreton to-morrow. My fowls have -beginned to lay finely, an’ I hope to have a dozen eggs for market.” - -“And may I see you home after?” - -“If you’ve a mind to, though there’s no need--a married woman like me.” - -“You’m so brave. Good-night--good-night. See how the moon is shining on -the fog-banks. There’ll come rain before morning, for the wind’s fallen a -lot already.” - -He departed, and soon afterwards Mrs Beer also returned to her home. -Then Minnie tidied up the kitchen, brought in from his kennel her sole -companion--a great yellow mongrel dog, loved of Daniel--and then locked -the door. - -Next she turned out from a drawer in the kitchen table a piece of brown -wood and examined it very closely. It was the bowl of a pipe broken -roughly from the stem. The fragment had been carved to represent a fox’s -mask, and upon the bottom of it were cut in small letters “T.S. from -D.S.” Minnie Sweetland collected some of the shreds of Mr Sim’s tobacco -and compared it with that still pressed into the broken pipe. Thus, while -the footman walked home well satisfied with the progress of events, and -full of dreams for his future prosperity, she upon whom it rested had -made a remarkable discovery. That Titus Sim was involved in the murder -of Thorpe, Minnie could not guess or prove; but that he was implicated -in the recent raid--that it was, in fact, Sim who had fallen in the -quarry--it seemed impossible to doubt. - -The young woman’s first thought was to tell her father-in-law upon the -following day. But she abandoned the idea. “I’ll go on alone,” she said -to herself. “My Dan shall have none to thank but me. I’ll prove afore all -the world that he told the truth; an’ maybe I’ll live to bring the truth -to light. An’ if there’s danger in it, let the danger fall on me. I never -was afeared of a human an’ never will be, please God.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -IN MIDDLECOTT LOWER HUNDRED - - -At this juncture it is enough to relate of Titus Sim that he honestly -believed his old friend was dead, and hoped with all his heart to marry -the widow. With no little self-control he concealed his ambitions, but -the fact that others saw the propriety of the match impressed him, and -since not a few openly held that he might fittingly wed the young wife, -he began to sound Minnie herself upon the question. - -There came a day after Christmas when Titus did groom’s work and rode -with a message from his master to Two Bridges, nigh Princetown. He pulled -up his horse on the return journey and stopped to drink at the Warren -Inn. Mr Beer was in the bar alone, and it happened that he touched the -matter nearest the other’s heart. - -“Seeing we’m without company for the minute,” said Johnny, “I can read ’e -a bit of my last verses, Sim; an’ though you ban’t addicted to poetry, -yet you’ll do well to listen patient, for the matter has to do with you -in a manner of speaking, though ’tis poetry. In fact, you be mentioned -by name.” - -The footman, who never quarrelled with any man, pretended deep interest, -and Johnny drew a piece of foolscap from his pocket, unrolled it, set a -glass on the top, then spread out the sheet and read with that deliberate -and loving unction peculiar to one who recites his own composition. - -“’Tis the whole tragedy of two young, youthful lives told in a rhyme,” he -explained. “I’ve took the tale so far as it has got like. Now ’tis for -you to make history, so as I can write the next verses.” - -Then the poet began:-- - - “Oh, ’twas a direful business sure - When out come Sweetland from church door - And, almost afore he’d kissed his wife, - To find himself tried for his dear life. - Then up he sprang; policemen three - They wasn’t half so spry as he. - And even Corder, as comed from Plym- - Mouth, he couldn’t get quits with him. - But cruel sad and wisht the tale, - For Daniel from this mortal vale - Did take his leave; but there’s no mirth - Down in the bowels of the earth, - Where he be now--excuse my groans, - For fitches and weasles do pick his bones. - And that young woman sweet and slim, - She never was no wife for him. - Though she have lost her maiden name, - She’m just a maiden all the same. - And Sweetland’s her name and sweet’s her nature-- - So sweet as any mortal creature. - And here, upon the Moor so desolate, - She lives, like a bird as have lost its mate. - All in a lonesome nest she bides; - Near by a little old river glides; - And Dan will never come no more, he - Is in the Land of eternal glory. - For that I swear, who pens this verse, - Though some was better and some was worse, - Yet never would that straight young Dan - Have shed the blood of any man. - But now who shall come forth and say, - ‘I’ll take this poor young girl away - And marry her and give her joy - To atone for her unfortunate boy?’ - I ask the question far and near, - And answer comes as clear as clear: - For Titus Sim, he loved her well, - And nothing but death true love shall quell. - And therefore I do hope afore long - He will make good this humble song; - And no chap will be happier than Titus Sim - If Minnie Sweetland will live along with him.” - -“There!” said Mr Beer. “Every rhyme out of my own head. An’ what d’you -think of it?” - -“’Tis very fine poetry, and true, which all poetry is not to my certain -knowledge,” answered Titus. “I have chances to dip into gentlefolks’ -books, and the nonsensical rhymes they have in ’em would much surprise -you. But here’s rhyme and reason both, I’m sure. ’Tis a beautiful poem, -an’ I should be very much obliged for a copy.” - -“If ’twill fire you on to your duty, you shall have it; an’ if she takes -you, I’ll add a bit to it,” said Mr Beer. “If you think in rhyme as I -often do,” he added, “’tis fifty pounds against a bag of nuts, that -you frequently hit on a bit of wisdom. I’ve often been mazed at my own -cleverness. But I never surprise my wife. If I found out a way of turning -moor-stone into solid gold, she’d merely say that she knowed all along -’twas in me to do it. Therefore I hope you’ll take the hint like a man, -an’ offer marriage so soon as you can. You’ve got the good wishes of the -parish behind you in the adventure; an’ that’s half the battle, no doubt.” - -“I’m thinking it’s too soon,” said Titus. “Between you and me, Mr Beer, -’tis my dream and hope to have her, but time must pass. In the upper -circles they wait a year afore they approach a bereft female, and though -I needn’t be asked to keep off it so long as that, still three months -isn’t enough, I’m afraid. She was very fond of Dan, remember.” - -“I suppose three months is not enough, as you say,” admitted Johnny, -“especially as she won’t have it that he’s dead. There’s a crack-brained -thought in her poor young heart that Daniel didn’t make away with himself -at all; an’ of course as the ashes of the poor chap will never be seen by -mortal eye until the last Trump, ’tis impossible to prove she’s wrong. -For my part I’ve said that I reckon he’s dead; but, at the same time, I -never shall know why he made away with himself until we stand face to -face beyond the grave. Then that will be the fust question I ax the man. -‘Whatever did ’e do such a terrible rash thing for, Dan?’ I shall ax him -as we meet in a golden street.” - -“I wish I could think with you that he didn’t do it--shoot Thorpe I mean; -but I’m only too sure of it. What I believe is this: that Rix Parkinson -and Dan did the job between them, and that poor Dan shot the underkeeper -while Parkinson tried to knock the life out of Dan’s father. Of course -Rix denied it when I taxed him. However, truth will out--at Doomsday, -if not before, an’, be it as it will, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t -ask the girl I love to marry me now she’s free to. I’ll do it come the -springtime, if not before.” - -Mr Beer applauded the resolve. - -“I’m sure right an’ law be both your side. The Church likewise, for that -matter. Parson never would hold Minnie to that marriage. She’m free, no -doubt. What you’ve got to do be to convince her loving mind that Daniel -be in glory, as my verses say; then she’ll let un bide an’ turn her -attention to you, if she’s so wise as I think. Shall you live upalong to -Hangman’s Hut if she takes you?” - -“No, I sha’n’t. I mean to go to Moreton. I’ve a thought to take a little -shop there, if she likes the idea.” - -“Better try for a public. Drink be a more certain support than food. If I -don’t know Moreton men, who should? I tell you that they put bread second -to beer every day of the year. I made a rhyme about it that they wrote up -in Sam Merritt’s bar. If you like--?” - -“Not now, master,” said Titus. “Though I’ll wager ’tis a very clever -rhyme, if you made it. And I’ll keep in mind all you’ve said. Now I must -get going, else I’ll be late for dinner.” - -Sim rode off, and it chanced, as the dimpsy light faded and the brief -splendour of winter sunset lighted the west, that he met young Mrs -Sweetland returning home. Minnie was riding a pony which Mr Beer lent her -when she wanted it. She had been at Middlecott Lodge and in the coverts -also, for her search was not relaxed, and, when opportunity offered, she -continued it. - -Little remained to be done. That day she had paid her eighteenth visit to -the spot where Thorpe fell; and, for the first time since the beginning -of the search, the girl believed herself rewarded. Most laborious and -faithful had been her scrutiny. She told herself that to leave a twig -unturned might be to lose the chance of re-establishing her husband’s -good repute. She toiled with a patience only possible to a woman; and -now, while but three or four more yards remained to be searched, a -significant fragment came to the light. Yet it was not near the spot -where Daniel’s gun had been discovered. That tract, despite a survey -microscopical in its minuteness, yielded her nothing but a flake of -flint. The arrow-head, for such it was, had told an antiquary of some -Danmonian warrior from neolithic days; but to Minnie Sweetland it meant -nothing, and she threw it aside without interest. Then, where Matthew -Sweetland had suffered his cruel beating, the searcher came upon a yellow -horn button. It reminded her instantly of Sim’s leathern gaiters, and she -stood silent in the peace of the woods and stared before her. Thus it -seemed that her husband’s closest, dearest friend was identified with -the spot of the murder. But even in the flush of discovery the young -woman perceived how slight and vain was such a clue unsupported. If the -button was Titus Sim’s, it proved nothing against him, since all men knew -that he had been early on the scene of the fray. But her heart leapt, -though her head warned it, and she left the forest full of hope renewed. - -Returning from this discovery, Minnie met Sim. Then they pulled up their -horses and spoke together. - -“I do wish you’d come down off the Moor to live, Mrs Sweetland. ’Tis much -too cold and lonely for a female upalong these winter days.” - -“I like it. ’Tis a stern life an’ keeps a body patient. You’ve got to -fight a bit wi’ nature. It makes a woman brave to have to do that. Last -night the foxes got to my fowels an’ killed three of ’em.” - -“I’m sorry, indeed!” - -“’Twill larn me to be wiser.” - -“To think what it is to be a few miles nearer the sun! At least, I -suppose ’tis that. They’ve heard from Mr Henry. Sir Reginald was reading -out a lot of his letter at luncheon to-day. Such a place as that Tobago -be! All palm-trees, and lofty mountains, and flowers, and birds and -butterflies, and sweltering sunshine, and niggers, and cocoanuts and -sugar-cane. A different world, if words mean anything. Mr Henry has a -pretty pen seemingly. I wish to God I’d been educated and could write -so easy and flowing. As to the overseer of the estates, I didn’t hear -about that. ’Twas only a bit here and there Sir Reginald read out to her -ladyship.” - -“Have they heard anything ’bout the pheasant thieves?” - -“Not a syllable. Drunkard Parkinson swears on his oath he had no hand -in it, though for my part I suspect him. And what d’you think? Matthew -Sweetland was at me only yesterday to throw up my indoor work and turn -keeper again! He knows I understand the work almost so well as Dan -himself did. But I’ve got my ideas. It all depends on--on other parties -what I do. I’ve told the old man that he must wait for my answer till -next Midsummer-day.” - -“He’s always praising you an’ wishing how my Daniel had been more like -you.” - -“No, no! I wasn’t a patch on Daniel. Still, I know the outdoor work and -love it, too!” - -Minnie thought of her button. - -“You’d want a wife then. A gamekeeper’s life is a hard one. I suppose if -you do that, you’ll take the north cottage and Thomas will get warning?” - -“Yes--I should have his place; he’s not much good. But as to a -wife--well, if you ask me, I think a keeper’s better without one. Men -will talk to their wives; an’ women will talk again to other women. They -can’t help it. A man whose business ’tis to keep secrets and run the -chance of sudden death had better bide single. So it depends--as I told -you just now--’pon other parties. Come next Midsummer, I shall ask a -certain party a certain question; and if the answer is ‘Yes,’ there’ll be -no gamekeeping for me; and if the answer is ‘No’--well, I’d rather not -think of that. There come times in his life when a strong man can’t take -‘No’ for an answer.” - -Minnie sat on her pony with one hand in her pocket. She fingered the horn -button and spoke. - -“You want somebody to look after you. A girl’s eyes be sharp where she -takes an interest. I wonder your master have never called you to account -for that black button on your gaiter. ’Tis very untidy. If you was an -outdoor man, you’d never dare to go about like that.” - -“Quite right,” he admitted. “To think your sharp eyes have seen--but what -don’t they see--even to a button? It do make me feel proud all the same, -that you can have bestowed the least thought on such a thing.” - -“I catched sight of it some time ago. If you remind me one day, I’ll sew -a yellow one on for ’e. I’ve got one. ’Twill match t’others an’ look more -vitty than that black one.” - -“I’m afeard it won’t match the others, my dear, for they’m notched around -the edge and be peculiar. But your button will be more to me than all the -rest, and if ’tis yellow in colour, ’twill pass very well; and thank you -kindly for the thought.” - -“Next time you come up then?” - -“That will be Sunday night, if I may.” - -She nodded. - -“Good-night, and bless you for your kind words,” said Mr Sim very -fervently. - -“Good-night,” she answered, and went her way. - -No definite course of action had prompted her to this strange offer. -Her only wish was to get a closer view of the gaiter and compare the -button she had found with those upon it. Now, as she rode on, a thousand -plans passed through her mind, but not one pleased her, and she began -doubtfully to speculate upon the necessity of seeking help in this -enterprise. The danger grew. Let Sim once suspect, and she could not -guess the result. If he had himself destroyed the keeper and in cold -blood plotted the subsequent destruction of Daniel Sweetland, then he -would stick at nothing. Minnie very clearly perceived the necessity for -caution. She also saw the direction in which Sim’s thoughts were turning. -That he would ask her to marry him when Midsummer came was certain. She -only hoped that, long before summer returned, the truth might have dawned -upon her darkness and her husband be by her side again. - -Daniel was in her thoughts and her young heart yearned for him as she -returned to her lonely dwelling. Then, as if to answer the longing, a -great thing greeted her and the day closed in splendour brighter than any -sunset light. - -Mr Beer was waiting for the pony when Minnie arrived at the Warren Inn, -and she remarked, despite the gloaming, that his mouth was full of news. - -“Wonders never cease, but be on the increase,” he began. “An’ well you -know that when I break out into poetry I’ve generally got something on -my mind. Well, so I have. Onlight from your horse an’ I’ll give ’e a -present. What could be better than a postman’s letter? An’ from foreign -parts, if you’ll believe me, though I didn’t know, my dear, as you’d got -friends in the distance.” - -“Dan,” she said. “’Tis Dan--my heart says it.” - -“Now don’t think that, my poor maiden. I wish it was. But there ban’t no -letter-writing in the grave. A man neither sends nor receives ’em in the -pit. An’ ’tis not the worst thing as you can say for death that it puts -you beyond reach of the penny post--not to name telegrams. You must make -up your mind that Daniel be in the better land with saints an’ angels -grand. This here is from the West Indies where the rum comes from; an’ -if the place be as comforting as the drink, then I make no doubt people -do very well there. For rum punch is a glorious brew to make the heart -and liver new. But, if you ax me, this letter is from Mr Henry, who be in -them parts. He was a close friend of Dan’s; an’ his was the gun that done -the dreadful deed when death to Adam Thorpe did speed--Lord! how full I -be of rhyme to-night! So, very like, he’s written in his gentlemanly way -to comfort you.” - -Minnie’s bosom panted, and she put her hand upon it to hide the swift -rise and fall. Right well she knew that Mr Beer was wrong, and though -the superscription of the letter spread in a scrawling hand quite unlike -Daniel’s yet her heart saw through the envelope and she felt that the -letter came from her husband. - -“Let me have it,” she said. “I’ll tell you what’s to tell to-morrow.” - -“Why not read it now?” he asked as he handed the letter to her. - -“Time enough. Now take the pony, an’ thank you, an’ good-night.” - -Soon she was alone, but Minnie ate no supper that night, for another sort -of feast awaited her. She read the long letter thrice from end to end; -then, finding that the hour was nine o’clock, and the fireless cottage -had grown very cold, she went to bed, and read the letter three times -more by candle light. After that the candle suddenly went out, so she -cuddled her soft bosom to the pages and slept with them against a happy -heart. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -DAN’S LETTER - - -“MY OWN, DEAR PRETTY-EYED WIFE,--Here I be so safe as you could wish, -with many a mile o’ salt water betwixt me and them as would harm me. A -mighty lot of terrible strange things I’ve seed; but first I must say -as I got to Plymouth all right and met a chap as wanted a sailor-man. -He took me, because he couldn’t get a better, and we sailed out of -Plymouth on the very next tide. My ship be called the _Peabody_. She’s -a steamer--not much to look at and a poor one to go; but here we are -anyway, and I be writing to you from Tobago--an island in the West -Indies, where us get brown sugar and cocoanuts and such like foreign -contrivances. - -“I’ll begin at the beginning, well knowing how you like for things to be -all in order and ship-shape as we say. Well, the food’s cruel bad and the -ship’s under-manned and under-engined, but we’m just on the windy side -of the law, I believe, which is all you can expect from a tramp like the -_Peabody_. The old man (Skipper) is a very good sort and everybody likes -him; also the mate; likewise the bosun. Everything’s all right, in fact, -except the grub and the engines. I be the carpenter’s mate. - -“Us seed a good few wonders coming out over, but it blowed a bit off the -Azores (which you can find in father’s big map of the world), and we took -it green. By which I mean this vessel shipped solid waves over her bows -and we had to slow down, else we’d have gone down. The engines be good -for nought in a head wind. But we got to Barbados at last, and I find -’tis called Bim for shortness. In the dimpsy light us fetched it, but out -here twilight turns to night while the clock’s striking, and afore we -cast anchor ’twas dark and the island lying like a sea monster with a red -light on his nose and a white on his tail--lighthouses I mean. Bridgetown -it was where us landed part of our cargo--a place with windmills ’pon it -and tilled land and miles of stuff, as made me think of home, so green -it was; but ’tis sugar-cane when you gets up to it. We didn’t bide in -Carlisle Bay long, else I’d have wrote from there, but we was so terrible -busy I hadn’t but one chance to land. The folks here be every colour you -could name between white and black, through all manner of shades of snuff -colour, and butter colour, and putty colour, and peat colour. Cheerful, -lazy devils, as like to laugh and smoke and chew sugar-cane all day. But -they properly hate work. Reckless mongrels, I should say they was; but in -Bim a man don’t have any show unless he’ve got a touch of the tar-brush -as they say. That means nigger blood. Such a way as they tell! I never -heard English spoke so comic in all my born days. Their clothes be built -for ventilation mostly, and I never seed such a show of rags. Barbados -is made of coral, but t’other islands are volcanoes, and they’ve a nasty -way of going off when you least count upon it. From Carlisle Bay you can -see white houses under wooden tiles all scorched grey by the sun heat, -and in the streets a great crowd goes up and down in the blazing air and -shining dust. Such a noise and clatter I never did hear. Mules squealing, -bells ringing, bands playing, niggers bawling. The women all wear white -dresses and gay turbans. They’m amazing straight in the back, owing to -carrying all their goods ’pon top their heads. They sell cocoanuts, -cane, pineapples, oranges, limes, mangoes, yams, pickles, and Lord knows -what beside. They stride out beautiful owing to their short petticoats, -but their mouths be a caution. The children look like little chocolate -dolls, and much you’d love ’em. The policemen all be dressed in white. -They fancy themselves an awful lot. The pigs run about the streets and -be for all the world like greyhounds (what we call long-dogs to home). -The climate’s that fiery that you’ll never get no stock properly fatted -in it. But you don’t feel no call for much red meat. We got fresh water -and green stuff aboard here, and how I wish I could have sent you my -dinner yesterday. I had flying-fish and sweet potatoes and green-skinned -oranges, red as gold inside, and many other fine things as would make -your little mouth water to hear tell about. But the mangoes is what I -like best, though they do say out here they be no better than a bit of -tow dipped in turps. Ban’t true, I assure ’e. I got off for two hour just -afore we set sail, and went into the country, trapsing round to see what -I could see. And if I didn’t come across a great mango tree as ’peared -to me to be just a foreign, wild tree alongside the high road. Well, -I seed the fruit in it, an’ thinks I, ‘’twill be a fine thing for the -ship.’ So up I goes, hand over fist, but not before I made some niggers -stop throwing stones up at the tree. Well, I shinned up aloft and began -flinging down the mangoes, and the wretched niggers holloed out, ‘Good -massa! Massa brave! Massa no frightened ob nobody!’ Then suddenly there -was a mighty loud barking and up comed a yellow dog, so big as a calf, -and the nigs went off for dear life. ‘Him coming, massa! Him running -like de debbil, sar!’ they shouted out as they went; and then a big chap -arrived at the bottom of the tree and began giving me all the law and the -prophets, I do assure ’e. For it happened to be his tree. - -“‘You tief, come down! come down and my dog he tear you. I catch you at -last! It all ober wid you now!’ - -“‘Not much,’ I said. ‘I ban’t coming down to be tored by thicky hulking -dog, John.’ (Us calls all niggers ‘John.’) - -“‘You a tief and you take to gaol, sar. I no go till you come down,’ he -says. - -“And I knowed as my ship would sail in two hours or less! - -“‘Now list to me, you black ass,’ I says. ‘I thought this here was a wild -tree--as anybody would. You ought to stick your name on the tree. And I -ban’t a thief, and if you call me one, I’ll break your fat head. Just -take the dog and tie him up, then I’ll come down and us’ll have a bit of -a tell about it.’ - -“‘You tief my mangoes! You lodge in de gaol!’ was all he could think of. -So I told him not to be such a tarnation fool. - -“‘There’s your mangoes on the ground,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a bob for -’em, and if I hear any more about it, I’ll apply to the Governor to have -your beast of a dog shot.’ - -“’Twas the money done it! - -“‘A bob--a bob, massa!’ he says. ‘Dat’s diff’rent, sar! I’se too sorry I -spoke so rude to massa. A bob! Go home, you damn dog!’ - -“So the dog cleared out and I comed down and gived the heathen his -shilling, and took the mangoes and marched off to the Careenage and -joined my ship. But I’d paid a lot too much money, of course. - -“Next morn us got to St Vincent--an island that runs up into the sky, -like a Dartmoor tor, only ’tis a lot larger and the sides of un be -all covered with palms and savage trees. The town lies spread at sea -level--all white and red--and the forest slopes behind with fine trees. -Some of them was blazing with red flowers. A pride of the morning shower -falled just as we got here, and the rain flashed like fire. There was -a rainbow in it, and I never seed such a bright one afore. The caps of -the mountains was hidden in clouds, but the sun touched ’em and made ’em -all rosy; then it swallowed ’em up and drawed ’em into the blazing blue. -There’s Carib Indians to St Vincent, and one Carib be worth five niggers -when it comes to a bit of work. They’ve got a queer sort of religion, -I’m told, though not so queer as the negroes. The niggers’ religion be -called Obeah, and the Obi Men be awful rum customers. Missionaries try -to stop ’em and their goings-on, but Obi mysteries still happen and all -sorts of devilish deeds are done in secret. - -“I never knowed a place what smelled worse than Kingstown, St Vincent. -Farmer Chown’s muck-heap’s a fool to it. Niggers be the same here as -everywhere--a poor, slack-witted lot. If you want to see work, you’ve -got to go and look at the coolies in the sugar factories, or the Caribs. -Among niggers only one in a hundred works. T’other ninety-nine look on -and talk and give advice. But they be men and women all right, though -our bosun, Jim Bradley, says ’tis generally thought they haven’t got no -souls. St Vincent be the place where arrowroot comes from. After that -we went down to next island, by name of Grenada, and seed a long row of -rocks sticking out of the sea, which be called the Grenadines. They are -scorched up places--just splashes of yellow rock against the blue sea; -but folks dwell in some of ’em and on some live nought but the wild goats -and pelicans. The fishes in these seas fight like hell, and be always -a-lashing the surface with their fins and tails, seemingly. Can’t live -and let live by the looks of it. A flying-fish do put me in mind of -myself, for he’s always moving on. If he bides in the sea, barracudas and -other chaps go for him, and when he comes out for a sail in the air, the -birds are after him. Then the swordfish go for the porpoises, and the -sharks go for everything. - -“Grenada be a bigger place than St Vincent, and very wild up on the -mountains by the look of it. All along the sea runs a strip of silvery -sand, and cocoanut palms almost dip in the water. Our tub called here and -there, and I seed wonderful fine goyles and coombs running inland, all -full of blue air and forests and waterfalls a-tumbling down off great -crags in the mountains. ’Tis an awful savage island as was throwed up by -volcanoes out of the sea once ’pon a time, and will be throwed down again -in like manner sooner or late--so Jim Bradley says. - -“Grenada be a wonnerful brave place for nutmegs, which you might not know -grow ’pon trees like almond trees. There be male and female trees, and -one male goes to every ten females. A fine thing, even if you was a tree, -to have ten wives--so Bradley says! But I only want one, and that’s my -dinky Minnie, so brave and so lovely. - -“St George, Grenada, we stopped at for a week, and I seed a great deal -of the place. They’ve got a lunatic asylum and a klink there; and they -want ’em both. Niggers often go mad, but it ban’t from over-work, that I -will swear. - -“The King of the Caribs lived here, but he was a poor fool and believed -the French. They gived him a few bottles of brandy and he gived them his -island on conditions. But of course they broke the conditions. And pretty -well all the Caribs died fighting. The last of the King’s men jumped into -the sea and was drowned rather than give in. - -“The market would make you die of laughing, I’m sure. Never seed such -a chatter of business even to Moreton on a Saturday. Such a row! You’d -think the wealth of the nation was changing hands, but you could buy up -the whole lot pretty near for thirty shilling. But a gay bit of coloured -scenery, I promise you, with the women’s turbans all a-bobbing, like -a million coloured parrots. ’Tis a very fine place for cocoanut palms -also. The little young nuts look like giant acorns in long sprigs. I went -to a nigger man on business and met with some mighty strange sights in -his garden. There was land-crabs lived there and a tame tortoise, and a -nursery of young cocoanut trees and a nursery of young niggers also, for -the man was a family man and had a lot of little people. - -“‘Dat my youngest darter,’ he said to me, and pointed to a little maid -playing along with the lizards and things and dressed the same as them. - -“‘A very nice darter, too,’ I said to him. - -“‘Dat my son ober dar,’ he said, ‘and dat my next youngest son, and dem -gals eating dat shaddock--dey twins.’ - -“I told him I never seed a braver lot o’ childer, and then he went in -his house and fetched out his wife and his old father and his aunt. And -I praised the lot and told him what a terrible lucky chap he was; and he -got so pleased that he gived me half a barrow-load of fruit. - -“There’s a lake inland by the name of Etang, and the niggers say how the -Mother of the Rain lives in. But I told ’em that the Mother o’ Rain lives -homealong with us in Cranmere Pool ’pon Dartymoor. But they wouldn’t -believe that. Anyway, their Mother of Rain belongs to Obeah, and she’m -an awful strong party. ’Tis a wisht, silent place she do live in, all -hid in palms and ferns and wonderful trees blazing with flowers. They -do say the witch comes out of the water of a moony night to sing; but I -don’t know nought about that. I’d go and have a look and see if I could -teel a trap here and there; but there ban’t no game worth naming in these -parts, though Bradley tells me they’ve got deer in Tobago. If there be, -I’ll bring some pairs of their horns home to ’e to stick over the doors -to Hangman’s Hut. How I do wish I was there; but ban’t no good coming -back yet awhile, and when I do, us will have to be awful spry. I wonder -if you’ve found out aught--you or Titus? I daresay such a clever man as -him have got wind of the truth afore now. I be bringing home some pink -coral studs for him. You might let him know it, if you please. I suppose -they’ve gived back my gun to you? They did ought to, since no doubt -everybody thinks I be dead. If you be very pressed for money, sell the -gun to Sim; but not if you can help it. - -“Mister Henry Vivian be in Tobago, and I hope as he’ll suffer me to have -speech with him some day soon. ’Twould be a tower of strength to get him -’pon our side. But such a stickler as him and so quick to take a side and -hold to it--he may be against me, and, if so, the less I see of him the -better. - -“But I must tell about Trinidad while my paper holds out. We comed to it -after Grenada, and a very fine place it is. And a very terrible sight -I seed in the Court House there, namely, no less than a nigger tried -for murder. The coolies be short-tempered people and often kill their -wives. Then the vultures find ’em in the sugar-canes. But niggers, though -they talk a lot, never kill one another as a rule. This chap had shot a -tax-collector, and the black people in the court didn’t seem to take it -very serious; but the jury fetched it in murder, and he was sentenced to -be hanged, I’m sorry to say. My flesh did cream upon my bones to hear it, -for it might have been me; and them words I should certainly have heard -but for my own way of doing things after they took me. The nigger stood -so steady as if he was cut out of coal. A good plucked man, and went to -his doom like a hero. It took three judges to hang him. They sat under a -great fan in court to keep ’em cool. But all three growed awful hot over -the job. The people thought ’twas very hard on the man, and so did I. - -“They’ve got a pitch lake here, and there’s a lot of business doing, and -a racecourse and a railway. - -“At Port o’ Spain I met the rummest human that ever I did meet. ’Twas in -a drinking-place what me and Bradley went to one evening. This here chap -was bar-keeper, and his father had been a Norwegian, and his mother had -been a Spaniard from Hayti, and he was born in the Argentine Republic, -and he said he was an Englishman! Swore it afore all-comers! Us told the -man it couldn’t be so--according to the laws of nature; and he got his -wool off something cruel, and cussed in five languages, and axed us who -the blue, blazing hell we thought we were, to come teaching him. He said -he was English to the marrow in his bones; and we proved he couldn’t be, -in good sailor language. Then he said that such trash as us wasn’t going -to be heard afore him; and then we got a bit short like (though not in -liquor, that I promise you) and told the man he was no better than a -something or other mongrel--like everybody else in foreign parts. After -that glasses got flying about, and we slung our hook back to the ship. -But it shows what fools men are, I reckon. - -“The coolies put all their money on their wives. And I’d do the same, as -well you know. But they don’t do it in a manner of speaking, but really -and truly, for they hammer all their silver money into nose-rings, and -bracelets, and armlets, and leglets, and their females go chinking about -with the family fortune hanging to ’em, like fruit to a tree. I seed a -lot at a sugar factory nigh Saint Joseph--a little place out over from -Port o’ Spain. One estate there done very well, but others was all -falling to pieces, and the machinery all rusting, and no business doing -at all. The air in a busy factory smells of sugar, and the canes be -smashed between steel rollers, and the juice comes out in a stream, like -a moor brook. Then they set to work and, after a lot of things have been -done to this here juice, including boiling, it turns into brown sugar. -And the remains be treacle, and the crushed cane is used for firing. They -also make rum out of sugar-cane, and very cheerful drinking ’tis. The -coolie girls be awful purty--so brown as my Minnie, with dark eyes that -flash. But they keep themselves to themselves. They wouldn’t keep company -or go out walking with a sailor man for the world. And their men folks be -very short and sharp with them. One gal was singing and scrubbing a floor -when I catched sight of her. All in red she was, with silver bangles on -her arms, and wonnerful glimmering eyes, and not a day more than thirteen -years old. ‘That’s a purty child,’ I said to Jim Bradley. ‘Child be -damned,’ he said in his short way. ‘She’s a growed woman and very like -got a family.’ The truth is that they be grandmothers at thirty. But I’ve -only seen one purtier girl in all my born days, and that’s my gal. - -“All the machinery in Trinidad be worked with cocoanut oil. ’Tis a very -funny smell, but you soon get used to it. - -“Our next port was Tobago, and here we shall bide for a good while and -let our fires out and have a go at the boilers. This letter will go off -from there to you, and I do hope and trust as it will find you as it -leaves me at present, my dear wife. Ban’t much good for me to ax you to -write the news, because you wouldn’t know where to send it. But I hope -afore next year be out that we’ll come together again, and your poor chap -will be proved an innocent man. - -“I’ll send you three pound from here presently, and another letter along -with it. If there’s any good news and the charges don’t run too high, you -might send a telegram on getting this letter, to ‘Bob Bates, Steamship -_Peabody_, Bridgetown, Barbados.’ We go back there in three weeks, and -shall be there afore you get this. I be ‘Bob Bates’ now, and shall remain -so for the present till I can be Dan Sweetland again without running my -neck in the rope. - -“Lord save us, but how I do long to be squeezing my own true wife! Awful -rough luck we’ve had, but there’s a better time coming. Tell mother and -father all about me, but make ’em swear on father’s old Bible fust that -they’ll name it to none else. They can hear bits of this letter, but not -all. I’m sending you twenty thousand kisses. I wish to God I was bringing -’em. Last thing I done at Trinidad was to cut your name and mine on a -great aloe leaf in the Botanical Garden when nobody was looking. And -over ’em I scratched two hearts with a arrow skewered through. They aloe -leaves live for ever, I’m told; so our names will be there for people -to see long after we be dead and gone, I hope. But that won’t be for a -mighty long time yet, please God. - -“I may say that I’ve growed a bit religious since we parted. Ban’t -nothing to name and won’t make any difference in my feelings to old -friends, but you can’t see the Lord’s wonders in the Deep without growing -a bit thoughtful like. And if by good chance I ever get back to you and -stand afore the world clear of the killing of poor Adam Thorpe, then I -shall be a church-member for ever more--or else a chapel member--which -you like best. But one for sartain. So no more at present, from your -faithful husband till death, - - DANIEL SWEETLAND.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE LAST OF THE “PEABODY” - - -Fate, it seemed, had ordered a final fleeting happiness for the lonely -young wife before her sun was to set in sorrow. For a season the glow of -Daniel’s letter clung to her, warmed her heart, and lighted her spirit. -Nor did she hide the news from all. Daniel’s parents heard much of the -letter, as he directed, and Minnie trusted Mr Beer and his wife with the -news also. But nobody else heard it. Then, as summer approached and she -already began to count the days until another letter might reach her, -a crashing grief fell upon the woman, and all her future was changed. -Hope perished; life henceforth stretched forward into the dreary future -without one ray of light to break its darkness. - -For a moment in her shattering sorrow even the truth itself seemed no -longer worth discovery. Nothing mattered any more, for the end had come. -Even while she was reading his letter, so full of life and hope, the hand -that wrote it was clay again; and, under circumstances the most awful, -his little vessel and all thereon had perished. - -When Titus Sim kept his appointment and brought himself to Hangman’s Hut -that Minnie might sew a yellow button upon his gaiter, she had some ado -to hide her splendid thoughts while she worked for him. From the first -she had studiously concealed the truth from Titus, nor did she speak a -word of it now. His presence always made her heart cold and hard; for -as she thought of the past, his action grew more and more clear to her. -He had laid a deadly trap for Daniel, and Daniel, trusting him better -than anybody in the world, had fallen headlong into it. Whether Sim was -actually present at the death of Thorpe Minnie still knew not; but that -he was familiar with the circumstances, and that he had on the night of -the murder fetched Daniel’s gun and placed it ready to be found on the -following morning, she felt assured. His purpose was to gain herself. But -what to do at this juncture she did not know. She dared not summon Daniel -home as yet, and she dared not impart her discoveries to any other. Then -happened circumstances that made all vain and turned revenge into a thing -too mean and shallow to pursue. After the announcement of her husband’s -death the perspective and significance of life were altered. For long -days she moved listlessly from her bed back to her bed again. Sleep -only had power to comfort her, while yet the overwhelming tragic truth -tortured each waking hour. Sleep nightly she welcomed as she would have -welcomed death. - -In this strange fashion came the fatal news to her. - -Sim was accustomed to bring books and newspapers upon the occasion of -his visits, and in a daily journal, at the time of that awful event, -telegrams appeared of the volcanic catastrophe that had burst upon the -West Indies, had shaken St Vincent to its heights, and overwhelmed much -of the unfortunate island of Martinique. Chance ordered the intelligence -upon the day that Sim had fixed for his formal proposal, and her eyes -were actually fixed upon the _Western Morning News_, where it lay spread -over her table, at the moment that the man was asking her to marry him. - -“I can’t hold it in no more,” he said. “You know right well what I mean. -I’ve been patient too--the Lord knows how patient. Oh, woman, don’t -torment me any longer. For God’s sake say you’ll marry me. My life’s one -cruel stretch on the rack as it is. All I’ve done to get you you’ll never -know. You’ve been the one thought and hope and prayer and longing of -my life ever since I first set eyes on you, and now--now there’s nought -between us--now--Minnie! Good God--what’s the matter--what have I done?” - -He broke off and leapt to his feet, for she had fallen back in her chair -and an expression of great terror and horror had come into her face. -She had only heard his last words. The woman did not faint; but for the -moment she was powerless to speak. Her emotion had robbed her cheek of -blood and made her dizzy. In response to his cry she pointed to the sheet -before her. He glanced at the long Reuter telegram, and then noted the -brief paragraph upon which she kept her finger:-- - - “Among the ill-fated vessels that perished with all hands was - the English steamer _Peabody_ (Nailer and Co.). It is reported - that she attempted to steam out of harbour, but was overwhelmed - and sunk in the awful convulsion from above and below. Every - soul on board perished.” - -“What is this to you or to me? What do you know? Tell me if I can do -anything,” cried Titus Sim. - -“‘Every soul--every soul,’” she said, quoting in a strange voice under -her breath. “‘Every soul,’ but it means ‘everybody.’ The souls have gone -back where there’s no hopes nor fears nor sorrows. But his body--his -dear body--all--all--perished. I can’t read no more. Does it say all?” - -“That awful thing in Martinique. Yes, they be full of it at the house, -and full of thanksgivings that it wasn’t Tobago that was smitten. But -you, Minnie--what is this to you?” - -“Death,” she said. “His death; and his death be mine--the death of all -that’s best in me--the death of all I kept alive for him.” - -“For--for--you don’t mean your husband? Not Daniel Sweetland?” - -“He was on board her. ’Twas to her he went and in her he sailed. I only -heard it a thought more than a month agone. Heard it under his own hand. -He wrote me a letter. And now--” - -“There might be another ship of that name. But how much this means! And -you could hide it all from me! And I thought--” - -“You thought he was in Wall Shaft Gully. And now he lies in a bigger -grave than that--my Dan--driven away to die. May God remember the man who -ruined my husband!” - -For once Sim was shaken from his power of ready speech; for once his -tongue seemed tied. The tremendous nature of this event made him -powerless. Yet at the bottom of his bewildered mind lurked joy. The thing -he had toiled to bring about appeared at last accomplished without -further possibility of failure. Doubt no longer existed. Sweetland was -now dead indeed. He concealed his thanksgiving and began to mourn. -No more of love he spake, but strove to find consolation for her in -religious reflections. Dry-eyed she stared from him to the newspaper, -from the newspaper back to him. Then she bade him leave her, and he went, -but stopped at the publichouse hard by and told his tremendous news to Mr -and Mrs Beer. They, who knew the secret of Daniel’s disappearance, were -stricken with profound sorrow, and scarcely had Sim proclaimed the truth -before Jane Beer hurried bare-headed from the house and ran to her friend. - -“Poor young woman!” groaned Johnny in genuine grief, “what a world of up -and downs and hopes and fears she have suffered, to be sure! To think -as one pair of girl’s shoulders be called upon to carry such a burden. -There’s nought to be done. Only time can help her; an’ maybe you.” - -“To think,” said Sim, “and I was that moment putting marriage before her! -Another moment and she must have told me she was a wife; and then it -caught her eye--staring from the printed page--that she was a widow!” - -“She told us the secret and I made a joyous rhyme about it; but what’s -rhymes to her now? Yet I’ll do one, and this day I’ll do it, for -many’s the poor broken heart as have sucked comfort from a well-turned -verse--else why do we have hymns? Well, it will come back to you, Titus. -For my part I could wish as Daniel had died to home where first we -thought he did. A sea death be so open an’ gashly. For my part I’d sooner -have gone down Vitifer mine shaft and know my bones would bide in the -land that bred ’em.” - -“Well, the mystery be all out now. No doubt he visited her that night he -gave the policemen the slip. ’Twas hard I should never know the secret, -for I’m sure Dan would have told me afore all the world.” - -“She’s only got his memory now, poor lamb; an’ that won’t keep her warm -of a winter night. ’Twas ordained you should have her, no doubt. But you -mustn’t ax her till the tears be dried. She’ll weep a lot. Turn and twist -as you may, death will grab you some day. The appointed time comes round -as sure as the sun rises. Pig or man, each has his span. There’s verses -rising up in me, Titus, so I won’t keep you. What was the name of the -poor hero’s ship? D’you call it to mind?” - -“The _Peabody_,” answered Sim; then he departed with strange thoughts for -company. - -In truth Titus had much ado to marshal his ideas. He stood exactly where -he believed that he had stood from the time of Daniel’s disappearance; -but the fact that Sweetland was only now removed from his path by death -startled him not a little. He hardly realised his fortune. In his mind -was a dark cloud, for that Minnie should so carefully have kept her -secret from him meant mischief. She had not trusted him with the truth. -There was a reason for that, and the reason promised to be the reverse of -pleasant. Sim had been deceived by Minnie’s attitude. Without attempt to -blind his eyes, her demeanour had led him to suppose that she at least -was content in his society, that she trusted him, that she bore to him -the regard due to her husband’s first and favourite companion. But she -had deliberately chosen to keep him in ignorance, not only of Daniel’s -safety, but also concerning his actual existence; and this reserve caused -Sim a great deal of painful surprise. Surely it indicated that Daniel’s -widow did not trust him; and for that distrust a reason must exist. - -Titus perceived that much depended upon his future attitude. To win her -absolute confidence would now be necessary before any further talk of -love. He ransacked his sleepless mind that night, and ere morning saw the -way clear. His good faith must be made apparent; it must shine above any -shadow of suspicion. Minnie should learn that her husband’s honour and -fair name were as much to Titus Sim as to herself. How to effect this -result was his problem, and the footman believed that he could solve it. -For Sim was perfectly familiar with the truth concerning Adam Thorpe’s -end; and no man knew better than did he that Daniel had no part in the -crime. The secret murderer was not hidden from Titus, nor was the hand -that placed Sweetland’s gun where he had found it. - -Everything conspired to his purpose. He calculated that in a month’s -time he would be able to clear Sweetland’s name before the world. Then -his own reward seemed clear. Minnie, once convinced that her vague fears -and suspicions did him wrong, could hardly deny him what he begged. Into -his fixed and immovable resolution to make her his own he poured all the -strength of a tremendous will. He had not come so far upon the journey -to be repulsed. He had not moved by dark ways and committed worse than -crimes for nothing. From a mental condition of anger and uneasiness, -his devious soul plotted itself back into content and calm. The end was -assured and the means to play his final strokes now lay clear before -the man’s intelligence. To establish absolute confidence in himself as -Sweetland’s friend--true even beyond death--was now his purpose; and the -thing he planned to do, if brought to a successful issue, could hardly -fail to show him in a noble light and convince the sceptic, if any such -existed beside Minnie, that his aims were pure and his faith above all -suspicion. - -A week later, when she had told her secret, and her little world mourned -in its wonder, and yet also triumphed at the ingenuity of the native who -would never return again, Titus Sim visited Minnie with offers to assist -her in any step she might now be contemplating. But she did not avail -herself of the suggestion. - -“I’m going back to my aunt come presently,” she said. “I can’t bide here -no more now. After Michaelmas I give it up an’ return to Moreton.” - -Her face was very pale against her black dress, and darkness and sorrow -haunted her beautiful eyes; but no living soul had seen her deepest -grief. That was hidden from all. Her voice never shook when she spoke -of Daniel to Titus Sim, for instinct told her the man, despite his -protestations, did not share her bereavement. Only with Daniel’s mother, -or in the company of Jane Beer, did she reveal a glimpse of her breaking -heart. - -“Command me, if I can serve you in any possible manner,” he said. “And -don’t think I’m forgetting this great sorrow because ’tis not always -upon my tongue. Far from it; Daniel is never out of my thoughts. He’s -beyond the reach of aught but prayers; but his honour and good name are -the legacies he left behind, and ’tis for us to treasure them and make -’em shine out like the sun from behind this cloud that darkens them. I -know only too well you don’t believe me. It’s been the greatest grief in -a sad life--the greatest but Daniel’s death--that you kept his secret -from me and did not let me know that he was still alive. I’ve had nought -but sleepless nights thinking of it. And why for you don’t trust me I -can’t guess, and why you hid the welfare of my greatest friend from me -I shall never know; but this I know: you had no just reason and not by -word or deed, or thought or dream have I ever done him wrong. Be that as -it may. I’ll say nothing about it and I’ll ask you for no explanation, -for ’tisn’t a time to wrangle which of us--man or woman--friend or -wife--loved him best. I’ll not prate; I’ll do. I believe even now that -’twill be my blessed lot to clear his memory afore the world. You gaze -at me as if you thought that ’twould be no joy to me to do it--see how I -read what’s in your eyes! But I swear afore the Throne of Heaven that -I’d sooner clear his name and sweeten his memory than be a prince in the -land, or the ruler of cities.” - -“If you could do it, why have you waited until now?” she asked coldly. - -“Because Providence willed that I should wait. And even now I’m only -hopeful, not positive. I should have striven to do all and bring you -the glad news when I’d got it proved beyond the doubt of the world; but -now Heaven has hit upon a better way. Yes, ‘Heaven’s’ the word, for in -righting Daniel in the world’s eyes, I pray God will right me in yours, -Minnie Sweetland.” - -He paused, but she only surveyed him silently, and he spoke again. - -“Thus it stands. The poor soul commonly called ‘Drunkard’ Parkinson, -is now at his last gasp, or near it. He cannot live more than a month; -doctor has told him so. But, as I have always feared, that man has evil -secrets. What they are I only guess, but my guess during the last few -days has developed into certainty. You know young Prowse lives in the -cottage that adjoins Rix Parkinson’s? Two days ago he came to tell me -that poor Rix wanted to see me, and to know how soon I could call upon -him. I went at once, and then he confessed that there is much upon -his conscience. I begged him to see Parson West, whose deep wisdom -and sympathy and knowledge of Heaven are denied to no sinner; but he -refused. ‘Not him, nor any other man,’ he said. ‘’Tis a woman I want to -see--the wife of that chap, Dan Sweetland, as runned away after that -they’d taken him for murder.’ He did not know that Dan was dead, and I -did not tell him, for the fact might have changed his determination. I -promised to bring you to him, and I prevailed with him that he would let -me be present also. He is desirous to tell you something, and since the -confession must have a witness to make it of any worth, I, too, shall -hear it, that it may be supported in the world after Parkinson dies. For -he is on the way to die, and he specially told me that the thing he meant -to tell you must not be made public until his death. What it is I can -guess, as I have said; and doubtless you can, too.” - -“He killed Adam Thorpe.” - -“I believe so with all my soul. They were old enemies, and three years -ago Parkinson went to gaol for three months after assaulting Thorpe. -Either he did it, or he knows right well who did. And he knows that the -man who did it was not our poor Daniel.” - -“I will come when he pleases,” said Minnie. “I hope your opinion may be -the right one, Mr Sim.” - -“And I hope that you will think kinder of me when, through my ceaseless -toil and labour, I have cleared my friend’s memory.” - -He left her then without waiting for an answer, and a week later a day -was fixed. - -It happened that Minnie was in Moretonhampstead upon the occasion of -making this final appointment to visit the sick man, and as she returned -to the Moor, she met young Samuel Prowse--well known to her as an old -friend of Daniel. She passed him with a nod of recognition; then she -changed her mind; a thought suddenly struck her, and she called the youth -to her side. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -HENRY VIVIAN TRIES TO DO HIS DUTY - - -It is now necessary to be occupied directly with Daniel, and those brief -days before the _Peabody_ met her fate. - -From Tobago she returned to Barbados with a small cargo of turtle and -cocoanuts; then she sailed directly to the Northern Lesser Antilles, and -reached her next and last port, St Pierre, in Martinique. - -But we are concerned with earlier events affecting young Sweetland, and -these may best be chronicled by setting down the opening passages of a -second letter that he began to write to his wife at Scarborough, the -little port of Tobago. This communication was never completed, but it -covers a period of fifteen days in the life of the writer, and when he -put it aside to finish on another occasion he little dreamed that he -would see the sheet no more. - - * * * * * - -“MY OWN DEAR HEART” wrote he--“Here’s the old tub at Tobago with steam -in her rotten boilers again! Talk about volcanoes and suchlike! ’Tis us -aboard the _Peabody_ that be on a volcano, not the shore folks. This -here’s a very fine island, and I’ve had a merry time when I could get -ashore. They laugh at me, because I be gathering together such a lot -of queer things for you. God He knows if you’ll ever get ’em and hang -’em round the walls to home, but if you do, I lay you’ll be mazed with -wonder. There’s a huge river by name of Orinoco that pours out of the -mainland of South America, and it brings to these shores all manner of -queer seeds and shells and suchlike, including coral and coraline, like -stone fans, all very beautiful for ornaments. I tramp along when off duty -and fill my pockets, and say every minute, ‘My stars, won’t Minnie like -that!’ or ‘These here will make a necklace almost so pretty as pearls, -for her neck!’ There be little silver-like shells here, all curly. I’ve -got scores; and the niggers say as there be real pink pearls to be got; -but I doubt it, ’cause if there was, why don’t somebody with plenty of -time get ’em? Sometimes the cocoanuts will fall with a bang just while -you be under the palms. I near had my head knocked off by a whacker -t’other day; then I forced a hole in his monkey face (for they be all -like monkeys one end) and drank the milk and shared the creamy inside -with a hungry dog as chanced to be passing that way. As for adventures, I -had one with a hoss would make ’em laugh to home. I calls it a hoss, but -never you seed such a lop-sided bag o’ bones. But ’twas something to have -un between my legs, and I made un gallop a bit, much to his surprise, -afore I’d done with un. A nigger boy went with me to get any queer things -as might happen by the way, and I rode into the island to see a river -where they say there be alligators. The hoss was called ‘Nap,’ and the -nigger went by the name of Peter. And a very fine time us had of it at -first. The road led up and up through palms and tamarinds and mangoes, -and a million trees I’d never seed or heard of. Frangipani made the air -sweet to the nose. It grows in stars ’pon great naked boughs, and they -make scent of it. Then there was bindweeds, like we get to home but -larger, all crawled all over the hedges, with yellow and purple flowers -to ’em. And everywhere in the blazing woods was flowers and seeds, and -berries and cocoa trees, which be just like them advertisements in the -shop windows to Moreton of Cadbury’s Cocoa! The pods hang on the trees -all purple and gold. I got seeds and berries for you, and having a little -shotgun as Bradley lent me, I killed a few birds and one sun-bird as be -like a splash of fire on the wing, and a green humming-bird or two. My -hoss he loafed along, thinking of anything but his business, but he -was eating out of the hedge all the while, and sometimes ’twas a fight -between us which should get to something first. As to alligators, I never -seed the tail of one; but lizards was there by the million, and iguanas -too. They be very big chaps and pretty eating when you can catch ’em, so -Bradley says. The lizards be all colours of the rainbow and all sizes, -from a tadpole to a squirrel. In the trees was all manner of hothouse -things a-blazing away and quite at home, and on the hill-sides grew -wild plantain, wild indigo, guinea-grass, cotton, cashew trees (cashews -be nuts), cabbage palms, and all manner of other fine things, with the -humming-birds and butterflies looking like flowers blowed out of the -trees. Then, as for the stream, it bustled along for all the world like a -Dartmoor brook, and the sound of it among the stones was like a word from -home. But instead of the heather and whortleberries and fern, there was -all foreigners ’pon the bank, and instead of a Moorman coming along with -a nitch of reeds or a cart of peat I found a lot of black gals washing -linen in the stream. - -“‘Well, my dears, have ’e seed any alligators upalong?’ I axed ’em; and -they said, ‘No, massa sailor, we no see no alligators.’ - -“I had a row with the hoss coming back and was much surprised to find -he’d got devil enough in him to run away. Of course I held on, and ’twas -rather amusing except for all the things he jerked out of my pockets. -’Peared to me that he galloped on one side and trotted on t’other. When -he runned away he was going about three miles an hour. Afore that I never -seed the funeral as wouldn’t have catched him up and passed him. He got -me down to the wharf; then his gear all carried away and I falled off -with the saddle on top of me. - -“’Tis pretty eating here, and we have tree oysters, if you’ll believe it, -that grow on the roots of trees in the salt creeks. Also snapper-fish, -yams, gourd soup, muscovy ducks, cocoanut pudding, guava cheese, and many -other tidy things. - -“Yesterday I seed Mister Henry ’pon the wharf, with his overseer from -the Pelican Sugar Estate--a chap by the name of Jabez Ford. It made me -feel terrible queer to see Mister Henry. We was getting a boatload of -cocoanuts at the time, so I didn’t make myself knowed to him. But when -the chance comes I will. - -“That man Ford lost his wife rather sudden two or three nights agone. She -was half a black woman and believed in a lot of queer, horrible things -like the full-blooded niggers do. And come nightfall, after she died, a -awful wailing and howling broke out ashore, for scores of negresses was -singing all round Ford’s house to keep the Jumbies away. Jumbies belong -to the religion of Obi, and they’m awful, flesh-sucking vampires as -scent out a corpse like vultures and come through the air and out of the -earth to be at it. But if the beast hears women singing, it chokes him -off. Certainly the black females sing very nice; and they sang hymns the -parson out here has taught them--hymns that comed from England. I almost -cried to hear ’em, Minnie, till I remembered as they were being sung to -keep off Jumbies; then I laughed. There’s another awful terrible customer -called a loopgaroo.[2] He’s worse than Jumby almost, and he takes off his -skin when he’s at his nightly devilries, and hides it onder a silk cotton -tree. This be all part of Obeah, and I hear tell there’s an awful wicked -and awful powerful Obi Man, called Jesse Hagan, in Tobago, who’s gotten -tame Jumbies to work for him. The niggers shiver when they tell about him. - - [2] Loopgaroo--Loupgarou. - -“As to cocoanuts, which you’ve only seed at a revel ‘three shies a -penny,’ out here they be a regular trade, though not like what they -was. A grower told me that in the old days he’d get a clear profit of -£2 on every thousand nuts he sold; now he don’t get £1. We be bringing -home hundreds of sacks of ’em, but the seller don’t count to do much -good. Another queer freight we be taking back to Barbados is turtles. -These creatures be very common round Tobago. They come up out of the sea -of a moonlight night and paddle about in the sand, and lay their eggs. -Then niggers, as be lying in wait for ’em, rush out and catch ’em, and -throw ’em over ’pon their backs. There they lie till the morn do come, -and then they’m brought off to the wharf for shipment. First the owner’s -mark be branded on the poor devils with a red-hot iron on their yellow -bellies; but they be all shell outside, and it don’t hurt ’em more than -putting a hot shoe on a horse’s hoof. Then the turtles is tied by their -flippers--two and three at a time--and hoisted aboard. On deck we’ve -got turtle tanks ’waiting for ’em. These be full of salt water, and the -turtle lives there as best he can; or if he can’t, he dies. No beasts -on God’s earth have a worse time than turtles when they’m catched. They -don’t get bit or sup no more, for there’s nought we can give ’em that -they’ll eat. Many die on the way home, if the weather turns very cold; -and aboard a ship you can tell how the turtle be faring by the amount of -turtle soup as comes to dinner. And if they do get home, ’tis to have -their throats cut pretty quick. But they pay well if they get home alive. - -“Now I’ll knock off, because I be going ashore to see Mister Henry. We -sail to-morrow, so I can’t leave it no longer. I’ll finish this when I’ve -had speech with him, and much I do hope as I’ll find he’ll come over to -my side.” - - * * * * * - -Here the unfinished letter broke off, and the things that happened after -may be immediately related. - -Daniel went ashore with a special message from his captain for the -harbour master; but the order was not delivered, because good fortune, -as it seemed, had brought Henry Vivian to the pier-head, and, as Daniel -climbed up the steps, he almost touched his boyhood’s friend. The -overseer of the Pelican Estate stood beside him. Mr Jabez Ford had a -private venture of turtles about to be shipped in the _Peabody_ for -Barbados, and now he watched his own mark being set upon the unhappy -reptiles. Vivian was also an interested spectator. He turned with an -expression of sorrow from the turtles and found Daniel Sweetland’s eyes -fixed upon them. - -“Mister Henry, ’tis I, Sweetland, from home! I be here this minute to -speak to you. And I pray you, for old time’s sake, to listen.” - -Young Vivian started back, and the blood leapt to his cheek. - -“Alive!” he said. - -“And kicking, your honour. I had to do all I done an’ give they policemen -the slip, for the law was too strong for me. But afore God I swear I’m an -innocent man, and, after my wife, I’d sooner you believed in me than any -living.” - -“Oaths are nothing to you,” said the other, coldly. “Come aside and speak -to me.” - -They walked apart on the wharf, and Vivian continued,-- - -“Why did you lie to the officers and deceive them, and escape, and -subsequently delude the world into supposing that you had destroyed -yourself? Tell me that. Were those the actions of an innocent man, Daniel -Sweetland? I do not think so. If you can prove to me that you did not -murder Adam Thorpe, do it; if not, my duty, painful as it may be, is -clear. You have escaped justice thus far; but you shall not escape it -altogether, if I can prevent you.” - -Dan stared aghast at such a turn of affairs. The speaker was inflexible. -No gentleness marked his voice. He had not noticed the hand that Daniel -ventured timidly to put forward. - -“I thought ’twas Providence that threw me here,” said the sailor. “I -counted to find you, sir, as was my friend always, ready to stand up -for me against---- But what can I say? How can I prove aught, having -no witnesses? My gun was found--the beautiful gun you gived me. And -if I swear afore my Maker I know no more than you do how it comed in -Middlecott woods upon that night, what’s the use? I see in your face you -be against me and won’t believe me.” - -“I am not a fool, whatever else I may be,” answered the other. “To say -you do not know how that gun came into Middlecott Lower Hundred is folly. -You alone had access to the gun. You _must_ know. Whether you killed -Thorpe or not, I cannot say; that you saw him die, I believe; and if you -could have thrown the blame elsewhere, you would naturally have done so. -I am sorry you dared to come to me--sorry for your sake and my own. I -have enough anxiety and difficulty on my hands at present without you.” - -“Very well,” said Sweetland, “if that’s your answer, then we be man to -man and no love lost. I’ll go my way and you can go yours, an’ I hope -afore your beard’s growed you’ll get a larger heart in you. If it had -been t’other way round, I’d have believed your word like the Bible, an’ -I’d have fought for you an’ spared no sweat to show the world you was an -honest, true man. But since you won’t believe further than you can see, -and haven’t got no friendship stronger than what goes down afore this -trial, then go your way, an’ be damned to you; an’ may you never find -yourself at a loose end with nought but sudden death waiting for you an’ -no friend’s hand ready to help!” - -“Friendships may be broken, and I will never willingly assist a criminal -against the laws he has defied and the State he has outraged. You fled -to escape the just penalty of your deeds, and no honourable man would -succour you. It is not I that am faithless, but yourself. I have never -changed; my devotion to duty and to honour has never been hidden from -you, and if you had ordered your life on my example, you would not stand -where you do to-day.” - -“I hope you’ll see clearer in the time to come, then,” answered Daniel. -“I be sorry to have troubled you with my poor affairs. I’ll ax no more -from ’e except to keep your mouth shut about me. That, at least, ban’t -too much to ax?” - -“Your moral sense is not merely weak, but wanting,” answered the other. -“To ignore you is to ignore your crime. No Englishman can do that. I, at -least, will not have it on my conscience that I let a murderer go free. -Move at your peril!” - -The sailor glared in sheer wonder; then his surprise gave place to -passion. - -“By God, but you’m a canting prig! Your friendship--’tis trash I wouldn’t -own for money. Talk of vartue and duty to me! Do ’e think of all I’ve -suffered--all the torment and misery I’ve gone through--a man as innocent -as the young dawn! Taken from my wife--called a murderer afore I was -tried--every man’s hand against me! The likes of you would make Job break -loose. Your honour and your duty! Bah--stinking stuff. I’d rather be a -mongrel nigger without a shirt than you! I’d--” - -Vivian interrupted him and cried out in a loud voice,-- - -“Arrest this man! In the name of the law, take him! He is a murderer!” - -They stood some distance from the rest, and now Jabez Ford hastened -forward with several negroes. The coloured men chattered wildly, but none -made any effort to run in on Sweetland. Before they reached him Vivian -had already closed with his old friend. - -“For justice!” he cried. “Right is on my side, and well you know it!” - -“Liar!” answered the other. “You’re no man to do this thing. Neither -right nor might be on your side. Take what you’ve courted!” - -The unequal struggle was quickly at an end, for Vivian’s physical powers -were as nothing beside the strength of Daniel. The sailor shook him like -a dog shakes a rat; then he gripped his huge arms round him and hugged -him breathless. - -“So let all be sarved as turns upon their friends in the time of need!” -he bellowed. “Come on--come on, the pack of ’e!” - -It might have been observed that at this sensational moment the overseer, -Jabez Ford, made no instant effort to come to Henry Vivian’s rescue. He -was as big as Daniel, and apparently as powerful; but while his black -eyes blazed and he shouted wildly to the negroes to secure Sweetland, -himself he took no risk. He saw the struggling men get nearer and nearer -to the edge of the wharf; but he only bawled to the terrified coloured -men to separate the fighters. - -At last a big buck negroe tried to grasp Daniel from behind, and the -sailor, bending his head, drove with full force at the black’s chest, -and fairly butted him head foremost into the sea. A moment later Vivian -was in the water also, while Ford cried to the negroes to leap in and -frighten the sharks. The overseer fumbled with a lifebelt the while; but -long before he had cut it from its fastenings Henry Vivian swam with -strong strokes to the landing stage and climbed upon it. - -No anger marked his demeanour, despite this sharp reverse. He brushed the -water from his face and looked for Sweetland, only to find Daniel had -vanished. - -“Thank Heaven--thank Heaven!” said Ford, warmly. “My heart was in my -mouth. The water under this stage harbours a dozen sharks.” - -“Where’s that man?” - -“He’s safe enough. He can’t escape in the long run. He knocked down two -policemen, and then the harbour-master, who tried to stop him. After that -he bolted to the left there, and has got into the woods. It may be a long -job, but he must be caught sooner or late.” - -“He’s a runaway from justice--a poacher and a murderer. By an amazing -chance we have met here. We were boys together. Everything must be done -that can be done to arrest him.” - -“Come to my house and get a change of clothes,” answered Jabez Ford. -“Thank God, the wretch was not a murderer twice over. You’ve had a -merciful and marvellous escape, Mr Vivian.” - -“Which might have itself been escaped if you had been quicker and -braver,” answered the young man, coldly. “I’m afraid you are a coward, -Jabez Ford.” - -“Presence of mind is a precious gift,” answered the overseer, with great -humility. “I did the best that I could think of. Of course, had I guessed -that he was going to throw you into the sea, I should have rushed at him -myself, cost what it might.” - -Mr Ford turned his face away as he spoke. - -“Come,” he said. “You must change your clothes quickly or you will be -chilled.” - -“After I have been to the Office of Police, not before,” answered Henry -Vivian. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile the runaway made small work of such opposition as was offered -to his escape. Two negroes tried to stop him, but only one stood up to -him at the critical moment, and was paid for his pluck by a terrific -knock-down blow on his flat nose. The harbour-master--a small but brave -Scot--next stood in the way of liberty and, despite Dan’s shouted -warning, attempted to intercept the runaway. He was in the dust a moment -later, and Sweetland, sending a dozen men, women, and children flying -like cackling poultry before his rush, got clear of Scarborough and took -to the hills. He pushed steadily onwards and upwards to an impenetrable -jungle that lay on the steep side of Fort Saint George, and there, where -aforetime French and English had fought at death grips, he rested, -drew his breath, and considered his position. Far beneath spread the -stagnation of the little port, southward gleamed the metal roofing of the -Pelican Sugar Estate, and from time to time, faint through the distance, -he heard a hooter roaring from the hungry works to the plantations for -more cane. Steam puffed from tall pipes; smoke rolled from chimneys; like -bright insects the Coolies ran hither and thither in the compounds. - -Day died while the fugitive kept his hiding-place. Then a swift, but -amazing sunset encompassed him. Rose and gold was the sky, all streaked -with tattered ribbons of orange cloud. The light swam reflected upon the -sea, and it spread to the lofty horizon in broad sheets of reflected -splendour. From the mountains the scene was superb in its manifold glory; -then the vision perished and inky silhouettes of palm and plantain and -bread-fruit tree stood out black and solid against the water. Far below -the _Peabody_ lay, like a toy ship, and twinkled with lights upon the -rosy sea. Darkness leapt out of the East and under the fringes of the -forest night had already come. Tree-frogs chirruped with endless crisp -tinkle of sound; the air was filled with the drowsy hum of insect life, -fireflies flashed; and from far below, the mournful boomings of the -marsh-frogs made music proper to the time. - -Sweetland pursued his slow way until midnight came. He climbed on -mechanically hour after hour, until the air on his cheek and the stars -above told him that he had reached some mountain-top. Further for the -present it was impossible to proceed. Until day, therefore, he postponed -thought and action. He tightened his belt to stay hunger; then rolled up -in a dry corner under the savage and spined foliage of an opuntia, and -there slept dreamlessly until the return of the sun. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE OBI MAN - - -When Daniel awoke the sun was climbing swiftly to the zenith, and the -full blaze of it burnt upon a tropical tangle of palmetto and mango, -plantain and palm. He found himself hidden in a brake of luxuriant -vegetation almost at the apex of a lofty hill that overlooked the -Caribbean Sea. Strange sounds fell upon his ears, and he perceived that -his resting-place was beneath a prickly-pear fence, on the other side -of which stood a thatched cottage and extended an acre of cleared land. -Beneath stretched the dark green and orange-tawny of the forests; strips -of thorny cactus hedge ensured privacy for the clearing, and here a -tamarind tree reared its delicate foliage, and here the broad leaves of -bananas rustled, with foliage all tattered by the breezes. A goat was -tethered to a little pomegranate tree in the garden, and over the cleared -soil grew vines of the sweet potato. - -A second glance at the hut revealed to Daniel its exceptional character -and significance. Before he saw the strange and solitary human being -who inhabited it, the sailor guessed that he stood upon the threshold of -mystery. As a matter of fact he had intruded into the secret stronghold -of Jesse Hagan, the Obi Man. The situation was silent and mysterious; the -place was adorned, or made horrible, with fragments of things dead. Two -bullocks’ skulls stood at the entrance of Mr Hagan’s dwelling, and round -his land bobbed a fantastic ribbon whereon hung empty bottles, bright -feathers, and fragments of gaudy rag. Within this zone none dared to -enter uninvited, for Obeah is still alive--a creed beyond the power of -missionary to shatter or destroy. Fools fear Obi, and wise men find him -useful; hence the high priests of that Satanic cult still thrive. A negro -would no more speak disrespectfully of them than he would of his own -grand-parents. - -Suddenly, as Daniel stared and felt a growing inclination to be gone, -the mystic himself appeared and stood in the morning light. He appeared -profoundly ancient, and his ribs made a gridiron of his lean breast. His -limbs were skin and bone; his scanty wool was grey; a tangled network of -furrows and deep lines scarred and seamed his face in every direction; -and, curiously wide apart, on either side of a huge, flat, Ethiopian -nose, the man’s eyes gleamed from his withered headpiece, like the eyes -of a toad. Jesse was in extreme undress. Only the ruins of a pair of -trousers covered his loins and a band of red cloth circled his throat. -Despite his advanced age, no little physical strength remained to him, -and now, as Daniel watched, the negro displayed it. Taking an iron spade -and seeking a corner of the garden near his unseen visitor, Jesse turned -aside the long, creeping fingers of a snake gourd that trailed there -under the shade of a citron tree, and began to dig in soft earth. As the -old creature worked and sank swiftly downward into the soil, he sang to -himself in a piping treble with the usual West Indian whine. The voice -was feeble; but the words were sinister and told of evil. A blue bird -sat on a thorn and put his head on one side to hear the song; a green -lizard, with eyes like Jesse’s own, rustled out from the cactus fence and -stopped, with palpitating, tremulous motion of its front paws, to listen -also. Then the bird flew and the reptile fled, and Daniel Sweetland was -sole, secret audience of the song. - - “Low dem lie, low dem lie-- - Dey come, dey come, but dey never go by; - And de roots ob de creeping snake-gard know, - Where dey sleep so still in de hole so low-- - Obeah-die! - Obeah-do! - - Low dem lie, low dem lie-- - Hark de buzz ob de carrion fly! - But nobody guess what the snake-gard know, - Twining him root far down below-- - Obeah-die! - Obeah-do! - - Low dem lie, low dem lie-- - De worms dey crawl in de dead men’s eye, - And de snake-gard he suck, and Jesse he know - What lie so still in de hole so low-- - Obeah-die! - Obeah-do!” - -The song rose and sank and seemed to hang in the trees and creep about -like an evil presence. The refrain rose into a wail, and its last -penetrating note was answered by crisp stridulation of great winged -grasshoppers. Jesse’s uncanny melody fitted the place, the man, and the -task. - -“I never did!” thought Daniel, as his eyes grew round. “If the old devil -ban’t digging a grave! And singing rhymes to his beastly self over it -too! To think that Johnny Beer ban’t the only verse-maker as I’ve met -with in my travels! But Johnny never in all his born days let off such -a rhyme as that. I’m sure us never would have stood it. A grave, sure -enough--an’ more’n one poor wretch has been buried there seemingly.” - -The remark was called forth by an incident, for Mr Hagan suddenly exhumed -a skull. It was low and flat-browed. Jesse set it very gravely upon the -edge of the pit and then addressed it. - -“Who was you, sar?” he asked. “You no answer me, sar? Den you berry rude, -imperent young fellow!” - -Whereupon he smacked the empty brain-pan with a spade, so that some of -the teeth fell out. The man and the skull grinned at each other, then -Jesse grew serious and spoke again. - -“You larf--eh? _You_ larf! Me Gard, I dunno what you got to larf about! -You’s Jephson--dat’s you. I ’member Jephson. Massa Ford, he want Jephson -‘rub out,’ and send him wid a message to ole Jesse. Den ole Jesse ‘rub -you out.’ To kill a nigger is only to rub out a black mark. Dey soon -gone. And some white folk too. Dey all berry quiet when dey eat and drink -poor ole Jesse’s rum and cakes. He, he! Obi Man berry good fren to Massa -Ford!” - -He laboured in silence and dug on until he had sunk a hole five feet -deep. Next he concealed all trace of the work very carefully. He buried -the pile of damp earth under dead palm leaves and brushwood, while the -hole itself he covered with twigs and trailed over them long shoots and -sprays of the luxuriant snake-gourd. - -Now, having made an end of this business, Jesse sought his outer gate -and, posting himself there, screened his face from the glare of the risen -sun and looked out with his bright, lizard eyes down the tremendous -escarpments of the hill beneath him. An amazing panorama of forest, shore -and sea spread below; and winding through the woods, struggling as it -were with difficulty through dense undergrowth and narrow places full of -cactus and thorns, there ascended a bridle-path flanked by bewildering -tangles of foliage, by volcanic boulders and huge trees. Here and there -through the forest flamed like fire the flowers of the _bois immortelle_; -at other points, all festooned and linked together with twining and -climbing parasites, or grey curtains of lace-like lichens and wind pines, -arose notable forest giants, some gleaming with blossoms, some bending -under wealth of fruits. And through the mingled leafy draperies of green -and brown, olive and gold, under the feathery crown of the bamboo, -amongst the green inflorescence of the mango, like liquid gems in the -sunlight, did little humming-birds with breasts of emerald and ruby, -flash and glitter. Every step or terrace in the steep acclivities of -the hills was crowned with cabbage palms or other lofty trees, and from -point to point the gaunt, bleached limbs of some forest corpse stared out -lightning-stricken, where the dead thing waited for the next hurricane to -bring its bones to earth. Far below glimmered a white beech, and, through -the woods, all silent in the growing heat, there rose a sigh of surf -breaking--surf that even from this elevation could be seen lying like a -band of silver between the many-tinted sea and the pale shore. - -Away on the western side of the hills extended long and undulating -fields of green vegetation, and in their midst arose buildings with -tall chimneys and metal roofs that flashed like liquid silver under -the sunshine. There extended the Pelican Sugar Estate, and indications -of prosperity surrounded them; but elsewhere companion enterprises had -clearly been less fortunate. In other parts of the island stagnation -marked similar concerns. The plantations were deserted; the land was -returning to the wilderness; the works fell into ruins. - -But Jabez Ford still held the key of success, if it was possible to judge -by visible signs. Tobago felt proud of him and of the Pelican Estates. -Wide interest was taken in the visit of the owner’s son, and none doubted -but that Ford would benefit by the circumstance and win a reward worthy -of his long and honourable stewardship. - -Two people understood otherwise, however, and one was Jabez Ford himself. -The overseer had failed to satisfy Henry Vivian, and he knew it. The -accounts were scrupulously rendered; the staff of coolies from Bombay -was happy and contented; the sugar commanded high praise and ready sale; -but there was a disparity between the apparent prosperity and the real -output. Other puzzling circumstances also much tended to increase young -Vivian’s doubt. Ford was an easy and convincing talker. He had an answer -for every question, an explanation of every difficulty. But the fact -remained: Henry Vivian disliked and distrusted him; and Jabez knew it -and did not conceal the truth from himself. An implicit duel rapidly -developed between them and the elder man seemed likely to win it, for -he was the stronger every way. He stood on his own dunghill and, for -the present, had no intention of being removed therefrom. His private -plans demanded another year for their fulfilment. Then, the richer by a -sustained and skilful system of peculation, he proposed to leave Tobago -and take himself and his hoard to some secret place in South America, far -beyond the reach of all former acquaintance. The sudden and unexpected -advent of Henry Vivian had taxed this rascal’s ingenuity severely, -and the visitor’s own reserve made the matter more difficult, for Sir -Reginald’s son investigated everything without comment and found fault -with nothing. But Ford was a student of human nature and wanted no words -to know that he stood in danger. - -Now, as Jesse Hagan looked down from his mountain-top and waited, there -rode through the deep glen below the overseer. His plans were already -made. It needed only a further conference with his ancient ally to mature -them. Jabez himself had black blood in his veins. His great-grandfather -had been a negro, and he himself had married a Creole. This woman shared -the man’s life for twenty years; then death fell upon her, and it was to -keep Jumbies from the body that negresses had sung all night as Daniel -described to Minnie. - -A glimmer of white caught Jesse’s eyes far below. He heard the tramp of a -horse and knew that his man was coming. Daniel still lay concealed beside -the cactus fence, and through the flat and thorny leaves of opuntia, he -saw Jabez Ford ride up. Jesse had disappeared for a moment into his hut, -but now he came forward with a bottle and a calabash. - -“Marning, massa--rum punch for massa--what Jesse get ready.” - -The man drank before answering, then he threw the calabash on the ground. - -“I want another sort of brew to-morrow. It’s got to be. I’m sorry for the -young devil, for I’ve no quarrel with him; but he’s too cute. It don’t do -to be too cute with Jabez Ford.” - -“Him rub out, sar?” - -“No choice. Let me come in. I’ll tell you what happened last night. He’s -booked.” - -“Dar’s a nice, cool, quiet hole under de snake-gourd waitin’ for Massa -Vivian. He’ll be berry comfable dar wid de udder gem’men.” - -“You talk too much,” said Ford. “Come in and don’t make jokes at your -time of life. Think of the Devil, your master, and how precious soon -you’ll go back to him, Jesse.” - -“You my massa, sar; Jesse dun want no udder massa dan Massa Ford. Marse -Debbil, he no pay such good wages as you.” - -Ford laughed and dismounted from his horse. He was a big, hard man, -roasted and shrivelled somewhat by a life in the tropics. He always wore -white ducks and a felt hat that sloped well back over the nape of his -neck. His hair was black, his eyes were also black, and his face might -have been considered handsome. His clean-shorn mouth showed unusual -strength of character and spoke of greed and craft as well. Tobago -admired Jabez without liking him; the little island was proud of his -prosperity, but it did not trust him. His downfall would have brought -sorrow to few, for many secretly suspected him of dark things. But he was -strong, and not a man among his neighbours would have cared or dared to -fall foul of him. - -Now Ford followed the priest of Obi into his secret dwelling, where -monstrous matters were hidden in the gloom and evil smells stole out of -the darkness. Three dried mummies first appeared. One was a crocodile and -hung from the roof; the other two had been human beings. They sat propped -in corners with a loathsome semblance of living and listening about them. -Festoons of bird’s eggs, curious seeds, and dried pumpkins were stretched -across the ceiling; skins of animals and birds littered the floor. Unseen -things squeaked in cages; there was a piece of red glass in the roof -and through it, on to a wooden table, there fell a round, flaming eye -of light which luridly illuminated the assembled horrors. Uncanny and -malodorous fragments filled the corners; filth, mystery and darkness -blended here; and across one corner of the hut hung a curtain which hid -Arcanum, the Holy of Obeah Holies. - -Jabez Ford sat down on a three-legged stool by the table, and the -red light shone like a sulky fire upon his dark locks. He sniffed the -infamous air, then took a cigar from his case and lighted it. - -Meantime, with more pluck than wisdom, and only thinking of the things -that he had heard and seen, Daniel Sweetland followed close upon the -heels of the strange pair. Now he stood outside the hut near the open -door, and, crouching here, listened clearly to the conversation within. -Beside him the tethered goat still browsed, and Ford’s horse sniffed the -ground for something to eat. But only the lush foliage of the snake-gourd -spread within his reach, and that the beast declined. It dragged its -bridle as far as possible, stamped the earth, and with unceasing swish, -swish, swish of tail kept the flies from its sweating flanks. - -“I’ll tell you what’s happened since we met,” said Ford to his creature. -“Last night the youngster wrote his letters home and left them with mine -to be taken to the post office to catch the mail. The _Solent_ sailed -this morning, but she didn’t take Henry Vivian’s letter to his father. -She took one from me instead, signed in his name. I’ve got his in my -pocket, and it contained exactly what I expected. He makes no definite -charge, because it is impossible to prove anything against me; but he -states in detail that more money is being made than appears, and advises -Sir Reginald to be rid of me at once. Meantime he is going to look round -the island and find a new overseer. But this little plan won’t suit me. I -must stop at the Pelican for another year at least. So, having unsealed -and read our young friend’s letter after he retired to bed, I wrote -another--on my typewriter--and gave myself a better character, you may be -sure. His signature was very easy to imitate, and now my letter, not his, -has set sail for home. There it goes now.” - -He pointed below where a steamer slipped away from Tobago and the station -ship, _Solent_, proceeded on her course to Trinidad and Barbados. - -“My letter went in his envelope,” continued Ford. “And when Sir Reginald -reads it, he will be favourably impressed because I gave myself a better -character than Vivian did. Of course a letter from me will reach him by -the _next_ mail.” - -“You write, too, massa?” - -“Yes--I shall write--all about what is going to happen.” - -“I see. You tell de great man at home how his son meet wid dam sad -accident and lose him life in Tobago?” - -“Exactly. The boy’s as good as dead. I rather wish it had been possible -to avoid this; but it is not. He mustn’t go home.” - -“He trust you?” - -“Absolutely. He has no idea that I have seen through him and know that -he is not satisfied. Therefore, from his standpoint, I have no reason to -hate him. We are the best of friends. I am showing him all the sights -and taking him all over the island. He is anxious to see everything and -everybody. Of course he is on the look-out for a new overseer, but I’m -not supposed to know that. Now he’s excited, too, about that sailor who -knocked him down yesterday. A wretched fellow off a tramp steamer. We -were on the wharf watching them load turtles, when he spotted the man. -Then there was a row, and my gentleman got knocked into the water. I -hoped there might have been a shark cruising round! It would have saved -us a deal of trouble.” - -“I will do all Marse shark could do, sar. A berry nice hole dug under the -snake-gourd. When he come?” - -“Soon. I’ve told him that Jesse Hagan, the Obi Man, is the first wonder -of the island; so he’ll be here with me to see you. Have all your -war-paint on. Afterwards, I’ll take his horse away--and his boots and -clothes. The rest is simple enough. They’ll find the horse loose on -the beach, and his garments together, and prints of feet going to the -bathing-place, but none returning.” - -“Dar’s nobody like Massa Ford!” - -“We must be short and sharp. He’s resolute and quick. But he’s -small--what’s that? There’s somebody moving out there!” - -“My goat, sar.” - -But Ford had leapt to his feet and left the hut. A moment later and he -stood face to face with Daniel Sweetland. The sailor was some distance -from the cottage when Jabez accosted him. His back was turned and he -stood on a stone and pulled down green bananas from one of the Obi Man’s -trees. - -“Who are you and what do you do here?” asked the overseer. “You must be -mad or a desperate man to run your head into this place.” - -The other looked innocently round. Mere temporary fear seemed to leap -into his eyes at this threat. He showed by no deed or look that the -truth was known to him. But Daniel had heard the course of conversation -very clearly, and the necessity for swift action had forced itself upon -his mind. His first idea was to leap upon Ford’s horse, hasten to the -Pelican Estate, and give an alarm; then he remembered his own position -as a hunted fugitive. A plan worthy of the ingenious brain that had -freed him from the handcuffs of Mr Corder swiftly dawned in the man’s -head. He saw the dangers waiting for Henry Vivian and for himself. In a -few moments he decided upon action, and his words indicated that Daniel -evidently held self-preservation the first law of nature. He left the -heir of Middlecott to his fate, and played for his own hand only. - -“Please, sir, listen afore you give me up,” said Daniel. “Afore God I’m -innocent of what this man says against me. He’s a hard, cruel young -devil, and many’s the poor chap at home he’s driven desperate. Not a -spark of pity has he got, an’ now I be desperate--as any hunted man would -be--an’ so I’ve climbed up here with my life in my hand to this terrible -old chap they tell me about. An’ I was going to ax him to help me; but -hearing voices, I just waited here till he was free. I’ll pay him well -for his bananas, and I’ll pay him better for something else, which is to -help me against that young bloodhound, Henry Vivian. I don’t care what I -do against him, for he’ll ruin me if he can; and if I was guilty I’d say -nought, but I’m innocent. An’ if I’ve got to swing, I’ll swing for him! -That’s why I comed with a present to this here mystery man, to ax him to -hide me an’ help me against my enemy. An’ I’ll tell you something too, -if you’ll listen, an’ that is that Mister Henry Vivian ban’t no friend -to you. I come from the same place he does, and I heard about it afore -my own trouble at home. He’m here as a spy, an’ I lay after he’s gone, -you’ll find your goose be cooked.” - -This speech interested Mr Ford not a little. - -“’Twas you that shot his father’s gamekeeper then?” he asked; but Daniel -denied it. - -“It looked bad against me--so bad that I didn’t stop to talk about it, -but got clear off. Time will show ’twas no work of mine, however; an’ -this man, as have knowed me from my youth up, ought to be my friend--not -my enemy. But since he’m against me, I’m against him, an’ I’d cut his -throat to-morrow if I got the chance.” - -The overseer nodded and turned to Jesse Hagan. Jesse had brought a gun -out of his dwelling, and now deliberately pointed it at Daniel. - -“Shall I shoot dis gem’man?” he inquired with his finger on the trigger. -“Him berry rude young man walk in my garden widdout saying ‘please,’ an’ -eat my bananas.” - -“Stop!” answered Ford. “This sailor is a friend. At least I think so. No, -don’t shoot him. Let him come in and give him something to eat. He’s -hungry.” - -“Lucky Massa Ford speak for you, Marse sailor-man--else you food for de -‘John Crows’ dis minute. But he say ‘eat’; so you eat instead ob being -eaten, sar.” - -Then Daniel entered the Obi Man’s hut with Jabez Ford and old Jesse. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -JESSE’S FINGER-NAIL - - -For an hour Jesse Hagan, Jabez Ford and Daniel Sweetland spoke in secret -together. Then the overseer mounted his horse and departed, while Daniel -and the Obi Man remained. - -The result of this curious conference will appear. Suffice it that for -many a long month no man ever saw Daniel’s face again. Meantime Mr Ford -resumed his attendance on Sir Reginald Vivian’s son, who continued -to enjoy the generous hospitality of Tobago. Hue and cry for Daniel -Sweetland quite failed to find him, or any sign of him. No trace of the -sailor rewarded a close and systematic search. It was supposed that he -had eluded all eyes, risked the sharks, and either perished or succeeded -in swimming back to his ship on the night before she sailed. But the crew -knew differently. To the deep regret of James Bradley and the rest of his -mates, Daniel returned to the _Peabody_ no more. To wait for him could -not be thought of. A black man was, therefore, shipped in Sweetland’s -stead, and the old steamer, with a small cargo of cocoanuts and turtle, -sailed to Barbados. Dan from his hiding-place saw her depart unmoved, for -he knew not the awful fate that would soon overtake his friends. Great -issues had now opened in his own life, and extreme hazards awaited him. - -A fortnight passed, and the afternoon of Henry Vivian’s visit to the Obi -Man arrived. This event had been reserved for his last holiday in Tobago. -In two days’ time a Royal Mail Packet would leave the island, and by it -the visitor designed to return to Barbados, that he might pick up the -next vessel that sailed for home. - -While he packed his cabin trunks young Vivian reviewed the events of -recent weeks, and thought, not without regret, of much that had happened. -The pursuit of Sweetland had caused him deep sorrow. He forgave Dan -his ducking, and only mourned that his own sense of duty had made it -necessary to try and secure the escaped prisoner. He would have given -much to know what had become of the fugitive, and hoped against his -conscience that Daniel was safe in the _Peabody_. But the young man did -not doubt that Sweetland had been guilty, for evidence of his crime -seemed overwhelming, and the final fact that he had escaped from justice -showed too certainly how the poacher had feared it. The circumstance of -Jabez Ford’s dishonesty was also material for unquiet reflections. Mr -Ford acquitted himself as an ideal host, and every instinct of the guest -rebelled and hurt him for the part that he must play. Vivian felt himself -guilty of treachery, and it was only by keeping the truth concerning -Jabez Ford resolutely in sight that he could view his courtesy, good -nature, and hospitality with an easy mind. That Ford had robbed his -father Henry Vivian could not question; yet he blamed himself for being -so silent. He felt that he had done better and more bravely to declare -his doubts and charge the other openly. Then he reminded himself that -he had actually done so, that he had expressed frank dissatisfaction on -many occasions, and that Jabez Ford, with imperturbable good humour, -had listened to his strictures, regretted his opinions, and assured him -of his mistakes. At least Vivian determined that he would not leave the -overseer in any uncertainty. He had failed to find a trustworthy and -experienced man to take Ford’s place in Tobago; but he doubted not that -such a man might be forthcoming at Barbados. Letters would reach him -there from his father, and those letters Henry believed would grant him -powers to dismiss Jabez Ford and appoint another overseer. He might, -indeed, have to return to Tobago before leaving the West Indies. At -anyrate, on the following day Ford was to lunch with Vivian on shipboard -before the steamer sailed, and then Henry determined that the overseer -should hear the truth, in order that he might make preparations for his -departure from the Pelican Estate. - -While the traveller thus decided, Jabez Ford was engaged upon a -communication to Sir Reginald; and it was this letter, and not his -employer’s son, that the overseer intended should travel homeward in two -days’ time. - -The fireflies danced across the velvet darkness of night; strange sounds -of frogs echoed in the marshes, and sheet lightning sometimes outlined -the dark heads of the palms as Jabez wrote. Now he sipped his grog; now -he turned his cigar in his mouth; now he listened to the footfall of his -guest on the floor above. Vivian was whistling “Widecombe Fair.” Already -he wearied of the tropics and began to yearn for a sight of home. - -Mr Jabez Ford tapped away at his typewriter and described with many an -artistic and graphic touch events that had not yet happened. He told how -Henry Vivian accompanied him to the abode of the old negro, Jesse Hagan; -how, after inspecting the Obi Man’s mysteries, the visitor had ridden off -alone to return to the Pelican Sugar Estate; how he had not come back, -and how, protracted search being made, his clothes were discovered upon -the seashore, while a single row of naked footprints were also observed -leading from them to the sea. He added that young Vivian’s custom was -to bathe twice daily, and that on more than one occasion, disregarding -warnings, he had swum in the open water instead of behind the protections -of the regular bathing-place. Mr Ford left it to the sorrowing father to -guess what must have happened in those shark-haunted waters. He concluded -with haste to catch the mail. He promised to write again as soon as -possible, and to send a message by cable if any hopeful news might be -despatched. - -Then, well pleased with the effort, he slept, and presently woke again -refreshed to make his story good. - -Soon after noon Vivian and the overseer rode together by the steep forest -path to Jesse’s lofty haunt, and the Obi Man in expectation prepared -himself. Daniel Sweetland had vanished. Only an attendant negro waited on -the master of the mysteries. All being arranged to Jesse’s satisfaction, -the ancient man disappeared into an inner sanctum behind a curtain, and -there completed his own horrible toilet. Upon his head he placed a fur -cap with long black horns sprouting out of it, and over his lean carcase -he drew hairy garments daubed with white and scarlet paint. These things -were girt about his waist with a belt of feathers of the king-bird--a -tropic fowl of gorgeous plumage. His arms remained bare, but to his -wrists and ankles he fastened strips of lizard skin and hung bracelets of -rattling seeds. About his neck he placed a chain of human teeth, and upon -his breast for a loathsome amulet, the shrivelled-up mummy of a monkey -hung. He next painted sundry blue hieroglyphics over his wrinkled face, -and then gazed with unqualified pleasure at the general effect seen in a -scrap of looking-glass. - -“Obi somebody dis day!” said Jesse as he marched out into the daylight; -and if he looked unearthly in the gloom of his own den, the display in -full blaze of sunshine was still more terrific. He pranced hither and -thither for his servant’s benefit. He jingled and clashed and flamed. His -fantastic adornments glittered in the light; strange treasures, unseen -until now, appeared amongst his accoutrements. A brass-bound Bible hung -round his neck with a big jack-knife; upon his knees a pair of old naval -epaulettes were fastened. The ghastly thing on his breast had yellow -beads stuck into its head for eyes, and now they flashed with a sort of -life, whilst its little mummied arms clung about Jesse and seemed to hug -him. - -The attendant eyed him without awe or admiration. Jacky, as he was -called, lacked some of his senses and never spoke. Then, while Jesse -capered about like a monkey, down in the hot haze of the distance amid -trees and rocks, the old monster suddenly saw a cavalcade struggling up -the hill. Two horsemen were approaching. - -Now the Obi Man retired again to complete very special and secret -preparations for the hope of the house of Vivian. He withdrew behind the -curtain, stooped low in his secret corner, and drew forth a box from -beneath much rubbish that covered it. Next he lighted a candle, opened -the box and from it took a smaller one. This contained a grey, sticky -matter, like bird-lime. Digging out some of the stuff upon the point of a -wooden skewer, Jesse, with his thumb, held back the flesh of his middle -right-hand finger, and, under the nail, deposited the compound from -the box. He plastered it there, and since all his nails were long and -dirty, the presence of this strange ointment was not likely to attract -attention. He hid the box again, blew out his candle, and, returning to -the air, went forward to meet his company. - -The horsemen arrived and drew up before Jesse’s gate as he leapt forward -and bowed low, while his finery made savage music. - -“By Jove! we’re lucky!” exclaimed Jabez. “I told you that you should see -an Obi doctor, but I never thought he would have all his war-paint on!” - -“Tell him to get further off,” answered Vivian. “My horse is growing -restive.” - -“Gib you berry good day, Massa Ford; and you too, sar!” cried Jesse, -bowing again and again. “Poor ole man Hagan, he berry pleased to see -gem’men.” - -“This is Mr Vivian, Jesse,” explained the overseer. “His father is Sir -Reginald Vivian--the great man who owns the Pelican Estate.” - -Jesse saluted respectfully. - -“I proud nigger dis day. Wonderful esteats--wonderful sugar esteats, -massa. No canes like de canes on Pelican land. Come in, gem’men. Jacky -hold your hosses and make dem fast. I’se proud to see two such gem’men in -dis place.” - -Ford made signs to the negro, but did not speak. Then he turned to Henry -Vivian. - -“That’s old Jesse’s son,” he explained. “A rare fine nigger--full-blooded -and strong as a horse. But he’s deaf and dumb--poor devil!--though he’s -got all his other wits about him.” - -Jacky made fast the horses and brought them a pail of water. Then Ford -and the guest entered Mr Hagan’s hut, and Jesse followed them. He bustled -about and fetched a basket of fruit from the garden. Next he produced a -bottle of rum and drew the cork with his teeth. - -Henry Vivian stared and showed a very genuine interest in the strange -scene around him. Mr Ford sat on a barrel in a corner and smoked his -cigar. - -“You’ve got to thank old Jesse here for more than you know,” he declared. -“He’s been worth pounds and pounds to the Pelican; and though I can’t -show the profits that I’d like to show you, and hope to show you soon, -yet but for this old wonder here, the figures would be far worse than -they are. Two years ago a tremendous lot of sugar-cane was stolen from -our plantation. The black thieves came by night--” - -“He-he-he! Black tiefs come by night!” echoed Jesse. - -“And took tons of the stuff. I placed the matter in the hands of the -police; but it’s not much good setting a nigger to catch a nigger as -a rule. The officers did no good; then I tried the parson. But he was -powerless too. So I came to Jesse, and he stopped the rascals in no time.” - -“Jesse stop de rascals in no time,” said the old negro. - -“He put your father’s lands under Obeah, Mr Vivian. That doesn’t mean -much to you; but we West Indians understand. All rubbish and nonsense -really, perhaps, though I won’t allow that myself. At anyrate, Obeah is -a terrible thing to Ethiopian ears. Some survival and fragment of their -ancient, infernal religion of witchcraft and unimaginable devilries. -There’s something in it, I believe--what, I cannot say. Our friend here -is one of the last of the Obi Men, and he threw his spell over the -sugar canes--hung up red rags and empty bottles on the skirts of the -plantation--uttered some mumbo-jumbo spell in the ears of the frightened -people and departed. It was enough. Devil another stick went.” - -“Debble anudder stick go! He-he!” sniggered Jesse. - -“We ought to be greatly obliged,” confessed Henry Vivian. “This has -been a most interesting experience, and I hope you’ll accept an English -sovereign from me in the name of my father, old man. Be sure I’ll tell -him of your exploits and all that he owes to you.” - -“Gold--me like gold berry much,” declared Jesse. He took the money -greedily and slipped it into a pocket at his belt. “Massa King ob England -on it--good!” he said. - -“And now I’ll depart, if you please, Ford,” continued young Vivian. “I’m -glad to have had this most interesting experience, but I can’t stand the -place any longer. The uncanny odours are choking me.” - -“Smoke then. We can’t go immediately. The old boy would never forgive us. -I’ll be off as soon as I dare.” - -He turned to Jesse. - -“Seen any turtle lately?” - -“Plenty turtle, sar. I take my walks on moony nights and see de great -cock turtle making a fuss and de ladies laying dar eggs in de sand. Berry -good soup--but Jesse like rum better. It work quicker. You gem’men shall -taste Jesse’s rum punch. Nobody make rum punch like me, massa.” - -He made signs to Jacky, and the silent negro, who stood at the door, drew -three calabash shells from a corner and took them out to wash them. - -“He my son, massa,” explained old Hagan. “Him no speak or hear. Him -tongue tied by de Lord. But him understand berry quick. Him understand -like a dog, sar. Him know tings dat we no know, for all dat we have ears -and tongues.” - -Vivian nodded dreamily and puffed his cigar. The vile atmosphere of the -hut and Jesse’s voice that ran on ceaselessly began together to hypnotise -him. He felt sleepy. - -“How much more of it?” he asked Ford, and the other answered-- - -“Not five minutes. The drink is ready. We will wish him good luck -and long life. Then we will clear out. His rum punch is really worth -drinking. I know nothing like it.” - -Meantime Jacky had rinsed out his three split calabash bowls and now -placed them on the table in a row. - -“Dis Obi punch I make for you, sar. Nobody make him but Jesse!” declared -the host. Then he poured his concoction into the three bowls and, when -he had emptied a large open pan, about half a pint of liquor filled each -calabash. - -“Drink and remember de poor old Obi Man, sars! Dar’s yours, Massa Ford, -and dar’s yours, Massa Vivian; and dis am mine. Jacky and me will share -and share togedder.” - -He handed the calabashes to his son and a close observer might have -noted that into one bowl of refreshment--that intended for Henry -Vivian--Jesse dipped the long, bony middle finger of his right hand. - -A moment later Jabez Ford lifted his drink and pledged the giver. - -“Here’s to you, old fellow, and may your shadow never grow less. Good -luck and long life to all of us!” - -He drank heartily, smacked his lips, and set his empty bowl upon the -table, while Vivian followed his example and drained his drink also. - -“Splendid--splendid!” he said. “I’ll give you another sovereign for the -secret of that!” - -Jesse looked at the doomed man with his toad’s eyes. - -“I fraid de secret no good whar you gwaine, massa. You dead gem’man, sar. -Nuffing on God earf save you now. Five minutes more and we take off your -tings and put you under Jesse’s snake-gourd, sar.” - -“What the deuce is he talking about?” began Vivian. Then his jaw fell -and he stared at the face of Jabez Ford. Behind them stood Jacky, and in -front, on the other side of the table, the Obi Man quietly sipped his rum -punch and waited. - -But now a thing unforeseen occurred, and the awful, inevitable death -that had been mixed with Henry Vivian’s cup fell upon another. - -Jabez Ford it was who leapt to his feet, cried a hoarse oath and turned -upon the negro behind him. - -“Treachery--you--you--!” he began. Then he fell in a heap on the floor, -twisted horribly like a snake, while his hands and feet beat the earth. - -“Air--air--my God--life!” he cried, and at the same moment with a wild -yell the Obi Man leapt forward and hurled himself at his son’s throat. -But the younger negro was ready, and in his grasp the old man’s strength -availed nothing. In a moment Mr Hagan was forced to the earth and Jacky, -with a rope in readiness, had bound him hand and foot. His finery fell -from Jesse while he shrieked and struggled and cursed. Then he sank into -silence and watched Jabez Ford die. - -Vivian, believing himself in some appalling nightmare, glared upon this -scene; and its unreality and horror seemed increased to a climax worse -than the sudden death of the overseer when the dumb negro turned upon him -and spoke. - -“Come!” said the man. “Come out of this! The horses are waiting. I’ll -tell you what’s to tell, but not here with that mad old devil screeching -in our ears and t’other glaring there with death gripping his throat. -Come, Henry Vivian, an’ give heed to the man who has saved your life at -the cost of this twisted clay here. Like him would you have been this -minute but for me. ’Tis now your turn to be merciful.” - -“Dan! Dan Sweetland!” - -“So I be then--at your service. Come. No more till we’m out o’ sight of -this gashly jakes. Let that old rip bide where he be for the present. Us -can come backalong for him after dark, or to-morrow.” - -A few moments later Sweetland, still disguised as a negro, mounted the -dead man’s horse, and he and his old companion rode away together. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -DANIEL EXPLAINS - - -“Afore you think about what all this means, you’d best to hear me,” began -Daniel. “I’m very sorry I throwed you in the water, Mister Henry, but -’twas ‘which he should,’ as we say to home; an’ if I hadn’t done it, -you’d have had me locked up. You thought you was right to go for me; -an’ I reckoned I was right to go for you. An’ I should again, for I’m -innocent afore Almighty God. May He strike me dead on this here dead -man’s horse if I ban’t!” - -“We’ll leave your affairs for the present,” replied Vivian. “What you’ve -got to do is to tell me what all this means. Then I shall know how to -act.” - -“That’s all right,” answered the other; “but you’m rather too disposed to -be one-sided, if I may say so without rudeness. A man like me don’t care -to blow his own trumpet, but I must just remind you that I’ve saved you -from a terrible ugly death during the last five minutes; and I’ll confess -’twas a very difficult job and took me all my time to do it. I’ve been -a better friend to you than ever you was to me, though I know you was -all for justice an’ that you meant to do your duty. But you was cruel -quick against me. Well, thus it stands: the world thinks I’m a murderer, -an’ my work in life is to prove I am not. An’ that I shall do, with or -without your help, sir. But if you believe the lie, say so, an’ I’ll know -where I be. If you’re my enemy still, declare it. Then if there’s got to -be fighting the sooner the better. But think afore you throw me over. -’Twas because I loved you, when we were boys, an’ because I thought that, -when you heard my story calmly, you’d come to believe in me, that I let -the past go an’ saved your life. So now say how we stand, please, Mister -Henry. If you’m against me still, be honest and declare it. But I know -you can’t be. Ban’t human nature after what I’ve just done for you.” - -Vivian stopped his horse. - -“It’s not a time for reserve, Dan. You’re right and I’m wrong. You’ve -taught me to be larger-hearted. I’ll take your word, and henceforth I’m -on your side before a wilderness of proofs. From this hour I will believe -that you’re an innocent man, and I thank you, under God, for saving my -life.” - -He held out his hand, and Sweetland shook it as if he could never let go. - -“The Lord will bless you for that! I knowed well how ’twould be when you -understood. An’ I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so plain; but ’twas -gall to me to know you thought me so bad. If you’m on my side, an’ my own -Minnie at home, an’ my own friend, Titus Sim--you three--then I’m not -feared for anything else. I’ll face the world an’ laugh at it now. But -first I must tell you the meaning of all that’s happened to-day.” - -“Here’s the Pelican,” interrupted Vivian. “You’ll do well to come in and -have a wash while I send for the police.” - -“Washing won’t get it off. I’ll be so black as the ace of oaks for many -a long day yet; an’ maybe it’s best so. ’Twas that dead man’s idea that -I should bide along with Jesse Hagan an’ pretend to be a deaf an’ dumb -nigger, an’ lend Jesse a hand when you arrived. A very good idea too. So -long as Dan Sweetland’s thought to be a murderer, he’ll be better out of -the way.” - -They entered the dwelling of Jabez Ford, while a negro took their horses. - -Then Sweetland told his story from the beginning. He started with the -night before his wedding, and gave every particular of his last poaching -enterprise. He related how he actually heard the shot that must have -slain Adam Thorpe, and explained how he returned to Hangman’s Hut, put -his gun into its case, and then went home to his father’s house. His -wedding, arrest, and subsequent escape followed. He mentioned his ruse at -the King’s Oven, his visit to his wife, and his escape from Plymouth in -the _Peabody_. He resumed the narrative at Scarborough, Tobago, and then -related what had happened to him after flying from the wharf. - -“I overheard Jesse and Jabez Ford talking, an’ very quickly tumbled to -it that you was a deader if you comed to see the Obi Man. I’d watched -the old, grey-haired devil dig your grave already. Then I set to work to -save you. Maybe ’twas a fool’s trick, but I hadn’t much time to think -about it, so I bluffed, an’ went in so bold as brass, an’ said as I -wanted to take your life. Well, you may guess what Ford thought of that. -A desperate, half-naked, savage sailor-man was just the tool for him. -They let me help Jesse, an’ I make no doubt that Ford meant to turn on -me afterwards, if ever he had to clear himself. He never smelt a rat--he -never saw I was playing a part--I was that bitter against you. I axed -the man an’ begged him to let me kill you myself, an’ I think he would -have agreed to it; but Jesse said that ’twas his job, an’ he told us he -wasn’t going to have no pig-killing in his house, but ordered us to -leave it to him. To the last he wouldn’t tell me how he was going to do -it. So I had an anxious time, I promise you. Then ’twas planned that I -should be a black man, an’ the old chap gived me some stuff for my face -an’ hands an’ neck--just the colour as you see. I’ve got the rest up -there in a bottle. Well, Ford he went off, an’ Jesse told me what my -part was to be. Simple enough--only to hand you your rum punch when the -time came--nothing more. ’Twas all in that drop of drink. But he swore -’twasn’t when I axed him afore you come. And what he put in, or how he -put it in, I can’t tell you. I only guessed when he handed me the drink -that death was in your bowl, because he was so partickler about which was -yours an’ which was Ford’s. So I said to myself, ‘I’ll change these here -calabashes behind their backs, an’ if one’s a wrong ’un, let that crafty -chap have it; an’ if both be honest, no harm’s done.’ You see how right -I was. When I seed Ford screech an’ topple over, I knowed what I’d saved -you from.” - -“But why--what did the man want to poison me for?” - -“Because he’d seed through you an’ knowed you’d seen through him. Because -he found out you wasn’t satisfied and meant to have him turned off. I -heard him tell the Obi Man the whole yarn. He read the letters you’d -written your father after you’d gone to bed; an’ then he took yours out -an’ put in others into your envelopes, an’ forged your signatures to ’em. -Then, when they’d got you settled, they was going to pretend you’d gone -bathing an’ been eaten by sharks. The story all hung together very suent -an’ vitty, I lay. But now he’s dust himself, an’, if you take my advice, -you’ll do what he’s done afore you, an’ make Jesse Hagan keep his mouth -shut. No harm can come of that; then you’re free to go home. Whereas, if -you have the whole thing turned over to the police, there’ll be the devil -to pay, an’ a case at Trinidad, an’ lawyers, an’ trouble, an’ Jesse Hagan -hanged, an’ Lord knows what else.” - -“Let things go!” gasped Henry Vivian. - -“Why not? Just consider. There’ll be oceans of bother for you if you stir -this up. Nothing better could have happened. This wicked scoundrel’s -taken off in the nick of time.” - -“Hoist with his own petard, indeed!” - -“Well, he’s gone--vanished like smoke--an’ nobody will mourn him neither. -What could suit you so well? Forget you know anything about it. Why not? -All you can do is to hang Jesse Hagan for his share. But, if you arrest -him, so like as not he’ll turn round on me an’ say I done it. Then my -name comes in, an’ I’d very much rather it didn’t just at present.” - -They argued long upon this theme, but Vivian would not give way. His -sense of justice and honour made him refuse to let the matter drift, and -Daniel’s worldly-wise advice fell on deaf ears. They made a meal, and -the negroes who served it looked curiously at the silent coloured man, -who ate with their master’s guest; for while others were present Daniel -kept dumb. Then, as the day advanced, the horses were again saddled, and -Vivian, with Sweetland, rode off to the hut of Obeah. - -While the attendants stared to see a ragged negro galloping off on Jabez -Ford’s horse, Dan attempted again to convince Henry Vivian that a cynical -silence would for the present best meet the case. It was only the thought -of Sweetland’s own position, if all came to be laid bare, that made the -other hesitate. Vivian, indeed, found himself still in doubt when they -returned to the summit of the hill, tied their horses to the opuntia -hedge, and returned to Jesse’s dim dwelling. - -Profound silence reigned there, and the hut was empty. Neither the -distorted corpse of Jabez Ford nor any sign of the Obi Man himself -appeared. Hunting in a corner, Daniel found the bottle of dye which had -served so effectually to disguise him; and at the same moment Henry -Vivian discovered a scrap of paper on the table under the red eye of -light that fell from the roof upon it. - -“_Jesse larf at ropes and bars, but Jesse no larf at Massa Judge at -Trinidad who hang him. Jesse tired, so him go to bed along with other -gem’men and Marse Ford under the snake-gourd in him garden._” - -Daniel rushed out to find this statement true. The Obi Man had flung Ford -into the grave prepared for Henry Vivian. He had then jumped in himself -and, with a long knife that lay beside him, had severed the arteries of -his thighs. A storm of insects rose up and whirled away from the ghastly -grave. - -“Where’s his spade?” cried Daniel. “Even you will grant there’s but one -thing to do for ’em now.” - -“My duty’s hard to know,” declared Vivian. - -“Then leave it,” answered the other. “Here’s Fate busy working for you. -Why for keep so glum about it? Let me advise, for I know I’m right. Take -the next ship home an’ set out all afore your faither. He’ll say what’s -proper to do. I’ll bury these sinners, an’ you can bear the tale home -along; an’ when he’s heard all, Sir Reginald will know very well how to -act. Trust him!” - -“And you, Sweetland?” - -“I’ll tell you what I think about myself so soon as I be through with -this job. One thing’s clear as mud: the sooner we’re out of Tobago the -better. If you can only trust the second in command at the Pelican works -to carry on for the present, I say ‘be off.’ Then this scarey business -will right itself. The bad man fades away from memory. His sins are -forgotten. Never was a case where silence seemed like to suit everybody -best an’ do the least harm.” - -In his heart Henry Vivian felt somewhat nettled to find an untutored man -rising to strength of character and practical force greater than his own -at this crisis. But he could not fail to feel the sense of Dan’s advice. -Moreover, he was awake to the immense debt he owed to Sweetland. - -That night, while fireflies danced over the raw earth of the grave under -the snake-gourd, Henry Vivian and the sailor held solemn speech together. -They talked for hours; then Daniel had his way. - -It was at length determined that Sir Reginald’s son should return home at -once. Having yielded slowly to Dan’s strong entreaties in this matter, -Vivian asked a question. - -“And what do you do, Sweetland? Or, I should ask, what can I do for -you? Your welfare is mine henceforth. This tragedy has merely obscured -the problem with respect to you. I return home and convince my father -that what has happened was really for the best. We will take it that he -agrees, presently appoints a new overseer, and leaves this scoundrel in -his unknown grave. So much for me and the issue of my affairs; but now -what happens to you, my lad? One thing is to the good: you’ll have the -governor on your side when he hears you saved my life.” - -“Well,” answered Dan, “I was waiting for us to come to my business. To -tell you the truth, I’ve thought of myself so well as you, Mister Henry. -An’ this is what I’ve got to say. You’ll think I’ve gone cracked, I -reckon, yet I beg you’ll hear me out, for I’ve given a lot of thought to -the matter, you may be sartain; an’ mad though it do sound, if you think -of it, you’ll see that ’tis about the only way. If you count that you owe -me ought, I beg you’ll fall in with my plan; then I shall be in your debt -for everlasting.” - -“I owe you everything, Dan. I owe it to you that I’m not dead and buried -in that old fiend’s garden, where he lies himself. Tell me what’s best -to be done for you, and be sure if it’s in my power that I’ll do it.” - -“Well, ’tis this way; you believe in me; you take my oath I’m honest. -But the world don’t. I can’t go back to England and stand up an’ say ‘I -didn’t do it, neighbours,’ because the Law’s up against me an’ there’s -nought but short shrift an’ long drop waiting for me as things are. But--” - -“Stop here, then, for the present.” - -“That won’t do neither. I’ve gotten a feeling pulling at me like horses, -to get home. I’m wanted there. My girl wants me. I know it.” - -“How’s that to be done? Show your nose on the countryside and you’ll be -arrested.” - -“So I should be--such a nose as mine, for there’s no mistaking it; but -how if I bide the colour I be now?” - -“Go home black!” - -“Why for not? ’Tis that I ax of you, sir, as payment for saving your -life. You take me back as your black servant. I’m dumb, but I’m such -a treasure that you can’t get on without me. Do it! Do it for love of -a hardly-used man! I’ll ax it on my knees, if you say so. Let me go -back with you as your nigger sarvant, an’ if I don’t clear myself in -six months from the day I set foot in England, then I’ll clear out -altogether and trouble you no more. The man’s living that killed Adam -Thorpe, and who more likely to worm out the truth than I be, with such a -motive to find it as I’ve got? There I’ll bide patient an’ quiet an’ dumb -as a newt, an’ I’ll work for you as never man yet worked. I beg you let -me do this--by my faither’s good name an’ for love of my mother an’ my -little lonely wife, I beg you. You’ll never regret it--never. ’Tis a good -deed and will stand to your credit in this world so well as t’other.” - -“They’ll find you out. Sim will see through you, and your father will. -Who can forget your size and your walk?” - -“Don’t fear that. Such things be forgotten quick enough. Not a soul will -know so long as I keep my mouth shut; an’ that I’ll do for my neck’s -sake, be sure of it. Not a soul living will guess. I only ax for six -months. Then I’ll vanish again, if I haven’t found some damned rascal to -fill my shoes. An’ this I will bet; that my own mother don’t know me. -With my curly hair an’ black eyes I was half a nig afore I comed here. -Now I’m nigger all over. The coloured men here think I am, anyhow, for -they axed me who I was, an’ where I comed from, an’ where Marse Ford was -got to. But I just pointed to my mouth an’ shook my head, so they all -think I’m dumb.” - -“It might be better at home if they thought that you were deaf too,” -reflected Vivian. “Since you’re so set on this experiment, I must fall in -with it. I owe you too much to refuse.” - -“I knowed you would! Wasn’t we boys together? Bless your good heart, sir! -You’ll never be sorry--never. I’m yours, body an’ soul, for this--yours -to be trusted an’ ordered while life’s in me.” - -“So be it, Daniel; and, after your own wife, there’s no human being will -be better pleased to see you proved guiltless than I shall. And what I -can do to help you and justice, that will I do. Now our way is clear and -we will waste no time.” - -“Ban’t my business to speak any more then,” answered Sweetland. “For the -future I’ll keep my mouth shut and obey. But one thing you must do; an’ -that is cable home the first moment you get to Barbados. Ford sent his -letter by the last station ship, an’ you can’t stop it. Your father will -hear that you’ve been eaten by sharks. That’ll be likely to worry him -bad. Anyway, you’ll have to telegraph an’ explain that you’re all right -an’ on the way to home.” - -“There’s another steamer that sails in two days’ time. To-morrow we’ll -institute a solemn search for Ford; I’ll appoint his clerk as temporary -overseer; and we’ll get back to Barbados and take the first home ship.” - -“’Tis just the very thing,” said Dan. - -“You must sleep in my cabin, that’s clear.” - -“Good Lord, no! Who ever heard of a common nigger in his master’s cabin, -sir?” - -“It’s unusual, no doubt; but you certainly can’t go with the other -servants, or share any other cabin than mine, Dan.” - -“Why ever not, Mister Henry?” - -“For the simple reason that when you turn in at night you’ll take your -clothes off, I suppose; and a nigger with black face and hands and a -white body might give rise to a little discussion.” - -Sweetland roared with laughter. - -“There now, if I didn’t forget that!” he said. - -“The sooner you remember these difficulties the better, Dan, for your -part will be hard enough to play at best,” his new master answered. - -“I know it; but I’ll think of my neck, Mister Henry. That’ll steady me. -An’ I’ll think of you, too, sir. If I come well out of it, an’ save -myself, I’ll never tire of thanks an’ gratitude.” - -Events fell out as the Englishman expected. Search for Ford failed, and -the excitement occasioned by his disappearance ran high. As for Jesse, -the old negro’s absence raised no alarm, because the Obi man often hid -himself and vanished into the woods for many days together. A young -Creole was appointed temporary overseer at the Pelican, and Sweetland, -in his character of a deaf and dumb negro, returned with Henry Vivian to -Barbados. - -Sir Reginald received a telegram three days before Jabez Ford’s letter -reached him, and ere he had ceased to wonder concerning the mystery, his -son and Daniel were on their way home in the Royal Mail steamer _Atrato_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -“OBI” AT MORETON - - -The red-gold light of evening beat into the bar of the White Hart Inn -at Moretonhampstead, and its rich quality imparted a lustre not only to -the shining pewter, the regiments of bottles, and the handles of the -beer-engines, but also to the countenances of several customers. The -day’s work was done; a moment for leisure had fallen; and it happened -that amongst those that evening assembled were many known to us as well -as to each other. - -Mr Beer and Mr Bartley drank together and discussed the times from -different points of view; but both agreed that they were bad. The -constable deplored their quietude, for nothing ever happened to advance -his interests or offer him an opportunity; and Mr Beer protested that -history grew more and more colourless. For a week there had happened -nothing to inspire so much as a couplet. Plenty of incident, however, -fell out before the publican had finished drinking. Titus Sim dropped in -and a murmur greeted his arrival, for behind him walked a tall negro. The -black man was clothed in a long coat that reached to his feet, and a big -slouch hat came low over his forehead and concealed most of his brows. - -“’Tis Mister Henry’s new servant,” explained Sim. “He’s deaf and dumb, -poor beggar, but harmless as an infant. I’m just taking him for an -airing.” - -The company regarded this man, thus removed from them by barriers -impassable, with great interest. - -“How do you make him understand?” asked Bartley. - -“All by signs. There are a few very simple signs, and he knows them. -Never was a creature less trouble, and certainly as a valet he couldn’t -be beat. He looks after the new motor-car, too; but there’s a doubt if he -can drive it, being deaf.” - -Titus tapped a glass and the black man nodded and grinned. - -“Give him rum and water, please; he don’t drink nothing else. He comes -from Tobago, where the Vivian sugar estates are, you know. I asked Mister -Harry however he could choose a poor lad minus two senses, and he said -they were senses that a valet might do without. And so he can. Only we’ve -got to tell him when his master’s bell goes. He can’t hear anything.” - -“To think how many of these poor black varmints was choked off like flies -when poor Dan Sweetland died,” said Mr Beer. “He’s a fine figure of a man -for all his blackness, and since he’s deaf and dumb, he can’t do much -evil. Though whether the devil creeps into us more through the ear than -the eye be a nice question. Why, he’d be almost handsome if he wasn’t -such a sooty soul.” - -“Mister Henry has a good word for the niggers and says they’m just as -teachable as dogs every bit. But the whites out there have given him more -trouble than all the blacks put together.” - -“They’m all human creatures, and their colour don’t count for nought in -the eye of Heaven,” said an ancient man who sat in the corner. He was -mostly in shadow, but his nose and hands caught the red sunshine. - -“We’m all corn for the Lord’s grindstones,” he continued; “black or -white--oats or wheat, neighbours. Rich and poor, Christian and heathen -will all be ground alike; and them with horses and carriages and servants -will be scat just so small as us. And that’s a very comforting thought to -me, as have suffered from the quality all my life.” - -Mr Beer shook his head. - -“Your Radical ideas will undo you yet, Gaffer Hext,” he answered. “But -’tis the way of Hext to be ever vexed. Principalities and powers was -always a thorn in the flesh to him. Yet, when all’s said, the uppermost -folk pay the wages; and where’s the workers without ’em?” - -“Hext never had no luck with his wife, you see. It have soured your -spirit--eh, gaffer?” asked Mr Bartley. - -“That’s no reason he should be a born Socialist an’ plan what’s going to -happen at the end of the world,” replied Johnny Beer. “The Last Judgment -ban’t his business, I believe. An’ whether the quality will be scat in -pieces is an open question, if you ax me. They’ve got plenty to put up -with so well as us. Look at what Quarter Day means to them--a tragedy; -no doubt. And think how income-tax scourges ’em! No; for my part I don’t -reckon ’tis all fun being a man of rank. I dare say Sir Reginald envies -Sim here sometimes. There’s nought like care to thin the hair, and many -a red-cheeked chap as smiles at market and rides a fine hoss, be so grim -as a ghost behind the scenes, when there’s nobody to see and hear him but -his wife.” - -The black man tapped his tumbler again. It was empty. - -“He may have one more,” said Titus, “then I must set him going. Mister -Vivian calls him ‘Obi’; but I think he’s invented the name. Obi is a -sort of religion out there among the black people, I hear tell. There’s -been an awful deal of trouble over our estates, by all accounts, and the -old overseer has bolted, or something--don’t know the particulars. But -there’s money in sugar yet. Only last night I heard Sir Reginald say to -his son, ‘The man gives you excellent advice. I shall not stir the dark -depths of that business, but appoint a new overseer immediately--one who -is honest and has our interests at heart.’” - -“I suppose it’s not a job within the reach of the likes of me?” hazarded -Mr Bartley. “I wouldn’t mind a warm climate at all, and I wouldn’t mind a -change. My chance is gone--I feel that. Ever since the affair of Daniel -Sweetland--” - -“You was hookwinked in company.” - -“That don’t make it better. And Corder be in high favour again--just -because he catched that chap as killed his wife to Ashburton. To think -Sweetland didn’t jump down Wall Shaft Gully after all! A crafty soul, a -very first-rate rascal.” - -“Don’t you speak like that,” said Sim, sharply. “Sweetland’s gone; but I -ban’t, and ’tis pretty well known we were better than brothers. ’Twasn’t -him that was crafty, but you and t’others that were fools. His craft got -him free, and he died like a man in the hand of God, not like a dog in -the hand of man. I am speaking of your son, Matthew,” he continued, for -at that moment Sweetland the elder had entered the bar. He was grey, -silent, morose as usual. Upon his left arm he wore a mourning band. - -“Can’t his name rest? Ban’t it enough he’s gone to answer for his short -life, an’ taken the secrets of it along with him?” asked the father. “A -drop of gin cold,” he added; then he turned and looked at the tall, dumb -Ethiopian who was regarding him. - -“God’s truth!” he said harshly, “if that savage ban’t built the very daps -of my dead boy--the very daps of un, if he wasn’t black!” - -The others regarded the stranger critically, and “Obi” grinned about him -and tapped his glass again. But Sim shook his head. - -“No more, my lad. You must be moving soon. He’s Mister Henry’s servant,” -he continued to Sweetland--“a poor, simple, afflicted creature, but true -and faithful; and wonderful smart, seeing he can’t hear or speak. He -saved Mister Henry’s life in some row he had in foreign parts, and now -he’s thought the world of. Providence was looking after him, I reckon. -He’ll drive the new motor so like as not, if it can be proved his -deafness don’t matter.” - -Sweetland still regarded the coloured man with interest. Then he turned -to his glass. Presently he spoke to Beer. - -“How’s it with you?” he asked. “A man may get a merry answer from you; -and for my part, being near the end of my days, I shun sorrow where it -can be done. Though it meets you everywhere. There’s nought else moving -in town or country.” - -“Don’t think it, Matthew,” urged the publican. “Sorrow be like a lot of -other things; go to meet it and ’twill come half way. Put off sorrow till -to-morrow, and very often you can stave it off altogether.” - -“It’s no time for mourning either,” continued Titus. “It’s the time to be -busy. Dan be gone; the memory of him be here. ’Tis for us to round off -his history and let him be remembered as an honest man. And maybe afore a -week’s out, ’twill be done.” - -“Obi” had his glass in his hand, and at this noble sentiment he dropped -it suddenly and it broke to pieces. - -He shrugged his shoulders and produced twopence from his pocket and -placed them on the counter. - -“He’ve got his intellects, evidently. He knows it costs money to break -glass,” said Bartley. “That one may say for him.” - -“That he has,” assented Titus. “And as good-tempered as a bull-dog. -Where’s my parcels? I must be going. Have you seen your daughter-in-law, -Matthew?” - -“Yes,” answered the gamekeeper. “I gave her a lift to Moreton. She’s -gone to her aunt’s. She told me to tell you that she’d be in the yard of -the White Hart afore seven o’clock. I hear poor Rix Parkinson be set on -speaking to her afore he dies.” - -“Yes; we’re going there now. Much may come of it.” - -“A wasted life,” mused Mr Beer. “An’ a man of great parts was Rix -Parkinson. God never made such a thirst afore. He’ll have to lift that -excuse at Judgment--not that excuses will alter the set of things there. -Yet they’m a part of human nature come to think of it. Adam’s self began -it. He ate of the tree, then said ’twas she. Drunkard Parkinson’s cruel -thirst have driven him from bad to worse; and though he often had D.T.’s, -he never was seen upon his knees. If I had to write his tombstone, that -would be the rhyme of it,” said Mr Beer. - -“’Tis wrong to admire him, but I never could help doing so,” confessed -Sim. “As a sportsman myself, I always felt his cleverness. He’ve had many -and many a bird as you bred, Matthew.” - -“If he knows ought as would clear Daniel, I’ll forgive him all,” answered -the old keeper. - -“I hope to goodness it may be so,” replied Titus. “My ear will be quick -to hear it, I promise you. And this I’d say: leave it to Mrs Sweetland’s -good time. If poor Parkinson have got any dark thing to get off his -conscience, he won’t want it brought to the light of day while yet he -lives.” - -“You make my flesh creep,” said Beer. “Why for don’t the man call parson -to him? You can only hear; but parson can both hear and forgive.” - -The ancient in the corner spoke again. - -“Don’t you know no wiser than that rot? You read your Bible better, -Johnny Beer, an’ you’ll very soon find that nobody can forgive sins but -God alone. An’ I lay it takes Him all His holy time, with such a rotten -world as this.” - -“No politics,” said the man behind the bar. “No politics, an’ no -religion, Mister Hext, if you please.” - -“You’m getting too cross-grained to deal with, gaffer,” answered Mr Beer, -mildly. “’Tis well known in a general way that the clergy have power to -forgive sins; an’ ’tis a very proper accomplishment, come to think of it, -for their calling. Now, for my part--” - -In the yard a voice broke into Beer’s argument, and a venerable rhyme -ascended from an ostler’s throat:-- - - “Old Harry Trewin - Had no breeches to wear, - So he stole a ram’s skin - To make him a pair. - The skinny side out - And the woolly side in, - And thus he doth go--old Harry Trewin!” - -“There’s a proper song for ’e!” said Bartley. “When you can turn a verse -like that, you may call yourself a clever chap, John Beer.” - -“The rhyme’s nought--’tis the tune,” retorted Beer. “The verse be very -vulgar, and so’s the subject. You don’t understand these things, as how -should a policeman? Take _Widecombe Fair_ even. ’Tis the tune of thicky -that folks like. Never was foolisher verses.” - -A little figure crossed the inn yard, and Sim leapt up. “Obi” followed, -carrying certain parcels that the footman had brought with him. Matthew -Sweetland stared at the tall, retreating figure in its long strangely-cut -coat. - -“The very cut of his shoulders,” he said; but nobody was listening to him. - -In the yard Sim saw Minnie waiting for him. She wore black. - -“I’m quite ready, Mrs Sweetland, if you are,” he said. Then he took off -his hat to her. - -Minnie nodded. - -“I have come to see Mr Parkinson. It’s just time. Is that the poor negro -that Mister Henry has brought home with him?” - -“Yes. A fine fellow for all his afflictions.” - -The widow stared fixedly at “Obi.” The black man drew in his breath and -endured the ordeal. But he did not face her and grin. He turned his eyes -away. He believed that if his hands had not been full of parcels, they -must have gone round her. - -“He is deaf and dumb, poor creature,” said Titus. - -“Is Mister Henry going to keep him?” - -“Yes.” - -“Won’t he be cold in the winter? To think--to think! His eyes have seen -all the things that my Daniel wrote about! He may have seen Dan’s dear -self!” - -The parcels fell; but “Obi” only stooped quickly and picked them up -again. He remembered in time the appalling fright that his black paws -would bring to Minnie if they closed suddenly around her. He turned and -went his way, then, looking round, he was in time to see Titus offer his -arm to Minnie Sweetland and to mark that she refused it. - -The black man winked great tears out of his eyes. He had not cried since -he was a child. - -“My own li’l, dear, dinky wife! The shape of her--the lovely voice of -her! ‘Won’t he be cold in the winter?’ She axed that. ‘No, by God, he -won’t!’ I had ’pon the tip of my tongue to tell her. But ’tis lucky I -held it in, for it might have spoilt all.” - -Deep in thought, Daniel returned to Middlecott Court. At the lodge gates -he stood a moment, and stared up at the metal Diana with the bullet-hole -under her breast. Once he had thought her a remarkable curiosity. Now, -since his eyes had seen some of the world’s wonders, she seemed a poor -thing upon her lofty pedestal. Somebody moved at the lodge gate and he -knew that it was his mother. Instinctively he turned his head away and -hurried forward. - -There are no more profound disguises than a silent tongue and a black -face. Even Titus Sim had not the least suspicion that Sweetland now -lived at his elbow and listened to his every utterance. But Sim’s subtle -genius never deserted him. No man had heard him say one unkind word of -Daniel; many had listened to his fierce reproofs when others ventured -to criticise the vanished man. Perfectly he played his part, and Daniel -often warmed to the friend who could thus defend him and fight for his -good name, even though, with the rest of the world, he supposed that his -old comrade was dead and buried deep in the blue waters of the Caribbean. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE CONFESSION - - -Rix Parkinson had been a handsome man, but now disease and the shadow -of death were upon his countenance; he had long sunk into a chronic -crapulence, and only his eyes, that shone from a wasted and besotted -face, retained some natural beauty. He was dying, but vitality still -flashed up in him, and no physician could with certainty predict whether -a week or a month might remain to him. Parkinson’s home adjoined that -wherein young Samuel Prowse lived with his mother; and this woman it -was who of her charity ministered to the sufferer, and carried out the -doctor’s orders. - -“Blood is thicker than water,” said a neighbour. “Why for don’t the man’s -relations come to him?” - -But Mrs Prowse shook her head. “An’ Christianity’s thicker than blood,” -she answered. “As for the poor soul’s relations--why ’tis surely given to -the Christian to scrape kinship with all the sick an’ the sorrowing? ’Tis -our glory and our duty to do it.” - -This good woman knew Minnie Sweetland well, and had known her since her -childhood. Now she opened the door of Parkinson’s cottage to the widow -and Titus Sim. - -“He’m ready and waiting,” said Mrs Prowse. “He’ve just awoke from a long -sleep, an’ be strong as a lion for the minute, and out of pain seemingly. -Come in an’ let him say what he will to you while strength’s with him.” - -They followed her into the sick room, where Rix Parkinson sat up in -bed with a blue shawl wrapped round him. At his elbow was a table with -bottles and a Bible upon it. - -“You be come? Well, I’m glad of it. I won’t waste words, for my wind -grows scanty. Sit here, young woman, please; an’ you leave us, mother. -But don’t go far. I don’t like to see you out of my eyes so long as they -be open.” - -Mrs Prowse smiled at him and departed. Sim sat on one side of the sick -man and Minnie took her place upon the other. - -For a moment he was silent, breathing slowly and looking up at the -ceiling. Then he spoke. - -“They’ve given me the credit for a lot of night work in the free trade -way with hares and pheasants as I didn’t do; but, against that, nobody’s -never blamed me for a lot of things as I did do. For instance, the -business of Adam Thorpe--there was only one name ever cropped up in -that--your husband’s. I seed him took away after you was married; and I -laughed and said in the open street, ‘Lucky’s the he that gets that she!’ -Meaning you, young woman. But God’s my judge, if it had gone further I -should have told what I know about it. ’Tis only them as be careful of -their skins that come to harm in the world. If you don’t care a curse -what happens to you, the devil makes you his own care. Two men was in the -row when Adam Thorpe got his last dose, and I was one of ’em. T’other -be going strong still, but he don’t come into this story; and his name -ban’t Daniel Sweetland; an’ it wasn’t him as shot Adam Thorpe. I done -it. I didn’t go out to do it; but ’twas him or me as it chanced. I had -to stop him, or he’d have stopped me. He bested me once afore--long -ago--an’ I wasn’t going to let him do it again. So I shot him and fired -low, hoping to stop him without killing him. But his time had come. So -much for that. I went my way and made little doubt but the police would -smell out the truth, for I’d done nought to hide it. But I heard nothing -until next morning. Then there comed the news that Thorpe was dead, and -that Dan Sweetland’s new gun had been found alongside the place where he -was shot. That interested me, and I began to wonder what my pal had been -up to. There was no chance to ax him just then. ’Twas his affair, anyway, -not mine. And then I began to take a new interest in my life and find -out what a damned fine thing it was to be alive and free. They nabbed -Sweetland and I watched ’em do it. If it had come to hanging, I’d have -given myself up for him; but instead of that, he gived ’em the slip. And -the rest you know. Now he’s dead, they tell me, and, as I shall be after -him afore the corn’s ripe, I want to clear his memory for evermore. He -had no hand in that job, and, so far as I know, wasn’t within miles of -the place. The matter of the gun be on my pal’s shoulders. He denied it -when I taxed him. But right well I know that he put it there for his own -ends. I’ll say no more about that. But God in Heaven can witness that I’d -never have let ’em hang Daniel. My pal and me had one or two other little -affairs afterwards, as we’d had many before; then my health gived way, -an’ now I’m rotting alive and sha’n’t be sorry to go. Ax any questions -you like. Mr Sim here will testify to what I’ve told you. I’ll swear -afore my Judge that every word be true. As to Thorpe, I didn’t go that -night to kill him; but if there was a man I should have liked to settle -with, ’twas him. I slept no worse for it. If your husband had lived -an’ got penal servitude, ’twas my intention to tell you the truth on my -deathbed, as I have now; but not otherwise--unless they’d given him the -rope. Then I’d have confessed an’ took it. That’s the living truth. He’s -died afore me, after all; but now that you know how ’twas, his memory’s -clear, and you can tell the world all about it so soon as I be gone.” - -There was a silence; then Parkinson spoke again. - -“I’m not hopeful to see Dan upalong; for ’twould be awful ’dashus for the -like of me wi’ my sporting career, to count on Heaven; but I’ve done what -I can to atone. Any way, if I do come up with Daniel Sweetland--whether -’tis the good place or the bad--this I’ll tell him: that his memory -be clear an’ that ’tis known to Moreton he was guiltless. ’Twill be a -comfort to the man, I should think--wherever he bides.” - -A wonderful look rested on the face of Minnie Sweetland. For a moment -pure thankfulness filled her soul; then there came gratitude into it. To -dwell upon the past was vain; to ask this perishing wretch why he had -kept silence when her husband was taken from her; to wring her hands or -weep for the woful past--these things at any time were deeds foreign to -the woman’s nature. Her mind was practical. It had in it now no room for -more than thankfulness and gratitude. She uttered a wordless and silent -prayer--a thanksgiving that flashed through her heart in a throb; then -she turned to the penitent and took his hand between hers. - -“May a merciful Lord be good to you for this,” she said gently. “May you -rest easier and die easier for knowing that you’ve righted my innocent -husband’s memory and lifted darkness from the heads of his father and his -mother. And mine--mine! You told me nought I didn’t know in my heart, for -from his own lips ’twas spoken to me that he’d not done it or dreamed -of it; but now the world can know. Nought will be hidden any more. All -living men, as have ever heard my Daniel’s name, shall hear ’tis an -honourable name--a name that I’ll go down to my grave proud of. ’Twill -make my life easier to live--easier to bear; ’twill sweeten it till my -own short years be run an’ I go back to him for ever.” - -Titus Sim listened and said nothing; but he felt the scene sharply. His -brows were down-drawn and her words made him suffer. - -At last, with an effort, he spoke to Parkinson. - -“We must leave you now. Your strength has been taxed enough. This is a -good day for all of us--a day to make man trust surer in his God and -in the power of right. Say no more of this to any soul, Rix Parkinson. -You’ve done your duty, and ’twill weigh for you in Heaven and lift you up -at the end.” - -“You’ll let me die in peace?” asked the sick man. But he spoke to Minnie: -from the first moment of their entry he turned to her, and only her. - -“Be sure of that. What avails to trouble your last hours now? Nothing -shall be said till you’re asleep.” - -“Don’t be gentle to me--ban’t in human nature. I don’t ax that. I don’t -ax you to forgive or to forget what an everlasting rascal I’ve been.” - -“I do forgive you,” she said. - -“Why, then Dan will; an’ God will! Be He behind His own men and women in -love an’ kindness? Now I can die laughing. To think ’twas in human power -of a wife to forgive me!” - -“Come,” said Sim. “We will leave him now.” - -Titus rose and turned to get his hat. He was only removed from them a -moment, but in that space the sufferer beckoned Minnie with his eyes and -she leant her head towards him. - -“Don’t marry that man!” he whispered under his breath; then continued -aloud, to mask his message, “Good-bye--say, ‘good-bye’ to a sinner, who -yet can go fearless now--ay, an’ thankful too. Fearless an’ thankful, -because you could forgive him. ’Tis your goodness, widow Sweetland, that -has lifted me to trust the goodness of God; ’tis your pardon hath made me -trust in His. I’ll go to my punishment without flinching or fearing, for -I know He’ll forgive me at the end.” - -Mrs Prowse entered with food for the sick man, and Minnie and Sim took -their eternal leave of him. - -Within half an hour Parkinson was again sleeping peacefully, and while -Titus ran home without stopping, for he was late, Minnie walked slowly to -the Moor. Her sad face shone with this blessed news. She longed to cry -from the housetops; she thirsted to tell each passer-by that her husband -was innocent of the evil linked with his name. She thought of his mother -first and then his father; she even felt more tenderly towards Titus Sim -for the deep joy he had expressed on hearing the truth; but presently -the living faded from her memory and she was in thought alone with her -husband. At Bennett’s Cross, hard by Warren Inn, an impulse moved her -from the lonely road to the lonely stone. And she passed over the heath -and knelt by the ancient granite carved into the symbol of her faith. -She knelt and prayed and so passed on, much uplifted by the blessing of -the day. She moved forward thankful, grateful for this unutterable good, -strong to endure her life without him, fortified to face an existence -which, like the faded yet lovely passage of an Indian Summer, should not -lack for some subdued goodness, should not be void of beauty and content. -The power to do good remained with her; she repined no more; her native -bravery rose in her heart. She looked out fearless and patient upon the -loneliness to come, and in that survey she intended that a memory would -be her beacon, not a man. The dying drunkard need have felt no fear for -Daniel’s widow. It was not in her nature to marry again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -A BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE - - -The accident of illness prevented Henry Vivian from visiting Minnie -in her home, as he intended. A bad chill struck him down soon after -returning home, and for some days there was a fear that the evil would -touch his lungs and become serious. Dan nursed him. He ran no small -risk of detection, but escaped for three days. Then his master gained -strength, and, since he could not visit Mrs Sweetland, his first act was -to write to her and entrust the letter to her husband. - -Daniel duly posted it and the man whose duty it was to deliver the note -at Hangman’s Hut left it with Mr Beer at the Warren Inn. - -Johnny put it aside until his wife should presently visit Minnie; but it -happened that the note was overlooked until evening. Then, after nine -o’clock, Titus Sim called upon his way to Mrs Sweetland, and he, after -all, was the bearer of the great communication which told Dan’s wife that -she was not a widow. - -Events now rushed upon each other with such speed that to tell the story -of them in exact sequence becomes difficult. For the present we are -concerned with the meeting between Sim and the woman he desired to marry. - -At another time Sim would have inspected the letter that he carried -and, perhaps, noting that it came from Henry Vivian, whose hand he well -knew, the footman, in obedience to his instincts, might have mastered -the contents before delivering it. But Sim was full of his own affairs -to-night. They had reached a climax. Much hung upon the next few hours, -and his own devious career was destined to culminate before another sun -rose. A great enterprise awaited him, and upon it he now prepared to -embark. - -Minnie sat alone beside her lamp, and the man approached her with his -face full of news. Something in the way that he touched her hand told her -of what was coming. - -“Rix Parkinson is dead!” she cried. - -“He is, Minnie; but how did you know that?” - -She marked his use of her Christian name. It savoured of a sort of -insolent right, and she resented it with a look, but not in words. Then -she replied to his question. - -“I knew it the moment that you came in, Mr Sim. Your face told me. He -has not left us long to wait, poor fellow.” - -“He went easily.” - -“We must wait until the earth closes over him, then my Dan--” - -“There is one thing first.” - -He put his hand into his pocket and felt the letter. - -“I had forgotten. Beer gave me this for you. But first listen to me. You -can read when I have gone.” - -“Speak,” she said, and put the letter on the mantel-shelf. - -“I’ve said it once before, but you had no ears then, for your eyes were -full of that terrible news from the West Indies. By some sad trick -Providence willed that I should actually be asking you to marry me at -the moment when you saw the fact of your husband’s death staring at you -in print. Of course I said no more then. But now ’tis different. Now -you know that poor Dan is at rest and is happy. Now you know he was -innocent of that awful charge. Your soul is at peace too. You and I -have the power to clear his name in the sight of the world. That is as -good as done. Only days remain. And afterwards, Minnie? I have a right -to ask that question now. Have I not earned my reward? God knows I’ve -waited patiently enough. I’ve been loyal to you and to him. I’ve proved -my friendship; and if I’d had to put down my life to clear Dan’s name -I’d have done it. What follows? You know what I mean. I’ve waited long -enough. I’ve been patient.” - -“You want me to marry you?” - -“You must; you shall. I’m only flesh and blood--not stone. I’ve waited -at a cost to myself none knows. I’ve endured untold torments. My passion -for you has shortened my days. To hide those burning fires was a task -crueller than woman has a right to ask from man. You’re a human creature. -You must love me--if ’tis only for my love of your dead husband you must -love me. Say you’ll marry me--say it quick. Let my sleep be sweet this -night; let care and fear and dread share my pillow no more.” - -“Who was it planned this evil against Daniel Sweetland? We know who -killed poor Adam Thorpe; but who killed my husband? Find that out, Titus -Sim.” - -“If man can, I will; but leave that for the present. I’m as set on it as -you. ’Tis the task first to my hand after we are man and wife.” - -“Man and wife we never shall be. I’d sooner far, and prouder far, be my -Daniel’s widow than wife of any man. No call to stare. Stare into your -own heart, not into my face. I’ll never marry anybody. Let that content -you. You’ve done your work; now go your way.” - -“You’d drop me so? By God! you make my fingers itch! D’you know what -lies between love and hate? A razor-edge. Don’t scorn me so cold and -cruel. Don’t turn away from the worship of a man whose very life be built -upon your nod. I can’t stand that. ’Tis fatal. My days are nought to me -without you. They are narrowed to a word; you, you, you! Think what I -can give you if you’ve no liking for myself. I’ve got heaps of money--a -small fortune. Hundreds of pounds--all for you. Never another stroke of -work. Your own servant you shall have; and your own slave, too. I’ll be -that. Let me show you what love for a woman is--what love for a woman -can do. Be content to share life with me. Don’t drive me mad by saying -‘no’ again. Don’t turn my love into gall. For ’twill be poison, and that -poison will mean death.” - -“I must face all that you can threaten,” she said. “I’ve spoken. I’ll -marry no man. ’Tis enough to live alone with the blessing of my Dan’s -good name.” - -“That rests with me!” he answered. “Don’t fool yourself to think -everything’s going as you please. If you will make me show my teeth, -’tis your fault, not mine. I’m human. I’ve fought and toiled and sweated -for you, and only you. I’ve done deeper things than ever a man did for -love of you. Grey’s come into my hair for love of you. And now--? No, by -God! the time’s ripe for payment. There’s only two living souls on earth -know that Daniel Sweetland’s innocent of murder, and them two must be -man and wife, or that man’s memory shall stink of blood for evermore! -That’s love! You stare, but I’ve spoken. You refuse me, but in so doing -you leave your husband’s memory foul. Your testimony is nothing without -mine. ’Tis an easy invention for a pious wife; but when they come to -me, I shake my head and say ‘I fear the wish was father to the thought, -for Parkinson said no such thing.’ Tell them! I’d rather die than tell -them. I’ll cut my own throat rather than clear him. That’s love on the -razor-edge. And a mind on a razor-edge too! I’m at a pass now when life -or death be bubbles. You’ve made me desperate. You don’t know--you can’t -guess--a girl like you with ice for a heart--what a man’s raging fires -may be. Speak--don’t look at me with them steady, watch-fire eyes, or -I’ll strangle you!” - -She had never seen any man driven into a desperation that came so near -actual madness. She was alive to her own danger, and yet, knowing a -thing hidden from him, could spare a moment of thankfulness at her own -prescience in the past. For Minnie had never trusted Titus Sim. Even -before the prospect of going with him into the presence of death, she had -feared his honesty. Because she knew him to be a liar, and believed him -capable of any crime. - -“Leave me now,” she said steadily, with her eyes upon his face. “This -be no time for more speech between us. You have declared that my dead -husband’s innocence hangs upon your speech. To prove him honest is all -the world’s got left for me to do. And I will do it. At any cost--even to -marriage with you I’ll do it. _If ’tis only by marrying you that Daniel’s -name can be cleared, then I’ll marry you, Titus Sim._” - -He fell on his knees and made wild, incoherent sounds. He seized her -hands and covered them with kisses. He uttered inarticulate cries and -praised God. She endured it with difficulty, and continually implored him -to depart from her. At last he rose, restrained himself, and spoke more -calmly. - -“Why did you make me say those cruel things? Why did you rouse the devil -in me like that? Right well you know I never meant them. ’Twas only the -very madness of disappointed love made me think of such vile things. -Forget them, Minnie! Forget them and forgive them. I only want your -happiness. Marry me and leave the rest to me. You’ll never be sorry. I’ve -got love enough for both of us. Wait and see. You’ll turn to me yet, and -trust me, and be sorry for me. Then, please God, you’ll come to love me a -little.” - -“Go, now,” she said. “You’ve got my answer.” - -“And sweeter words never fell on a sad man’s ear, my blessed wife to be! -We’ll wait till the dead is buried. We promised him to say nothing until -then. And afterwards all people shall know that your Daniel was innocent.” - -He left her and she locked the cottage door behind him. After that -Minnie fell shivering upon a seat beside the fire, and buried her face -in her hands. She did not fear for herself; she was only frightened at -the strange power within her that had from the first taught her to read -this man aright. A secret voice had always spoken the truth to her heart -concerning him, and now in her sight he stood very knave from head to -heel. Even his faithful love was to her a loathsome circumstance. - -She saw in Titus Sim the unknown accomplice of the dead drunkard. Their -united cunning had planned the subtle and skilful raids at Middlecott; -again and again they had robbed the plantations: again and again Sim, -unsuspected, had slipped from the Court by night and joined Parkinson -at his work. But to Sim alone, his evil genius quickened by love, had -belonged the sequel to the tragedy in Middlecott Lower Hundred. After -Thorpe fell, he had hastened to the empty house on the Moor, well knowing -that it would be empty. The gun he had taken and the gun he had hidden -where he might find it on the first light of day. And now he had left her -to choose between Daniel’s honour and himself, or neither. One depended -upon the other. Her momentary refusal had lifted the curtain from him, -and showed her in a lightning flash the real man. Life was nothing to -him. He had already driven her husband to death, and if she refused him, -she guessed that another swift tragedy would follow upon the refusal. -She thought long and deeply how best to plan the future. But Titus Sim -entered very little into her calculations. - -While still she sat in thought, there came a knock at the door, and Jane -Beer asked to be admitted. Her husband followed her, and while Mrs Beer -kissed Minnie, the publican shook her hand with all his might. - -“’Tis closing time,” he said. “But, though we could close the bar, me -an’ Jane couldn’t close our own eyes till we’d comed over and wished you -joy--first a girl and then a boy--according to the old saying. Sim tells -us you’ve consented at last, so soon all sorrow will be past, an’ if I -don’t tip you a fine rhyme ’pon your wedding day, ’tis pity.” - -The woman smiled and thanked them. - -“And Johnny have brought over a drink,” said Jane Beer. “’Tis some -sparkling wine--one bottle of twelve as we’ve had ever since we opened -house. An’ only one bottle sold all these years. Champagne, according to -the label.” - -Mr Beer drew forth the liquor. - -“Now you shall taste stuff as’ll make you feel as though you’d got -wings,” he told her, “and if you haven’t got no wine-glasses, cups will -do just as well.” - -But Minnie put her hand on his and prevented him from cutting the wires. - -“Stop; this is all wrong; you are mistaken, you kind hearts,” she said. -“Mr Sim didn’t tell you all--or nearly all. I cannot marry him; and if -there was but one man left on earth and ’twas he, I’d not marry him. -’Twas this I said to him; that if the only way to clear my Daniel’s name -was by taking him for a husband, then I’d do it.” - -“He says that you promised?” - -“Only that, Mr Beer. And how if my Daniel’s name don’t lie at the mercy -of Titus Sim? I can’t tell you about it yet. Presently I will.” - -Johnny Beer patted the bottle. - -“Then we’ll keep this high-spirited liquor till we all know where we -are,” he said. “Never shout when you’re in doubt. But we’ll shout an’ -see the stuff foam another day. Come on home, Jane. And I do hope still, -my dear, you’ll let that poor, white-faced wretch find his way into your -heart. For it all points to him; and you can’t bide here wasting your -womanhood in the midst of the desert for ever. You might so well go in a -convent of holy women--a very frosty picture, I’m sure.” - -“My!” said Mrs Beer. “If she haven’t stuck her letter ’pon the -mantel-shelf an’ never read a line of it! Now, to me, a letter’s like a -thorn in my finger till ’tis open and mastered.” - -Minnie handed the note to her friend. She had felt a faint flutter -on seeing it, and thought that by blessed chance Dan might have -written to her again before the end of his life. But the postmark was -‘Moretonhampstead’; the writing she did not know. - -“I’ve no secrets,” said Minnie. “Read it out, Jane. If there’s anything -good in it for me, ’twill be as much a joy to you as to me.” - -“Give it here,” commanded Johnny. “In the matter of reading a letter, I -may be said to know what’s what. I’ll read it aloud, since you’ve got no -secrets, my dear, and if there’s a pennyworth of good in it--enough for -the excuse, I’ll open the champagne after all. We’m on the loose to-night -seemingly.” - -A moment later and the letter was perused. Whereupon Mr Beer found -himself faced with material for a whole volume of new poems. He was also -called upon to open his bottle of champagne in a hurry; for there was no -other stimulant in the house, and very soon necessity for such a thing -arose. - -Henry Vivian wrote carefully and came to the tremendous truth as -gently as possible; but it had to be told, and when she heard it--when -the mighty fact fell upon her ear that Daniel was not dead, but -alive and well and close at hand, ready to visit her on the dawn of -the morrow--Minnie fainted; and Jane Beer very nearly did the same. -Happily, the poet and publican kept his head. His own lady he summoned -to resolution by the force of his uplifted voice. Then he loosed the -champagne cork, which happily flew without hesitation, and soon had wine -at the girl’s white lips. - -It was long before she could listen to the end of the letter. Then the -writer warned her that Daniel found it beyond human power to keep longer -from her side, and that on the following morning, if a black man came -thundering at the door of Hangman’s Hut, she must on no account refuse -him admission. - -“God’s light!” cried Mr Beer. “’Tis after midnight now. I lay the man -will be dressing hisself to come to his wife within an hour or two! To -think--to think that underneath that skin so black Dan Sweetland to his -home came back! But ’tis a dead secret. Me an’ my missus didn’t ought to -know it.” - -“Tis safe enough with us, I’m sure,” said Mrs Beer, rather indignantly. - -“Trust us for that. And now we’ll drain the flowing bowl to that brave -hero. ‘Black but comely.’ And I wonder if he’s black all over? Ban’t -likely, I should think. I hope not, for your sake, my dear. Drink -again--drink to the bottom! ’Tis for him. And don’t you go for to meet -him in that dress. There’s enough black ’pon Dan without you being black -too.” - -“That’s good advice--just like Johnny’s sense. Don’t you appear afore him -like a widow woman,” said Mrs Beer. “’Twould be awful bad luck. You just -put on your pretty print wi’ the lilac pattern. And, after breakfast, -I’ll step over in my dandy-go-risset gown--out of respect. I must see the -young youth afore he washes. ’Twill be a great adventure, I’m sure.” - -She prattled on to distract Minnie’s mind from the force of this shock. -The girl hardly spoke, but sat with her hand in Mrs Beer’s. Sometimes she -sighed, and at last merciful tears came to her eyes and she wept. - -“Now you come along of us,” said Johnny. “I ban’t going to let you bide -here by yourself. You come back an’ have a good sleep with Jane, and I’ll -call you at peep o’ day. Then you can rise up and step home, an’ light -the fire an’ make all ready for his breakfast. ‘Obi’ be his name now, -remember! And, if you’ll believe it, when first he stalked amongst us to -the White Hart, as black an’ silent as a shadow in a coat, if his father -didn’t half see through him! Yes, he did. He up an’ stared an’ said, -‘Why, that niggar do travel exactly like my son Dan!’ Well--the bottle’s -empty. It did its duty better than many a living man have done. I feel it -within me like a cheerful companion, and I hope ’tis the same with you, -ladies. Now, let’s be going.” - -But Minnie would not accompany them. She was firm, and presently regained -her self-possession. - -“I’ve bided here ever since the day I married him,” she said. “I won’t go -now. God sent you both to me this night, for it might have gone hard with -me if I’d took this wonnerful shower of blessings all alone; but your -gentle hands was ready, Jane; an’ you, Mr Beer--” - -“An’ the bottle, my dear.” - -“Yes, yes. Come back to me to-morrow.” - -“So us will then--to think of you having your breakfast with a black -man! Poor Titus! He’ll be so white as t’other be dark. God’s a marvel! -Come on, Jane. Leave her alone. She’d rather. But I lay my wife will be -peeping through the blind to see him come to-morrow! Trust a woman to do -that. Good night, bless your brave heart! ’Tis a glorious reward for all -the grief you’ve suffered.” - -Mrs Beer kissed Minnie and hugged her, and Mr Beer so far forgot himself -as to do the same. - -“’Twas the champagne,” he confessed afterwards. “I got above myself -with the news. My poetic disposition, Jane. If it had been the Queen of -England I should have done the like. To think of the verses to be made -out of such a come-along-o’t!” - -“I know,” answered Mrs Beer. “But what about Adam Thorpe? Of course he -didn’t do it, but the world still thinks he did; and for my part I don’t -see anything to make verses about while the rope be still waiting for the -poor fellow. Black or white, ’tis all one.” - -“But he’s safe, you see! Nobody but us and Mr Vivian and Minnie will know -the secret. And you may bet your life Providence didn’t save him to hang -him. The Lord’s on his side, whatever betide.” - -“That’s comforting, if true,” answered Mrs Beer. “An’ no doubt it is -true,” she added. “When did man or woman find you wrong?” - -They retired and talked on, full of this great matter, until dawn touched -their white window-blind, and Johnny slept. - -A moment later sounds of a galloping horse broke the tremendous silence -of the Moor, and Jane Beer leapt from her bed and ran to the window. - -A rider passed swiftly in the dull beginning of light. Beyond the inn he -turned from the highway and proceeded in the direction of Hangman’s Hut. - -“He wasn’t the black man--that I’m sure!” she exclaimed; but her husband -did not hear, and his only answer was a snore. - -Mrs Beer crept back to his side. - -“White as a dog’s tooth his face was!” she said to herself. “Even in the -cock-light I could see that.” - -She reflected uneasily. Then an explanation came. - -“Why, the chap washed hisself, to be sure! No doubt the black comes off, -like the Christy’s Minstrels us seed to Exeter. He wouldn’t go to see his -wife like a black gorilla.” - -This solution of the difficulty seemed satisfactory to Mrs Beer. “The -good Lord bless ’em!” she said. - -Then she also prepared to sleep; but a hideous din in her ear awoke her. -A bellowing as of a thousand bulls came up from the road. It woke Mr -Beer, as it was meant to do, and with his wife he hastened to peep into -the dawn. Jane then told her husband what she had already seen, and this, -combined with the spectacle now before them, roused both effectually. In -another moment the publican was pulling on his clothes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -MR SIM TELLS THE TRUTH - - -Titus Sim returned home with the spirit of a conqueror. The long struggle -was over and the battle won. Minnie Sweetland had promised to marry him, -if only by so doing her late husband could be proved innocent; and he -well knew there was no alternative. She would keep her word: that he also -knew. - -At supper in the servants’ hall of Middlecott Court, Titus, who arrived -as the others were finishing their meal, showed such evident lightness of -heart that Mr Hockaday, the butler, inquired the cause. Sim ate and spoke -together. He announced his approaching marriage with the widow of Daniel -Sweetland; and Dan, who sat smoking his pipe in a corner of the kitchen -by the fire, heard his friend’s news and witnessed his joy. - -“At last!” said Mr Hockaday. “Well, she have taken her time, no doubt; -but you can’t wonder at that. It had to be; an’ she was worth waiting -for. So there’ll be more changes, and you’ll leave Middlecott, no doubt? -When’s the nupshalls?” - -“I don’t know. That’s for her to say. Soon, I hope. I can’t believe it, -Hockaday; ’tis almost too good to be true. My cup’s full.” - -Dan Sweetland’s pipe went out, and he rose, knocked the ashes from it, -and retired to his room. It was in the servants’ quarters, and he always -took good care to lock the door. None of the domestics had ever seen -the inside of the chamber since Dan became occupant. Had they done so, -it must have much surprised them to find a little photograph of Minnie -Sweetland upon the mantelpiece. - -To this secluded den “Obi” now departed, and his thoughts were a strange -mixture of grave and gay. He was to see his wife in the morning, for -that day had gone the letter from Henry Vivian. But Minnie could not -yet have read the great news, since it seemed that within the hour she -had engaged herself to Titus Sim. The fact struck with petrifying force -upon Daniel’s mind. It woke a wide uneasiness and a great sorrow for the -awful disappointment that must await his friend. Minnie’s own attitude -puzzled him deeply. Could it be true that she had accepted Sim? Could it -be possible that his return to life would not please her? This thought -came and went like a flash of lightning. It left in his mind shame and -wonder that it could have come. Even at that moment he felt joy. She -knew now; the letter must have reached her from Warren Inn after Sim had -gone. She would be waiting for him in the dawn light; she would open her -arms for him before another sun had risen. Only hours remained between -their meeting; but Dan felt that those hours must be occupied with Titus -Sim. To hide his secret from Titus was no longer possible. Often and -often he had blamed himself for doing so. Sim’s love for Minnie had long -been general knowledge and a frequent theme of conversation among men -and maidens at Middlecott Court. Not seldom had Daniel risen and taken -himself beyond earshot. One thing he remembered: that Sim had never in -his hearing spoken an unkind word of him, or an improper one concerning -his wife. Now, upon this night, Sim’s joy hurt and stabbed the man with -the black face. To see Titus thus glad at the possibility of bliss -impossible, was a tragic spectacle for Sweetland. He thought deeply, then -resolved with himself that, despite the terrific shock of it, he would -break the truth to Sim. To delay was the greater cruelty. He had, indeed, -desired from the moment of his landing to let Titus into the great -secret; but Henry Vivian refused to allow him to do so. - -It was past midnight when Daniel, acting upon this new impulse, dressed -himself and went to the room near his own in which Titus slept. A light -was burning and Mr Sim, who had not retired, turned from the writing of a -letter to see the black man standing in the door. - -“Hullo, Obi! Whatever do you want?” he asked; then made the sign of a -question. - -But Daniel answered and Sim fell back speechless upon his bed to hear the -long silent tones. - -“What nightmare’s this? You can speak--speak in that voice? What are you -then?” - -“One as be your friend always--always--one as can’t live this lie no -more--not for you, Titus. It have hurt me to the soul doing it; it have -tormented me day by day to see your honest face and hear your honest -speech. But you must forgive me for coming to life, old pal. ’Twas time -an’ more than time I did so seemingly. After to-night I couldn’t hide -myself behind this black face and this blank silence no more--not from -you. Say you forgive me, Titus. ’Twas life or death, remember.” - -“Your life is my death,” answered the other, slowly. “Do you understand -that?” - -Sim had turned deathly white, and perspiration made his face shine like -ivory. - -“Don’t say such things. You’re a free, honest man as no living soul can -say one word against,” replied Daniel. “Your record be clean, an’ you can -stand up in the face of the nation, and no man can cast a word at you. -Don’t talk of death. ’Tis true I’ve got her--Minnie--my own wife; but -that’s all I have got in the world; an’ God only knows if I shall ever be -able to call her mine afore the people. Don’t grudge me my sole, blessed -joy. Think what I be, Titus--an outcast, a wanderer, a man that have had -to black his face an’ shut his mouth to escape the gallows. Don’t--but -why should I say these things to you? Right well I know the steel you -be forged of. Right well I know you never change. You’m my side still, -Titus? Say you’m my side still. Say you’ve forgived me. ’Twas my neck I -was playing for--I never thought to break your heart by this trick. An’ -you must forgive Minnie, too. ’Twas only yesterday morn that Mr Henry’s -letter went to her. He wouldn’t let me see her before, and he wrote to -break it to her that I was alive an’ not far off. Of course, not knowing -that, she said ‘Yes’ to you. To-morrow--to-day, I should say--at first -glimmer of light, he’ve given me leave to go up along an’ hear what -she’ve got to tell me. Shake my hand--I ban’t black except my face. My -heart’s white an’ well you know it, Titus.” - -He offered his hand and the other took it mechanically. - -“You’ve knocked me all of a heap,” he said. “Let me hear your tale. -’Twill give my heart time to still an’ beat level again. You at my elbow! -And she--this very night--promised to marry me. ’Tis more than a man’s -brain can hold.” - -“Afore she knowed that I was back in life again.” - -Sim desired to think. The crash of this news confused him and unsettled -his mind. - -“Tell your tale from the beginning, Daniel,” he said. “Let me hear it -all: then I’ll tell you mine, and give you some idea of what I’ve been -doing while you was away.” - -“You haven’t cleared up the job in Middlecott Lower Hundred?” - -“Speak your speech,” repeated Sim. “What I’ve got to say I’ll say -afterwards.” - -Thereupon Daniel told his long story from the beginning. He described his -escape, his visit to Minnie, his journey to Plymouth, his experiences in -the _Peabody_. He told of life in the West Indies, of his meeting with -Henry Vivian and the tragedy of Jesse Hagan and Jabez Ford. He finally -explained the reasons for his present disguise, and his hopes how, during -the next few months, that might happen which would clear his name and -prove him an innocent and injured man. - -To this recital, which occupied above an hour, Sim appeared to pay full -heed, but in reality his thoughts were far away. He nodded from time -to time, uttered an ejaculation or expression of wonder or regret, and -suggested that he was devoting his whole mind to his friend’s sensational -story, but in truth the man’s thought was otherwise engaged. Desperation -and malice and hate were the furies that now drove him forward. While -he lent his ear to Daniel, his brains were full of seething wrath, and -he plotted how best to use that night, how best to ruin for ever this -being who had returned thus inopportunely from the grave. He shook in -secret, his rage nearly choked him unseen; and at last caution was -thrown to the winds, craft was forgotten, passion whirled Sim out of -himself, he played his part no more, and as Daniel to his friend had -proclaimed the living truth behind the black veil that hid it, so now -Titus also revealed himself, spoke in a frenzy of disappointed passion, -and stripped his heart to the other’s horrified gaze. Even in the full -tempest and springtime of his fury, Sim perceived that he held the upper -hand, and made that clear to Sweetland. The truth, indeed, he told, -but without a witness, and it was beyond the listener’s power to prove -anything. He might repeat Sim’s infamous confession, but there were none -to substantiate the story. Only one man could have done so, and he lay -waiting for his funeral on the morrow. - -“I’ve heard you, now hear me,” said the footman. “The Devil’s kept you -for the rope, Dan Sweetland; and ’twas I wove the rope and shall live to -know you’ve worn it. Your friend once, your bitter enemy to the death -from the day that woman put you before me and chose you for her husband. -After that I cursed your shadow when you passed and only waited the -right moment to get you out of my road for evermore. In the nick of time -the chance fell, and I--that you trusted as a pig trusts the butcher--I -caught you like a rabbit in a snare. Glare at me! Stare your damned black -eyes out of your head! I did it--did it all! And I’ve not done with you -yet--remember that. Rix Parkinson’s a dead man now--gone to have it out -in hell with Adam Thorpe. ’Twas Rix that shot him, and ’twas I that -thrashed your father the same night. We worked very well together--Rix -and me. Look out of the window. Only a six-foot drop--you’ll have the -same drop presently--with a rope round your neck. Down that wall I’ve -gone a hundred times. Rix drank damnation with his money; I put my share -away and let it grow. You was the black sheep in everybody’s mouth. -I--that was twice and twenty times the skilled sportsman you was--I went -my way quiet and unsuspected. Many and many and many’s the night me and -Parkinson thinned the pheasants. Then came that hour when your old fool -of a father and Adam Thorpe blundered on us. The best men will make a -mistake now and again; yet after all’s said, the mistake was theirs, for -one lost his life and t’other got his grey head broken. And then ’twas, -after we’d gathered our birds again and gone, that the thought of what -might be came to me. ‘Sweetland’s the man for this dirty work,’ says the -Devil to me; and in an hour, when Rix was away with the birds, I went up -over to your new home and found you at hand. You almost walked on top of -me as you went away; then I slipped into the hovel by unlatching a back -window with a bit of wire, and there was your gun waiting for me, with -cartridges in it as had just been fired! I saw you hanging in Exeter gaol -from that moment, if Thorpe died. The rest you know. I hid the gun that -night afore the hue and cry, and, come morning, found it put away very -carefully where ’twas supposed you meant to come for it some other day. -Meantime Thorpe died in hospital. ’Twas all as easy as lying. And now you -stand where you stood the hour that you were arrested. You’re a doomed -man, for only I can prove your innocence, and that I never will. That’s -what it is to come between a man and a woman he loves. If I don’t have -her, nobody shall have her--least of all you.” - -The other rose and gasped in amazement at this narrative. - -“Be it Sim I hear, or some cold-blooded Dowl as have got into his shape?” - -“You know well enough, ruin seize you! Wrecked my life--that’s what -you’ve done; but the last word’s mine. I haven’t worked and toiled by -night and day for this. I’ll have her yet. Why not? You’re dead already! -Go--get out of my sight--sleep your last easy sleep. Go, I say, or I’ll -do for you with my own hand! ’Tis time you were in hell. An’ there I’ll -follow you; but not yet--not yet. Many a long year’s start of me you’ll -have. I must marry and get children; and if I live long enough, I’ll -cheat the Devil yet; but you--your thread’s spun; dead and buried in -quicklime you shall be!” - -Nothing could have exceeded the frantic passion with which Sim uttered -this whirl of words. They burst from him with explosions and nearly -choked him. His eyes blazed, his limbs worked spasmodically. For the time -he behaved like a malignant lunatic. - -Sweetland perceived that little was to be gained by further speech with -one insane. Therefore he rose and went away, that Titus might have -time to reflect and recover his senses. How much of this confession to -believe, Daniel did not know. At first, though dazed by such dreadful -tidings, he had credited the story and set it down to love run mad; -but when real madness blazed on Sim’s white face and he ceased to -be coherent--when the baffled rascal, in his storm and hurricane of -disappointment, raved of death and hell, Dan began to suppose him insane -in earnest. The wish was father to the thought. Even in his bewilderment -and consternation at this result of his confession to his friend, there -came sorrow for Titus Sim, and grief that such an awful catastrophe had -overtaken him. He longed to believe the whole dreadful story was spun of -moonshine; but he could not. There was too much method in it. Sim had -been responsible for all, and still too clearly desired his destruction. - -For a few moments Sweetland stood irresolute at the door of the footman’s -room. Then he crept back to his own. No sign of day had yet dawned. As -he stood in profound thought, a clock below struck two. - -At last the determination to see his master overcame Daniel. The gravity -of his position was such that he did not hesitate. In a few moments he -knocked at Henry Vivian’s door and was admitted. - -The young man had now reached convalescence, but still kept his room. A -fire was burning, and Vivian rose and lighted a lamp. - -“Come in,” he said. “I cannot sleep. I suppose you can’t either, Dan. -Well, an hour or two more and you’re in her arms! Be cautious and get -back before the house is stirring. Put that soup on the fire and give me -a cigarette. I wish you could take your wife some good news; but we hope -the good news may come from her. You know what my father’s opinion is. He -believes in you stoutly and will not raise a finger against you. But of -course he thinks I left you in Tobago.” - -Dan waited for his master to finish speaking, and then told him what had -happened. Sweetland was so impressed with this new peril now sprung upon -him, that he had not thought how the story of Sim would strike another -listener. But Vivian’s attitude was naturally of a sort to relieve the -innocent man not a little. - -“Of all the infernal scoundrels I ever heard, this knave is the worst!” -he cried. “But there’s no time to waste. We must strike instantly, or -it may be too late. Even now precious time has been wasted. Confound my -weakness! I can’t help you. Will you wake John, or Hockaday, or are you -equal to tackling him single-handed?” - -“Tackling Sim? Of course I can do it, sir. Come to think of it, he -ought to be thrashed for thrashing my old father. But what good will a -thrashing do?” - -“None. I don’t mean that. Only he must be made fast before he can take -any steps against you. I must see him. Go! Go! It was madness to leave -him. Bring him to me, and if he refuses to come, shout and rouse the -house.” - -Sweetland started instantly, but his master called him back. - -“Take this pistol,” he said. “This man’s a thousand times more dangerous -than you dream of. Either mad or sane, it would be better for you to be -in a cage with a tiger than with him. If he touches you, fire on him--and -fire first. If he obeys you, bring him here, and let him walk in front of -you. Be quick!” - -Dan took the weapon and hurried back to Sim’s room, but it was empty. For -a moment he stood staring round it, and, in that silence, he heard a -horse gallop out of the stable yard not far distant. Henry Vivian’s fears -were confirmed, and Titus had made first move in the grim game now to be -played. - -Dan rushed back with his news. - -“You were right, sir; he’s gone--just galloped out of the yard. He’s off -to the police station!” - -“Not he,” answered the other. “Run for your life--or her life--your wife, -Dan! That’s where he’s gone, and that’s where you’ll find him. Fly--take -my horse; but I’m afraid he has; and, if so, you’ll never catch him. -Nothing we’ve got will overtake my gelding.” - -But his last words were spoken to air, for Dan, albeit he had been slow -to rouse, was indeed alive at last. In two minutes he had left the house. -There was no difficulty, for the doors stood open as Sim had left them. -But Vivian’s fast hack was not in the stable, and nothing else there, -under Dan’s heavy weight, stood the smallest chance of catching it. - -The first tremor of dawn was in the sky, and its ghastly ray touched a -circle of plate glass. The glass belonged to the great front lamp of -Henry Vivian’s new motor-car, and it stood there, the incarnation of -sleeping strength and speed. There was no time to ask leave or return -to the house, but Daniel knew his master’s only regret would be that -he could not accompany him. He understood the great machine well, and -had already driven it on several occasions. It was of forty horse-power -and easily able to breast the steep acclivities that stretched between -Middlecott Court and the Moor; but the road was dangerous and a good -horse had power to proceed more swiftly over half of the ground than any -vehicle on wheels. Once in the Moor, however, it might be possible to -make up lost ground. For four or five miles Daniel calculated that he -could drive the car many times as fast as a horse could gallop. Thus he -might get even with Sim at the finish. - -As quickly as possible he lighted the lamp, set the motor in motion, and -went upon his way. As he departed he hooted loudly, that Henry Vivian -might know the thing he had done. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -FIVE MILES IN FIVE MINUTES - - -Dawn fought with night and slowly conquered as Dan in the great motor -panted upwards from Middlecott to the high lands above. His way led -through dense woods, and the blaze of the lamp threw a cone of light far -ahead, while the wheels beneath him turned silently and swiftly over a -carpet of pine needles under the darkness, or jolted over the tree roots -that spread in ridges across the way. To the east a cold pallor stole -between the regiments of trunks, but as yet no bird called or diurnal -beast moved from its holt. In the earth as he drove along, Dan could mark -the fresh imprint of hoofs upon the ground, stamped darkly there. The -gate at the end of the wood hung open as the horseman had left it, and -Sweetland perceived that his master was in the right. Now, chafed by the -sweet cold air, his black face burned and his blood leapt at his heart. -But anger it was that heated him. The trust and friendship and honest -love of a lifetime were turned in these terrible moments to hatred. -As he leapt forward and altered his gear for climbing a steep and -tortuous hill, his mind’s gear likewise changed. From his soul he shut -off love and pity for ever; he forgot all this knave had suffered, but -only remembered his own sufferings and accumulated misfortunes. Sim had -hoped, and still hoped, to hang him; Sim had seized the chance offered -by the Devil to tear him from his young wife’s side upon their wedding -day; Sim had plotted and planned with a spider’s patience and craft to -fill his shoes; and even now what fiend’s errand might he be upon? But -the luxury of rage was not for this moment. Once Dan’s hand shook and in -a second he came near wrecking the motor between lofty hedge-banks. He -saved it by six inches and turned cold at the danger averted. Her life -might depend upon his skill and coolness now. The car grunted slowly up -a stiff hill of rough and broken surface. Here a horse’s progress must -be infinitely swifter than his own. His heart sank at the necessary -tardiness of progress; but his anger died, and, when it was possible to -increase speed, the man had mastered himself and drove with utmost skill -and judgment. - -Light began to gather in the sky, and Dan was glad, for in five minutes -more he would be upon the waste land and must make his effort. From the -Moor gate to Johnny Beer’s publichouse was five miles, and Sweetland -calculated that if he could accomplish that distance in as many minutes, -he and Sim ought to arrive at the inn together. But two long and stiff -hills occurred upon the road. These must slow him down considerably and, -to make up for the lost time, it would be necessary to take declivities -and level ground at the greatest pace his car could travel. He thoroughly -estimated the tremendous risks he ran and the fatal issue of any mistake. -He was only thankful that, for good or ill, the ordeal must be over in -minutes. Either he would perish with a broken neck, or he would save -his wife from possible destruction. It was now light enough to see the -road ahead. The Moor gate, blown by the wind, also hung open; he rushed -forward without slackening of speed. - -Sim, it seemed, had not counted upon such swift pursuit. By shutting the -gates behind him, he had much improved his own chances, but all stood -ajar save one, and Sweetland’s hope was so much the higher. Now out on -the high Moor, no further obstacles could be met with. The surface was -good, the road wide, and it was unlikely that any vehicle would share the -way with him or be passed, either going or approaching. Ponies or sheep -might, indeed, interrupt him, but he trusted to his hooter to frighten -them away before he reached them. - -Dan set the powerful machine at work in earnest, and he felt it gather -itself together beneath him, like a living thing, hum like a hive of -bees, and leap forward with accelerated speed. The road, glimmering in -dawn light, seemed a shining white ribbon that was wound up by the car as -it flew onwards. There came a sensation that he sat upon a huge, busy, -but motionless monster that was swallowing the track. The roadway poured -under his wheels like a river; the Moor to right and left wound away like -mighty wheels whose axes were on the horizon. - -Though Dan drove the five miles in rather less than five minutes, the -time to him seemed very long. Twice he was in peril, and twice escaped -death by a shade. At a steep hill, where it became absolutely necessary -to slow down, he put on pace again too soon while yet fifty yards of -the declivity remained to be run. But the car responded quicker than -he expected, and on a little bridge, which spanned the bottom of the -coomb and crossed a stream, his right fore-wheel actually touched the -parapet and the hub of the wheel struck a splinter from the granite, -which shot upward like a bullet and tore Dan’s elbow to the bone. Then -came the last straight mile--a long and level tract upon whose left -stood Bennett’s Cross, while to the right lay Furnum Regis, the Oven of -the King. Now a final rush began, and straining his watering eyes to -look ahead and see if by chance Titus Sim might be in sight, Dan saw, -three hundred yards in front of him, a sheep standing upon the middle -of the road with its back towards the car. He was now running more than -eighty miles an hour, and only seconds separated him from the creature. -He sounded his hooter, but the sheep did not move, and Dan had barely -time to grip the iron rail in front of him when there came the crash of -impact. The car was now skimming the ground rather than running upon it; -thus the full weight of the motor struck the wether. It was hurled ten -yards forward and fell in a crushed heap of wool and bones. The impact -carried away the motor-lamp, which dropped to the right, and the car had -passed between lamp and sheep and was a hundred yards beyond them before -Dan drew his breath. A bolt had given at one end of the bar he held, and -a moment later it became detached in his hand. - -Half a minute more and the Warren Inn came into sight, while, at the same -moment, Daniel saw a horse galloping hard three hundred yards ahead -of him. Compared with the speed of the car, it appeared to be standing -still; but just as he found himself beside it, the Warren Inn rose on -his right, and Sweetland was forced to slow down that he might stop. -As he did so he sounded the hooter with all his might to waken Beer. -Sim, on the horse, had become aware of a motor’s approach long before -it reached him, and, guessing that Dan was following, he had pushed his -horse too fast. He knew it was failing; but he also knew that Sweetland -must slow down before he could alight, and the sequel proved him correct, -for Daniel had already overshot the turning to Hangman’s Hut by two -hundred yards before he could pull up. By rather more than two hundred -yards, therefore, Sim had a start upon the half-mile of rough ground -that separated the high road from Minnie’s home. Sim was also mounted, -but herein lay no advantage, for his steed, cruelly over-ridden, now -came down with a crash and threw the rider over his head. Titus turned -a clean somersault and fell in a peat mire on his back unhurt. Dripping -with black mud from head to heel, but none the worse, he rushed on, and -as Daniel breasted the last hillock, he saw Titus knock at the door of -Hangman’s Hut and Minnie throw it wide. Sim’s fall had lost him ground, -and he was not a hundred yards ahead of his enemy when he entered the -cottage. - -Wild monsters both the men looked now, but Sweetland’s guise was the -strangest. His shirt had blown open, his hat was off. A breast ivory -white supported his ink-black neck and face. A sleeve had been torn away -as he leapt out of the car, and from a white arm extended a black hand -dripping blood. The blow at the bridge he had not felt, but the man’s arm -was deeply wounded and now gore freely dripped from the injury. In his -hand he carried the front bar of the motor-car, which had come off. Henry -Vivian’s pistol was still in his pocket, but he had forgotten it. - -The way now led downhill, and little more than ten seconds had elapsed -before Daniel reached the door of his home. It was shut, but he threw -himself against it and the latch broke. Then he stood in the kitchen of -the cottage and saw Sim with Minnie on her knees at his feet. Titus was -bending over her, and he had one hand on her hair dragging back her head. -The other hand held a jack-knife to his mouth, and he opened this weapon -with his teeth as Sweetland sprang in upon him. Sim’s hand went back for -the blow, but it was not delivered. Instead, his arm was pinned to his -side and he found himself wrestling with a demon. - -Both men were powerful, but both were spent. Sweetland had lost much -blood from his elbow, and he found himself growing weak. Titus had fared -better, though he too blew hard after a half-mile run. - -He had come to kill Minnie Sweetland; now he exulted and worked to tire -out the other. The knife had fallen out of his hand, but as Minnie rushed -to reach it from him, Sim put his foot upon it. - -“So much the better!” he cried, going down easily as Daniel threw him. -“Do what you like--go on--you’re bleeding to death! But Death’s self -sha’n’t cheat me of you. Your death’s my--” - -He spoke no more, for Sweetland was now quite aware that only moments -separated him from falling. He was growing weak fast, and his head swam. -He knew that he must strike, and strike with every atom of strength that -remained to him, or he would drop unconscious and leave his wife to her -fate. For a moment he relaxed his hold, and as he did so Sim’s arm shot -out and he grasped his knife. Then a strange thing happened, for the -watching woman, who had disregarded Daniel’s order to fly and escape, -flung herself straight between the men; and it seemed that it was not to -shield her husband, but the would-be murderer, that she came. Daniel had -only loosed his grip to regain his iron bar. This he did and, in using -it, he was quicker than Sim. Even as the footman regained his knife, the -other, now on his knees, raised the heavy and shining metal rod over his -shoulder and, with both hands and all his remaining strength, brought it -down upon Sim’s head. Then between that certain death and the man’s skull -Minnie lifted her slight arm and broke the blow. Like a carrot the bone -cracked, but force enough still remained in Daniel’s stroke to stretch -out his enemy senseless. - -“God’s life! Why for did you do that?” cried Dan. “Oh--your little -arm--Minnie--Minnie!” - -“’Tis only broke,” she said. “That’s naught. I saw you were going to kill -him. ’Twould have wasted all my work for ’e, husband, an’ spoilt all the -time to come. You be free afore the world, an’ innocent afore the world. -I can prove it, Dan. I can prove it!” - -For answer his head rolled back and he fell forward from his knees to the -ground. She stood above the two unconscious men, herself tottering and -powerless to help either. - -Then it was that Beer, in the lightest of attire, and followed by his -wife, rushed upon the scene. Mrs Sweetland bade him first tend her -husband, and Johnny soon propped Dan’s head and tied up the bleeding arm -above the elbow. After that Dan recovered consciousness and called to his -wife. - -“Give me something to drink--spirits. I shall be all right in an hour. -You was right, Min. ’Twould have been a poor home-coming to kill this -devil. But your arm--that awful sound.” - -“You go,” said Johnny to his wife. “Get a bottle of brandy and nip back -as quick as lightning. And call the boy at the same time an’ tell him to -saddle the pony an’ ride like hell for Dr Budd. This chap’s dead, I’m -thinking.” - -He spoke of Sim, who had not recovered consciousness. - -“What May games be these, Dan Sweetland?” asked Mr Beer. Dan, however, -had no leisure for Johnny. He lay quite still and fought to keep -consciousness. - -“Us can’t wait for Sim,” he said; “Minnie’s more than this here man. -After I’ve took in a tumbler of spirits, I’ll stand up again and get to -the car. Then I’ll drive her straight to the cottage hospital and come -back for Sim. He’s not dead. ’Twas that li’l broken arm there saved him.” - -“A masterpiece you be, sure enough! Black, an’ blue, an’ bloody; an’ yet -the real old Dan Sweetland, an’ no other! Let me see your elbow again. -Yes, it have done bleeding now.” - -“Don’t trouble about me,” said Dan. “Listen to his chest an’ see if you -can hear his heart beating. Ban’t no odds if I’ve killed him; for if I -hadn’t done it, he’d have killed me an’ my wife too. A near shave, by -God! He had her by the hair an’ thicky pig-sticking knife between his -teeth.” - -“However comed you to let him in after last night, my dear?” asked Johnny. - -“I was on the watch,” she answered. “I seed a man with a black face -running through the dawnlight, an’ I didn’t stop to think, but rushed to -the door an’ flinged it open for him. He was on me like a tiger, an’ I -thought ’twas all over when my husband leapt at him.” - -“A brave day’s doings,” said Mr Beer. “Matter for a book of verses, if -you only get well again, Daniel.” - -As he spoke he put his ear to the breast of Titus Sim, and the others -waited in silence. - -“There’s something going on,” pronounced the publican. “The works be -moving--no doubt ’tis the organ of his heart. But it don’t sound too -merry by no means. However, where there’s life there’s hope; and where -there’s death there’s hope in another world. Though ’twill take the -Almighty all His time to get this chap saved. Cut off with murder in his -heart!” - -Mrs Beer returned. She had run all the way, and could not speak for a -time. Daniel drank the spirits like a sailor; then Minnie was made to -take a little, but not until it had been attempted to get some down the -throat of Sim. This, however, proved impossible. - -“I’d take him with us in the car,” said Sweetland, “but ’twill be all I -can do to get to it myself. The doctor may look after him. Now, if you -give me an arm, Johnny, I’ll make shift to walk to the road.” - -Mrs Beer remained by the senseless footman, and her husband supported -Daniel to the motor. Minnie followed them. She was suffering great agony, -but made no sound. Once, midway between the cottage and the road, Daniel -sat down to rest and drank more brandy; then he reached the motor and -mounted it. Minnie climbed by his side, and the car was turned slowly -round. Dan now felt better, and refused Johnny Beer’s offer to accompany -him. - -“I be right now,” he answered. “You go back to that devil in my house, -an’ save his filthy life, if you can.” - -Half way to Moreton, Daniel passed the doctor hastening on horseback to -Hangman’s Hut. The medical man stopped a moment, directed Minnie how to -place her arm that her pain might be lessened, and then rode forward -again. - -The husband and wife hardly spoke upon the journey into Moretonhampstead, -and it was Minnie’s turn to succumb as the grey, snug shelter of the -cottage hospital came before her eyes. A minute later she was carried out -of the car, and within an hour her broken arm had been set, and she found -herself in a comfortable bed with kind hands busy for her. - -In the afternoon of that day Daniel, who had slept for six hours and -taken plenty of useful nourishment, came to spend a little while with his -wife. He found her light-headed, and only stopped five minutes. He felt -the greatest alarm, but those in attendance on the case assured him there -was no need to do so. - -Next morning Minnie was better, and Daniel’s visit went far to restore -the even tenor of her mind and customary, patient self-control. - -“They brought Sim here last night,” he said. “Mr Vivian went up himself -and fetched the man down with the doctor in the motor-car. And they tell -me that at midnight Sim came to his senses. He’ve got a concussion of the -brain; but his head-bones ban’t cracked, thanks to you; an’ he’s very -likely to live.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -JOHNNY BEER’S MASTERPIECE - - -Minnie Sweetland had no time to lose, for well she understood that -the police would not wait her pleasure. It behoved her, if possible, -instantly to prove her husband’s innocence, and, in order to do so, -certain witnesses and a magistrate, before whom they could testify upon -oath, were necessary. On the night of the catastrophe, before she slept, -Daniel’s wife was permitted to see Mrs Prowse, the widow who had attended -to Rix Parkinson during his last hours; and this woman, familiar with -the truth, promised to do all that was right before the following day. -Finally, the wife obtained a physician’s solemn promise that the police -should not take her husband until Sir Reginald Vivian was familiar with -the circumstances; then, knowing that Dan was safe, she slept. But her -repose proved fitful and broken by pain. Thankfully she welcomed dawn and -gladly prepared for an ordeal now hastening upon her. - -At eleven o’clock a magistrate, with Sir Reginald Vivian, Henry Vivian, -Mrs Prowse, her son, Samuel Prowse, and a shorthand writer entered -the room where Minnie lay. Nurses were also in attendance, and before -Mrs Sweetland told her story, Daniel and the physician of the hospital -appeared. - -Then the wife made her statement. She spoke calmly and clearly; there was -no hesitation in her voice; and those present were able to confirm her -account in every particular. - -“When Titus Sim told me that poor Rix Parkinson was going to die and -wanted to see me before he went, I was ready to visit him at once. Mr Sim -said that he believed that Rix Parkinson could prove my husband innocent. -It was understood also that there must be a witness of what was said. And -Mr Sim was to be that witness. I have never trusted him; so I thought it -would be well if there was another witness. I told Mrs Prowse about it, -and she agreed with me that it might be safer. I had already spoken to -Sam Prowse here. He was always a friend to my Daniel, and I trusted him. -As he lived next door to Mr Parkinson, it was easy to have him there. His -mother took Samuel into the sick man’s room while Mr Parkinson slept. -He was hidden in a hanging cupboard, and heard every word that passed. -Afterwards, when we had gone, and the sufferer was asleep again, his -mother let him out. None knew about it excepting Mrs Prowse and Samuel -and me. Samuel wrote down from memory everything that Rix Parkinson said. -You can compare what he wrote with what I am going to tell you. I have -not seen Sam Prowse since that day, and I do not know what he wrote.” - -Minnie then told the story of all that the dead man had confessed, -and young Prowse confirmed it. His mother also explained how she had -concealed him in the room of the dying man. Minnie went on to tell of -Sim’s offer of marriage and his threat when she refused him. Daniel next -told his story, related that he had revealed himself to Sim, and that -Sim, inflamed by passion, had returned truth for truth and laid bare -his own plot to destroy his old friend and marry the widow. Of this -statement, however, there was no witness; but, viewed in the light of -Sim’s subsequent actions, it appeared in the highest degree credible. -That Sim was the dead poacher’s accomplice also seemed certain. Minnie -mentioned the broken pipe found by her after the poaching raid at Flint -Stone Quarry, and the horn button, which she had picked up in Middlecott -Lower Hundred. She had kept both articles, and, after sewing on another -button for him, was positive that the button found at Middlecott -belonged to Sim’s legging, by reason of its unusual pattern and notched -edge. To the button Sir Reginald attached no importance, since Sim had -been early upon the scene of the murder in the wood: but the pipe was -serious evidence. - -Titus Sim himself proved not well enough to be interrogated at this stage -of affairs; but a week later he left the hospital under arrest, and, on -the same day, Sweetland also departed. The footman confessed to nothing; -but his wife’s testimony proved sufficient to free Daniel and prove him -innocent. A very genuine triumph therefore awaited the young man. Even Mr -Corder from Plymouth wrote and congratulated him; and in the streets the -small boys crowded behind him and shouted “Hurrah!” - -His father now wearied the world with Dan’s praises; his mother spent -half her time on her knees thanking God, and the other half running after -her son. But, thanks to Henry Vivian and Sir Reginald, something more -solid than popularity awaited Daniel. The knight, who counted little of -first importance but the life and prosperity of his son and heir, amazed -even Daniel’s mother by his attitude towards young Sweetland. - -He sent for the hero of the moment, and a curious scene took place -between them, the drift of which was hidden from Daniel until some weeks -afterwards. Upon this occasion Sweetland, off whose face Jesse Hagan’s -dye had scarcely as yet departed, found the master of Middlecott and the -village schoolmaster awaiting him. On the study table were pens, ink -and paper, statements of accounts, and various more or less complicated -memoranda. - -“Now, Dan,” said Sir Reginald, “I’m a man of few words, and hate to waste -them. Therefore the meaning of this business can very well be left to -take care of itself. To explain it now might be to do an unnecessary -thing; so I’ll explain afterwards, if explanations are called for. This -is Mr Bright, the master of the Board School. You know him already, and -he tells me you were a sharp pupil and good at figures, though abominably -lazy. I hope he’s right for your own sake, so far as the mathematics are -concerned. During the next two hours or more Mr Bright is going to put -you through your facings and see what you are good for. Do your best. -Upon receiving his report, you shall hear from me. When the examination -is ended, some supper will be served for you both.” - -Sir Reginald retired and for three hours Dan and his old schoolmaster -wrestled with figures. After midnight the young man went home to Minnie -with his head spinning. - -A week later the mystery was solved and Sweetland received a letter from -Middlecott which much surprised him. It was an autograph communication -from Sir Reginald himself. - -“My gratitude, young man,” he wrote, “is already familiar to you. Under -Heaven you were instrumental in saving my son’s life, and that alone -ensures for you my active regard and interest while I myself live. The -only question in my mind, since your acquittal, has been to find out how -best I may advance your welfare: and at the instance of my son, whose -brain is quicker than my own, I agreed to offer you a very onerous and -responsible appointment--on one condition. The work requires a clear head -and some knowledge of figures. Experience might also have been reasonably -demanded but this I waived. You have already shown qualities of mental -readiness, nerve and ability which, had they been exercised upon worthy -instead of highly improper pursuits, might have excited admiration -instead of suspicion. But your unruly past is forgotten and forgiven -before the knowledge that you saved Henry Vivian’s life. Therefore, -since Mr Bright reports that your attainments, though not splendid, -are quite respectable, and that your remarkable facility for learning -will soon make you master of the art of bookkeeping by double entry, I -have determined to offer you the post of assistant overseer at my sugar -estates in the island of Tobago. Consult with your wife whether she will -entertain this proposal. The climate is healthy but exceedingly hot. -My son will return to the West Indies for a short time in the autumn; -you will follow if you agree to do so; and the nature of your duties -will then be made clear to you. The necessary practical experience can -only be acquired on the spot; but I trust you to learn quickly, and I -believe that the measure of your knowledge will swiftly increase to the -measure of your gratitude when you receive this offer. But you must not -be too much obliged. I am under an obligation to you of the mightiest -description, and not the least of an old man’s diminishing ambitions is -to see you and your courageous and noble-minded wife happily embarked -upon a worthy and a prosperous career.” - -“Minnie!” bawled Daniel, “listen to this here! Of course ’tis settled. -To think of you seeing the world! ‘Exceedingly hot,’ he says. But I lay -’twon’t half be so hot as ’twas last time I was there!” - -“If you’d let me read your letter, dear heart, I should know a thought -clearer what you was talking about, and how to advise,” answered Mrs -Sweetland. - - * * * * * - -There came a merry night at the “White Hart,” and the bar hummed with -conversation and laughter. Not a few friends were present; not a few were -missing. - -“Have a drink along o’ me, Matthew?” said Mr Beer. “You’ll ax why I’m in -this shop instead of behind my own counter; but the missus is to home, -an’ I told her that after saying ‘good-bye’ to Dan and Minnie, I should -make a night of it along with a few of the best. Well, they be gone after -the sun. You bore yourself very stiff at the station. If he’d been my -boy, I should have blubbered--such a soft fool am I. But I’m afraid your -missus felt it cruel.” - -“She’ll be all right,” said Matthew Sweetland. “Think of the glory of it! -Man’s work he’ve gone to do. An’ no rough job neither. Figures! It dries -my old woman’s eyes when I put it to her how uplifted he be. Hundreds of -pounds will pass through his hands! They trust him, an’ well they may -trust him.” - -“And do you trust him yet?” croaked Gaffer Hext from his corner. - -The gamekeeper laughed. - -“’Tis a fair hit,” he answered. “But I’ve owned up afore all men that I -wronged Daniel, an’ humbly axed my own son’s pardon for doubting him. If -he can forgive me, you chaps did ought to. Come to think of it, ’tis no -business of yourn, when all’s said.” - -Mr Bartley and the young man Samuel Prowse were discussing a recent trial. - -“In my wide experience of evil-doers,” said the policeman, “I never -met his match for far-reaching cunning. Such a straight Bible face -too--looked you in the eyeball like honesty’s self! And all the time no -better’n a nest of snakes in his heart. From a professional view, ’tis -a thing to be proud of, perhaps--I mean, to have the wickedest criminal -ever knowed in the west country come from among us. ’Tis a sort of fame, -I suppose.” - -“Your business have turned your head, Bartley,” declared Mr Hext. “’Tis -a thing to be shamed of, not proud of--a blot upon us--that such a -outrageous rip should appear here in this peaceful an’ honest town.” - -“He wasn’t Devonshire, however,” explained Prowse. “The man comed from -over the border, I believe.” - -“Somerset’s welcome to him,” said Sweetland. “Anyway he’s out of -mischief for five years. Maybe Portland Prison will drive the fear of God -into the man; but I’m not hopeful.” - -“’Twas a near touch they didn’t fetch him in mad,” explained Bartley. -“The chap who defended him tried terrible hard to do it; and he based his -plea ’pon the fact that, even after he was bowled out, Titus Sim wouldn’t -confess and wouldn’t support that last dying speech of Parkinson’s. - -“But he did afterwards,” Sam Prowse reminded them. “He confessed after -that he’d been Parkinson’s accomplice all along.” - -“Yes, after he’d got his five years and knew the worst,” returned Mr -Bartley. “He wasn’t mad, though he certainly had a great gift of loving a -woman, which may be a sort of madness.” - -“There were strong qualities in the man,” declared Gaffer Hext; “but once -let the devil in, he’ll soon mix the ingredients of our natures and turn -all sour, however good the material.” - -“They found four hundred and seventy-three pounds, ten and eightpence -to his name in the bank,” said Johnny Beer. “Fifty pounds more than I -began wedded life with. A very saving man; the last of the big poachers, -you might say. There’ll be none so great an’ skilled as him an’ Rix -Parkinson in the future.” - -“I hope you’m right, Johnny, with all my soul,” answered Mr Sweetland. - -“To think of they two young brave hearts on the rolling deep!” mused Mr -Bartley. “I wonder if the ocean be fretful to-night?” - -“What was you writing in your pocket-book, Johnny, just after we gave -’em three cheers an’ the train steamed out o’ the station this morning?” -asked Samuel Prowse. - -“Why, be sure ’twas verses,” answered Mr Bartley. “At a rare time like -that, ’tis well known the rhyme rolls out of Beer like perspiration off a -man’s brow at harvesting. Come, Johnny, wasn’t you turning a verse about -it?” - -“If truth must be told, I was,” confessed the publican. “Upon such great -occasions the fit takes me, like drink will take another. I must rhyme or -be ill. ’Twas the same in the courthouse, while us was waiting for the -verdict. And though I ban’t the best judge, my wife said of the poetry -I done to Exeter assizes at the trial of Sim, that it read like print -an’ made her go goose-flesh down the spine. We all know she’s weak where -I’m concerned, but notwithstanding few have got more sense than her; and -strangely enough, the rhyme about Titus Sim’s sentence and trial be in my -pocket this minute by a lucky accident. If anybody would like--?” - -“Nothing upon that grim subject to-night, Johnny,” said Matthew -Sweetland; “but if you’ve got the stuff you turned out at the station, -and if it’s merry, us’ll hear it patiently, I make no doubt.” - -Mr Beer was disappointed; but the company supported Daniel’s father. - -“As you like, of course; but I haven’t polished it up, you know. Many of -my best verses I’ve often been knowed to write over twice. My wife will -bear witness of it. But as for merry rhymes, I do think I’m better at -solemn ones. There’s more sting to ’em. Mirth an’ joy an’ an extra glass -to the health of a lass, an’ so on, be all very well; but they read tame -unless you was on the spot yourself an’ knowed how it tasted. Nothing on -God’s earth be so uninteresting reading as the account of other folks at -a revel, if you wasn’t there. But with tragic matters, the creepiness be -very refreshing, an’ the fact you wasn’t there adds to the pleasure. The -very heart of comfortable tragedy be to look on at other people in a hell -of a mess, while you’m all right, with your pint an’ your pipe drawing -easy.” - -“Merry verses or none, however,” declared Gaffer Hext. “What Sweetland -says be proper. Ban’t a comely thing to gloat over a man when he’s down. -Sim have got five years--an’ that’s prose; an’ ’tis more than any man can -do to make it poetry. So let’s have what you’ve writ to-day of Minnie -Sweetland an’ Dan--that or nought.” - -Johnny pulled forth his rhyme. - -“I’m in your hands,” he said. “The polish be lacking, but the rhymes is -there I believe. ’Tis pretty generally granted to me that, whatever be -the quality when I pen verses, the quantity’s generous and the rhymes -come regular.” - -“Not a doubt of it, an’ you’d be a famous man if you was better knowed,” -declared Mr Sweetland. - -“For that matter, they as near as damn it printed a rhyme of mine in -the _Newton Trumpet_ awhile back,” answered Johnny. “I heard two months -afterward, from a young man as works there, that if they hadn’t lost the -poetry, ’twas as like as not they’d have put it in the paper.” - -“A near shave without a doubt,” assented Prowse; “’tis any odds but -they’ll print the next.” - -“Order for Johnny Beer!” cried Mr Bartley. - -Then the poet opened his pocket-book, smiled round about the company, -and read:-- - - “Let the merry bells be rung - And the joyous songs be sung, - While the happy and lucky pair - For ever leave their native air. - Yet ‘for ever’ I will not say, - Because they may come back some day. - See upon the platform stand - Folks from Middlecott so grand, - To shake the couple by the hand. - And his mother sheds some tears - Owing to very natural fears; - But when we all say ‘Hip horray!’ - Then her tears do dry away. - Where they soon will happy be - ’Tis a very fine countree. - Palms do wave and flowers do blow - Just wherever you do go. - Cocoanuts from there do come, - Also sugar, also rum; - And the bitters that in sherry - Often make a sad soul merry. - So we’ll wish them a jolly long life-- - Both young Daniel and his wife. - Also babbies, fat and hearty, - To make up the little party. - So us’ll give ’em three cheers and one cheer more, - And hope they’ll some day reach a Heavenly Shore. - -“You must understand me, neighbours, ’tis not worked up to concert pitch -as yet; but such as ’tis, there ’tis.” - -Everybody shouted congratulations. Some stamped their feet; some rapped -their mugs on the bar and on the table. - -“’Tis a very fine rhyme an’ meets the whole case both in this world and -the next. I’m sure,” said Mr Sweetland, “it does you credit, Beer, an’ I -thank you for it.” - -“Specially that part about the foreign land they’ve gone to,” declared Mr -Bartley. “To hear you talk about palm-trees as if you’d walked under ’em -all your life! Be blessed if I can’t _see_ the place rise up in my mind -like a picture.” - -“Sir Reginald Vivian would thank you for a copy, I reckon,” continued -Prowse. “He did shake hands with ’em both. He was almost the last to do -it. I heard his final words to Dan. ‘An’ you tell my son that the sooner -he’s home again the better, because I can’t get on at all without him.’ -They was his very words.” - -The conversation showed a tendency to drift from Johnny’s verses. But he -brought it back again. - -“If you ax me what I like best myself,” he said, “’tis the first two -lines. I never wrote a better matched pair.” - -“So they be then. ’Tis a very great gift, Johnny, and the parish ought to -be prouder of you than ’tis,” concluded Mr Sweetland. “I must ax you for -that bit of writing, if you please,” he added, “for my old woman’s like -to have a very snuffly night of it, and these here rhymes of yours will -cheer up her lonely heart better than spirits.” - -Mr Beer handed over the paper. - -“For such a high purpose, you’m welcome to ’em,” he replied. - - * * * * * - -That night the sea was black and troubled. Under the obscured glimmer -of a waning moon, the Royal Mail Packet _Orinoco_ pushed down Channel, -while a man and his wife stood upon deck with all the sounds of a great -steamer in their ears. They looked upon the waters and saw white foam -speeding in ghostly sheets astern and great bodies of darkness heave -upwards along the bulwarks, then sink back hissing into the vague. Across -the sky, flying with the low cloud-drift, gleamed brief sparks and stars -that shot upward from the funnels; and below, the round windows of the -engine-room flashed like great eyes upon the night. But forward was no -twinkle or glimmer of light to distract the keen eyes there. The steamer -was keeping double watches. A rushing and a wailing wind filled the upper -air; fingers invisible played strange music on the harps of the shrouds; -steam roared; deep sounds rose from the engine-room; the steering gear -jolted and grated harshly. Now for a moment it was silent; now it -chattered on again, like a violent, voluble, and intermittent voice. From -time to time came the clang of a bell to mark other ships ahead, to port, -or starboard: and through all sounded the throb, throb, throbbing of the -ship’s pulse, where her propeller thundered. - -Off the Start a light-house lamp flashed friendly farewell. It shone, -sank into darkness, then smiled out again across the labouring waters. - -“How does my own little wife like these here strange sights and sounds?” -asked the man. - -“Sea an’ land are all one to me,” she answered, “so long as your dear arm -be where it is.” - - * * * * * - -COLSTON AND COY., LTD., PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poacher's Wife, by Eden Phillpotts - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POACHER'S WIFE *** - -***** This file should be named 54795-0.txt or 54795-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/7/9/54795/ - -Produced by 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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