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Title: Mary Anerley

Author: R. D. Blackmore

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6824]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on January 28, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY ANERLEY ***




Produced by Don Lainson.





MARY ANERLEY


by


R. D. Blackmore



1880



CHAPTER I

HEADSTRONG AND HEADLONG


Far from any house or hut, in the depth of dreary moor-land, a
road, unfenced and almost unformed, descends to a rapid river.  The
crossing is called the "Seven Corpse Ford," because a large party
of farmers, riding homeward from Middleton, banded together and
perhaps well primed through fear of a famous highwayman, came down
to this place on a foggy evening, after heavy rain-fall.  One of
the company set before them what the power of the water was, but
they laughed at him and spurred into it, and one alone spurred out
of it.  Whether taken with fright, or with too much courage, they
laid hold of one another, and seven out of eight of them, all large
farmers, and thoroughly understanding land, came never upon it
alive again; and their bodies, being found upon the ridge that cast
them up, gave a dismal name to a place that never was merry in the
best of weather.

However, worse things than this had happened; and the country is
not chary of its living, though apt to be scared of its dead; and
so the ford came into use again, with a little attempt at
improvement.  For those farmers being beyond recall, and their
families hard to provide for, Richard Yordas, of Scargate Hall, the
chief owner of the neighborhood, set a long heavy stone up on
either brink, and stretched a strong chain between them, not only
to mark out the course of the shallow, whose shelf is askew to the
channel, but also that any one being washed away might fetch up,
and feel how to save himself.  For the Tees is a violent water
sometimes, and the safest way to cross it is to go on till you come
to a good stone bridge.

Now forty years after that sad destruction of brave but not well-
guided men, and thirty years after the chain was fixed, that their
sons might not go after them, another thing happened at "Seven
Corpse Ford," worse than the drowning of the farmers.  Or, at any
rate, it made more stir (which is of wider spread than sorrow),
because of the eminence of the man, and the length and width of his
property.  Neither could any one at first believe in so quiet an
end to so turbulent a course.  Nevertheless it came to pass, as
lightly as if he were a reed or a bubble of the river that belonged
to him.

It was upon a gentle evening, a few days after Michaelmas of 1777.
No flood was in the river then, and no fog on the moor-land, only
the usual course of time, keeping the silent company of stars.  The
young moon was down, and the hover of the sky (in doubt of various
lights) was gone, and the equal spread of obscurity soothed the
eyes of any reasonable man.

But the man who rode down to the river that night had little love
of reason.  Headstrong chief of a headlong race, no will must
depart a hair's-breadth from his; and fifty years of arrogant port
had stiffened a neck too stiff at birth.  Even now in the dim light
his large square form stood out against the sky like a cromlech,
and his heavy arms swung like gnarled boughs of oak, for a storm of
wrath was moving him.  In his youth he had rebelled against his
father; and now his own son was a rebel to him.

"Good, my boy, good!" he said, within his grizzled beard, while his
eyes shone with fire, like the flints beneath his horse; "you have
had your own way, have you, then?  But never shall you step upon an
acre of your own, and your timber shall be the gallows.  Done, my
boy, once and forever."

Philip, the squire, the son of Richard, and father of Duncan
Yordas, with fierce satisfaction struck the bosom of his heavy
Bradford riding-coat, and the crackle of parchment replied to the
blow, while with the other hand he drew rein on the brink of the
Tees sliding rapidly.

The water was dark with the twinkle of the stars, and wide with the
vapor of the valley, but Philip Yordas in the rage of triumph
laughed and spurred his reflecting horse.

"Fool!" he cried, without an oath--no Yordas ever used an oath
except in playful moments--"fool! what fear you?  There hangs my
respected father's chain.  Ah, he was something like a man!  Had I
ever dared to flout him so, he would have hanged me with it."

Wild with his wrong, he struck the rowel deep into the flank of his
wading horse, and in scorn of the depth drove him up the river.
The shoulders of the swimming horse broke the swirling water, as he
panted and snorted against it; and if Philip Yordas had drawn back
at once, he might even now have crossed safely.  But the fury of
his blood was up, the stronger the torrent the fiercer his will,
and the fight between passion and power went on.  The poor horse
was fain to swerve back at last; but he struck him on the head with
a carbine, and shouted to the torrent:

"Drown me, if you can.  My father used to say that I was never born
to drown.  My own water drown me!  That would be a little too much
insolence."

"Too much insolence" were his last words.  The strength of the
horse was exhausted.  The beat of his legs grew short and faint,
the white of his eyes rolled piteously, and the gurgle of his
breath subsided.  His heavy head dropped under water, and his
sodden crest rolled over, like sea-weed where a wave breaks.  The
stream had him all at its mercy, and showed no more than his savage
master had, but swept him a wallowing lump away, and over the reef
of the crossing.  With both feet locked in the twisted stirrups,
and right arm broken at the elbow, the rider was swung (like the
mast of a wreck) and flung with his head upon his father's chain.
There he was held by his great square chin--for the jar of his
backbone stunned him--and the weight of the swept-away horse broke
the neck which never had been known to bend.  In the morning a
peasant found him there, not drowned but hanged, with eyes wide
open, a swaying corpse upon a creaking chain.  So his father
(though long in the grave) was his death, as he often had promised
to be to him; while he (with the habit of his race) clutched fast
with dead hand on dead bosom the instrument securing the starvation
of his son.

Of the Yordas family truly was it said that the will of God was
nothing to their will--as long as the latter lasted--and that every
man of them scorned all Testament, old or new, except his own.



CHAPTER II

SCARGATE HALL


Nearly twenty-four years had passed since Philip Yordas was carried
to his last (as well as his first) repose, and Scargate Hall had
enjoyed some rest from the turbulence of owners.  For as soon as
Duncan (Philip's son, whose marriage had maddened his father) was
clearly apprised by the late squire's lawyer of his disinheritance,
he collected his own little money and his wife's, and set sail for
India.  His mother, a Scotchwoman of good birth but evil fortunes,
had left him something; and his bride (the daughter of his father's
greatest foe) was not altogether empty-handed.  His sisters were
forbidden by the will to help him with a single penny; and
Philippa, the elder, declaring and believing that Duncan had killed
her father, strictly obeyed the injunction.  But Eliza, being of a
softer kind, and herself then in love with Captain Carnaby, would
gladly have aided her only brother, but for his stern refusal.  In
such a case, a more gentle nature than ever endowed a Yordas might
have grown hardened and bitter; and Duncan, being of true Yordas
fibre (thickened and toughened with slower Scotch sap), was not of
the sort to be ousted lightly and grow at the feet of his
supplanters.

Therefore he cast himself on the winds, in search of fairer soil,
and was not heard of in his native land; and Scargate Hall and
estates were held by the sisters in joint tenancy, with remainder
to the first son born of whichever it might be of them.  And this
was so worded through the hurry of their father to get some one
established in the place of his own son.

But from paltry passions, turn away a little while to the things
which excite, but are not excited by them.

Scargate Hall stands, high and old, in the wildest and most rugged
part of the wild and rough North Riding.  Many are the tales about
it, in the few and humble cots, scattered in the modest distance,
mainly to look up at it.  In spring and summer, of the years that
have any, the height and the air are not only fine, but even fair
and pleasant.  So do the shadows and the sunshine wander, elbowing
into one another on the moor, and so does the glance of smiling
foliage soothe the austerity of crag and scaur.  At such time,
also, the restless torrent (whose fury has driven content away
through many a short day and long night) is not in such desperate
hurry to bury its troubles in the breast of Tees, but spreads them
in language that sparkles to the sun, or even makes leisure to turn
into corners of deep brown-study about the people on its banks--
especially, perhaps, the miller.

But never had this impetuous water more reason to stop and reflect
upon people of greater importance, who called it their own, than
now when it was at the lowest of itself, in August of the year
1801.

From time beyond date the race of Yordas had owned and inhabited
this old place.  From them the river, and the river's valley, and
the mountain of its birth, took name, or else, perhaps, gave name
to them; for the history of the giant Yordas still remains to be
written, and the materials are scanty.  His present descendants did
not care an old song for his memory, even if he ever had existence
to produce it.  Piety (whether in the Latin sense or English) never
had marked them for her own; their days were long in the land,
through a long inactivity of the Decalogue.

And yet in some manner this lawless race had been as a law to
itself throughout.  From age to age came certain gifts and certain
ways of management, which saved the family life from falling out of
rank and land and lot.  From deadly feuds, exhausting suits, and
ruinous profusion, when all appeared lost, there had always arisen
a man of direct lineal stock to retrieve the estates and reprieve
the name.  And what is still more conducive to the longevity of
families, no member had appeared as yet of a power too large and an
aim too lofty, whose eminence must be cut short with axe, outlawry,
and attainder.  Therefore there ever had been a Yordas, good or bad
(and by his own showing more often of the latter kind), to stand
before heaven, and hold the land, and harass them that dwelt
thereon.  But now at last the world seemed to be threatened with
the extinction of a fine old name.

When Squire Philip died in the river, as above recorded, his death,
from one point of view, was dry, since nobody shed a tear for him,
unless it was his child Eliza.  Still, he was missed and lamented
in speech, and even in eloquent speeches, having been a very strong
Justice of the Peace, as well as the foremost of riotous gentlemen
keeping the order of the county.  He stood above them in his firm
resolve to have his own way always, and his way was so crooked that
the difficulty was to get out of it and let him have it.  And when
he was dead, it was either too good or too bad to believe in; and
even after he was buried it was held that this might be only
another of his tricks.

But after his ghost had been seen repeatedly, sitting on the chain
and swearing, it began to be known that he was gone indeed, and the
relief afforded by his absence endeared him to sad memory.
Moreover, his good successors enhanced the relish of scandal about
him by seeming themselves to be always so dry, distant, and
unimpeachable.  Especially so did "My Lady Philippa," as the elder
daughter was called by all the tenants and dependents, though the
family now held no title of honor.

Mistress Yordas, as she was more correctly styled by usage of the
period, was a maiden lady of fine presence, uncumbered as yet by
weight of years, and only dignified thereby.  Stately, and
straight, and substantial of figure, firm but not coarse of
feature, she had reached her forty-fifth year without an ailment or
a wrinkle.  Her eyes were steadfast, clear, and bright, well able
to second her distinct calm voice, and handsome still, though their
deep blue had waned into a quiet, impenetrable gray; while her
broad clear forehead, straight nose, and red lips might well be
considered as comely as ever, at least by those who loved her.  Of
these, however, there were not many; and she was content to have it
so.

Mrs. Carnaby, the younger sister, would not have been content to
have it so.  Though not of the weak lot which is enfeoffed to
popularity, she liked to be regarded kindly, and would rather win a
smile than exact a courtesy.  Continually it was said of her that
she was no genuine Yordas, though really she had all the pride and
all the stubbornness of that race, enlarged, perhaps, but little
weakened, by severe afflictions.  This lady had lost a beloved
husband, Colonel Carnaby, killed in battle; and after that four
children of the five she had been so proud of.  And the waters of
affliction had not turned to bitterness in her soul.

Concerning the outward part--which matters more than the inward at
first hand--Mrs. Carnaby had no reason to complain of fortune.  She
had started well as a very fine baby, and grown up well into a
lovely maiden, passing through wedlock into a sightly matron,
gentle, fair, and showing reason.  For generations it had come to
pass that those of the Yordas race who deserved to be cut off for
their doings out-of-doors were followed by ladies of decorum, self-
restraint, and regard for their neighbor's landmark.  And so it was
now with these two ladies, the handsome Philippa and the fair Eliza
leading a peaceful and reputable life, and carefully studying their
rent-roll.

It was not, however, in the fitness of things that quiet should
reign at Scargate Hall for a quarter of a century; and one strong
element of disturbance grew already manifest.  Under the will of
Squire Philip the heir-apparent was the one surviving child of Mrs.
Carnaby.

If ever a mortal life was saved by dint of sleepless care, warm
coddling, and perpetual doctoring, it was the precious life of
Master Lancelot Yordas Carnaby.  In him all the mischief of his
race revived, without the strong substance to carry it off.
Though his parents were healthy and vigorous, he was of weakly
constitution, which would not have been half so dangerous to him if
his mind also had been weakly.  But his mind (or at any rate that
rudiment thereof which appears in the shape of self-will even
before the teeth appear) was a piece of muscular contortion, tough
as oak and hard as iron.  "Pet" was his name with his mother and
his aunt; and his enemies (being the rest of mankind) said that pet
was his name and his nature.

For this dear child could brook no denial, no slow submission to
his wishes; whatever he wanted must come in a moment, punctual as
an echo.  In him re-appeared not the stubbornness only, but also
the keen ingenuity of Yordas in finding out the very thing that
never should be done, and then the unerring perception of the way
in which it could be done most noxiously.  Yet any one looking at
his eyes would think how tender and bright must his nature be!  "He
favoreth his forebears; how can he help it?" kind people exclaimed,
when they knew him.  And the servants of the house excused
themselves when condemned for putting up with him, "Yo know not
what 'a is, yo that talk so.  He maun get 's own gait, lestwise yo
wud chok' un."

Being too valuable to be choked, he got his own way always.



CHAPTER III

A DISAPPOINTING APPOINTMENT


For the sake of Pet Carnaby and of themselves, the ladies of the
house were disquieted now, in the first summer weather of a wet
cold year, the year of our Lord 1801.  And their trouble arose as
follows:

There had long been a question between the sisters and Sir Walter
Carnaby, brother of the late colonel, about an exchange of outlying
land, which would have to be ratified by "Pet" hereafter.  Terms
being settled and agreement signed, the lawyers fell to at the
linked sweetness of deducing title.  The abstract of the Yordas
title was nearly as big as the parish Bible, so in and out had
their dealings been, and so intricate their pugnacity.

Among the many other of the Yordas freaks was a fatuous and
generally fatal one.  For the slightest miscarriage they discharged
their lawyer, and leaped into the office of a new one.  Has any man
moved in the affairs of men, with a grain of common-sense or half a
pennyweight of experience, without being taught that an old tenter-
hook sits easier to him than a new one?  And not only that, but in
shifting his quarters he may leave some truly fundamental thing
behind.

Old Mr. Jellicorse, of Middleton in Teesdale, had won golden
opinions every where.  He was an uncommonly honest lawyer, highly
incapable of almost any trick, and lofty in his view of things,
when his side of them was the legal one.  He had a large collection
of those interesting boxes which are to a lawyer and his family
better than caskets of silver and gold; and especially were his
shelves furnished with what might be called the library of the
Scargate title-deeds.  He had been proud to take charge of these
nearly thirty years ago, and had married on the strength of them,
though warned by the rival from whom they were wrested that he must
not hope to keep them long.  However, through the peaceful
incumbency of ladies, they remained in his office all those years.

This was the gentleman who had drawn and legally sped to its
purport the will of the lamented Squire Philip, who refused very
clearly to leave it, and took horse to flourish it at his
rebellious son.  Mr. Jellicorse had done the utmost, as behooved
him, against that rancorous testament; but meeting with silence
more savage than words, and a bow to depart, he had yielded; and
the squire stamped about the room until his job was finished.

A fact accomplished, whether good or bad, improves in character
with every revolution of this little world around the sun, that
heavenly example of subservience.  And now Mr. Jellicorse was well
convinced, as nothing had occurred to disturb that will, and the
life of the testator had been sacrificed to it, and the devisees
under it were his own good clients, and some of his finest turns of
words were in it, and the preparation, execution, and attestation,
in an hour and ten minutes of the office clock, had never been
equalled in Yorkshire before, and perhaps never honestly in London--
taking all these things into conscious or unconscious balance, Mr.
Jellicorse grew into the clear conviction that "righteous and wise"
were the words to be used whenever this will was spoken of.

With pleasant remembrance of the starveling fees wherewith he used
to charge the public, ere ever his golden spurs were won, the
prosperous lawyer now began to run his eye through a duplicate of
an abstract furnished upon some little sale about forty years
before.  This would form the basis of the abstract now to be
furnished to Sir Walter Carnaby, with little to be added but the
will of Philip Yordas, and statement of facts to be verified.  Mr.
Jellicorse was fat, but very active still; he liked good living,
but he liked to earn it, and could not sit down to his dinner
without feeling that he had helped the Lord to provide these
mercies.  He carried a pencil on his chain, and liked to use it ere
ever he began with knife and fork.  For the young men in the
office, as he always said, knew nothing.

The day was very bright and clear, and the sun shone through soft
lilac leaves on more important folios, while Mr. Jellicorse, with
happy sniffs--for his dinner was roasting in the distance--drew a
single line here, or a double line there, or a gable on the margin
of the paper, to show his head clerk what to cite, and in what
letters, and what to omit, in the abstract to be rendered.  For the
good solicitor had spent some time in the chambers of a famous
conveyancer in London, and prided himself upon deducing title,
directly, exhaustively, and yet tersely, in one word, scientifically,
and not as the mere quill-driver.  The title to the hereditaments,
now to be given in exchange, went back for many generations; but as
the deeds were not to pass, Mr. Jellicorse, like an honest man,
drew a line across, and made a star at one quite old enough to
begin with, in which the little moorland farm in treaty now was
specified.  With hum and ha of satisfaction he came down the
records, as far as the settlement made upon the marriage of Richard
Yordas, of Scargate Hall, Esquire, and Eleanor, the daughter of Sir
Fursan de Roos.  This document created no entail, for strict
settlements had never been the manner of the race; but the property
assured in trust, to satisfy the jointure, was then declared subject
to joint and surviving powers of appointment limited to the issue of
the marriage, with remainder to the uses of the will of the
aforesaid Richard Yordas, or, failing such will, to his right heirs
forever.

All this was usual enough, and Mr. Jellicorse heeded it little,
having never heard of any appointment, and knowing that Richard,
the grandfather of his clients, had died, as became a true Yordas,
in a fit of fury with a poor tenant, intestate, as well as
unrepentant.  The lawyer, being a slightly pious man, afforded a
little sigh to this remembrance, and lifted his finger to turn the
leaf, but the leaf stuck a moment, and the paper being raised at
the very best angle to the sun, he saw, or seemed to see, a faint
red line, just over against that appointment clause.  And then the
yellow margin showed some faint red marks.

"Well, I never," Mr. Jellicorse exclaimed--"certainly never saw
these marks before.  Diana, where are my glasses?"

Mrs. Jellicorse had been to see the potatoes on (for the new cook
simply made "kettlefuls of fish" of every thing put upon the fire),
and now at her husband's call she went to her work-box for his
spectacles, which he was not allowed to wear except on Sundays, for
fear of injuring his eyesight.  Equipped with these, and drawing
nearer to the window, the lawyer gradually made out this: first a
broad faint line of red, as if some attorney, now a ghost, had cut
his finger, and over against that in small round hand the letters
"v. b. c."  Mr. Jellicorse could swear that they were "v. b. c."

"Don't ask me to eat any dinner to-day," he exclaimed, when his
wife came to fetch him.  "Diana, I am occupied; go and eat it up
without me."

"Nonsense, James," she answered, calmly; "you never get any clever
thoughts by starving."

Moved by this reasoning, he submitted, fed his wife and children
and own good self, and then brought up a bottle of old Spanish wine
to strengthen the founts of discovery.  Whose writing was that upon
the broad marge of verbosity?  Why had it never been observed
before?  Above all, what was meant by "v. b. c."?

Unaided, he might have gone on forever, to the bottom of a butt of
Xeres wine; but finding the second glass better than the first, he
called to Mrs. Jellicorse, who was in the garden gathering striped
roses, to come and have a sip with him, and taste the yellow
cherries.  And when she came promptly, with the flowers in her
hand, and their youngest little daughter making sly eyes at the
fruit, bothered as he was, he could not help smiling and saying,
"Oh, Diana, what is 'v. b. c.'?"

"Very black currants, papa!" cried Emily, dancing a long bunch in
the air.

"Hush, dear child, you are getting too forward," said her mother,
though proud of her quickness.  "James, how should I know what 'v.
b. c.' is?  But I wish most heartily that you would rid me of my
old enemy, box C.  I want to put a hanging press in that corner,
instead of which you turn the very passages into office."

"Box C?  I remember no box C."

"You may not have noticed the letter C upon it, but the box you
must know as well as I do.  It belongs to those proud Yordas
people, who hold their heads so high, forsooth, as if nobody but
themselves belonged to a good old county family!  That makes me
hate the box the more."

"I will take it out of your way at once.  I may want it.  It should
be with the others.  I know it as well as I know my snuff-box.  It
was Aberthaw who put it in that corner; but I had forgotten that it
was lettered.  The others are all numbered."

Of course Mr. Jellicorse was not weak enough to make the partner of
his bosom the partner of his business; and much as she longed to
know why he had put an unusual question to her, she trusted to the
future for discovery of that point.  She left him, and he with no
undue haste--for the business, after all, was not his own--began to
follow out his train of thought, in manner much as follows:

"This is that old Duncombe's writing--'Dunder-headed Duncombe,' as
he used to be called in his lifetime, but 'Long-headed Duncombe'
afterward.  None but his wife knew whether he was a wise man, or a
wiseacre.  Perhaps either, according to the treatment he received.
Richard Yordas treated him badly; that may have made him wiser.  V.
b. c. means 'vide box C,' unless I am greatly mistaken.  He wrote
those letters as plainly and clearly as he could against this power
of appointment as recited here.  But afterward, with knife and
pounce, he scraped them out, as now becomes plain with this
magnifying-glass; probably he did so when all these archives, as he
used to call them, were rudely ordered over to my predecessor.  A
nice bit of revenge, if my suspicions are correct; and a pretty
confusion will follow it."

The lawyer's suspicions proved too correct.  He took that box to
his private room, and with some trouble unlocked it.  A damp and
musty smell came forth, as when a man delves a potato-bury; and
then appeared layers of parchment yellow and brown, in and out with
one another, according to the curing of the sheep-skin, perhaps, or
the age of the sheep when he began to die; skins much older than
any man's who handled them, and drier than the brains of any
lawyer,

"Anno Jacobi tertio, and Quadragesimo Elisabethae!  How nice it
sounds!" Mr. Jellicorse exclaimed; "they ought all to go in, and be
charged for.  People to be satisfied with sixty years' title!  Why,
bless the Lord, I am sixty-eight myself, and could buy and sell the
grammar school at eight years old.  It is no security, no security
at all.  What did the learned Bacupiston say--'If a rogue only
lives to be a hundred and eleven, he may have been for ninety years
disseized, and nobody alive to know it!'"

Older and older grew the documents as the lawyer's hand travelled
downward; any flaw or failure must have been healed by lapse of
time long and long ago; dust and grime and mildew thickened, ink
became paler, and contractions more contorted; it was rather an
antiquary's business now than a lawyer's to decipher them.

"What a fool I am!" the solicitor thought.  "My cuffs will never
wash white again, and all I have found is a mare's-nest.  However,
I'll go to the bottom now.  There may be a gold seal--they used to
put them in with the deeds three hundred years ago.  A charter of
Edward the Fourth, I declare!  Ah, the Yordases were Yorkists--
halloa! what is here?  By the Touchstone of Shepherd, I was right
after all!  Well done, Long-headed Duncombe!"

From the very bottom of the box he took a parchment comparatively
fresh and new, indorsed "Appointment by Richard Yordas, Esquire,
and Eleanor his wife, of lands and heredits at Scargate and
elsewhere in the county of York, dated Nov. 15th, A.D. 1751."
Having glanced at the signatures and seals, Mr. Jellicorse spread
the document, which was of moderate compass, and soon convinced
himself that his work of the morning had been wholly thrown away.
No title could be shown to Whitestone Farm, nor even to Scargate
Hall itself, on the part of the present owners.

The appointment was by deed-poll, and strictly in accordance with
the powers of the settlement.  Duly executed and attested, clearly
though clumsily expressed, and beyond all question genuine, it
simply nullified (as concerned the better half of the property) the
will which had cost Philip Yordas his life.  For under this
limitation Philip held a mere life-interest, his father and mother
giving all men to know by those presents that they did thereby from
and after the decease of their said son Philip grant limit and
appoint &c. all and singular the said lands &c. to the heirs of his
body lawfully begotten &c. &c. in tail general, with remainder
over, and final remainder to the right heirs of the said Richard
Yordas forever.  From all which it followed that while Duncan
Yordas, or child, or other descendant of his, remained in the land
of the living, or even without that if he having learned it had
been enabled to bar the entail and then sell or devise the lands
away, the ladies in possession could show no title, except a
possessory one, as yet unhallowed by the lapse of time.

Mr. Jellicorse was a very pleasant-looking man, also one who took a
pleasant view of other men and things; but he could not help
pulling a long and sad face as he thought of the puzzle before him.
Duncan Yordas had not been heard of among his own hills and valleys
since 1778, when he embarked for India.  None of the family ever
had cared to write or read long letters, their correspondence (if
any) was short, without being sweet by any means.  It might be a
subject for prayer and hope that Duncan should be gone to a better
world, without leaving hostages to fortune here; but sad it is to
say that neither prayer nor hope produces any faith in the counsel
who prepares "requisitions upon title."

On the other hand, inquiry as to Duncan's history since he left his
native land would be a delicate and expensive work, and perhaps
even dangerous, if he should hear of it, and inquire about the
inquirers.  For the last thing to be done from a legal point of
view--though the first of all from a just one--was to apprise the
rightful owner of his unexpected position.  Now Mr. Jellicorse was
a just man; but his justice was due to his clients first.

After a long brown-study he reaped his crop of meditation thus:
"It is a ticklish job; and I will sleep three nights upon it."



CHAPTER IV

DISQUIETUDE


The ladies of Scargate Hall were uneasy, although the weather was
so fine, upon this day of early August, in the year now current.
It was a remarkable fact, that in spite of the distance they slept
asunder, which could not be less than five-and-thirty yards, both
had been visited by a dream, which appeared to be quite the same
dream until examined narrowly, and being examined, grew more
surprising in its points of difference.  They were much above
paying any heed to dreams, though instructed by the patriarchs to
do so; and they seemed to be quite getting over the effects, when
the lesson and the punishment astonished them.

Lately it had been established (although many leading people went
against it, and threatened to prosecute the man for trespass) that
here in these quiet and reputable places, where no spy could be
needed, a man should come twice every week with letters, and in the
name of the king be paid for them.  Such things were required in
towns, perhaps, as corporations and gutters were; but to bring them
where people could mind their own business, and charge them two
groats for some fool who knew their names, was like putting a tax
upon their christening.  So it was the hope of many, as well as
every one's belief, that the postman, being of Lancastrian race,
would very soon be bogged, or famished, or get lost in a fog, or
swept off by a flood, or go and break his own neck from a
precipice.

The postman, however, was a wiry fellow, and as tough as any
native, and he rode a pony even tougher than himself, whose cradle
was a marsh, and whose mother a mountain, his first breath a fog,
and his weaning meat wire-grass, and his form a combination of
sole-leather and corundum.  He wore no shoes for fear of not making
sparks at night, to know the road by, and although his bit had been
a blacksmith's rasp, he would yield to it only when it suited him.
The postman, whose name was George King (which confounded him with
King George, in the money to pay), carried a sword and blunderbuss,
and would use them sooner than argue.

Now this man and horse had come slowly along, without meaning any
mischief, to deliver a large sealed packet, with sixteen pence to
pay put upon it, "to Mistress Philippa Yordas, etc., her own hands,
and speed, speed, speed;" which they carried out duly by stop,
stop, stop, whensoever they were hungry, or saw any thing to look
at.  None the less for that, though with certainty much later, they
arrived in good trim, by the middle of the day, and ready for the
comfort which they both deserved.

As yet it was not considered safe to trust any tidings of
importance to the post in such a world as this was; and even were
it safe, it would be bad manners from a man of business.  Therefore
Mr. Jellicorse had sealed up little, except his respectful
consideration and request to be allowed to wait upon his honored
clients, concerning a matter of great moment, upon the afternoon of
Thursday then next ensuing.  And the post had gone so far, to give
good distance for the money, that the Thursday of the future came
to be that very day.

The present century opened with a chilly and dark year, following
three bad seasons of severity and scarcity.  And in the northwest
of Yorkshire, though the summer was now so far advanced, there had
been very little sunshine.  For the last day or two, the sun had
labored to sweep up the mist and cloud, and was beginning to
prevail so far that the mists drew their skirts up and retired into
haze, while the clouds fell away to the ring of the sky, and there
lay down to abide their time.  Wherefore it happened that "Yordas
House" (as the ancient building was in old time called) had a
clearer view than usual of the valley, and the river that ran away,
and the road that tried to run up to it.  Now this was considered a
wonderful road, and in fair truth it was wonderful, withstanding
all efforts of even the Royal Mail pony to knock it to pieces.  In
its rapidity down hill it surpassed altogether the river, which
galloped along by the side of it, and it stood out so boldly with
stones of no shame that even by moonlight nobody could lose it,
until it abruptly lost itself.  But it never did that, until the
house it came from was two miles away, and no other to be seen; and
so why should it go any further?

At the head of this road stood the old gray house, facing toward
the south of east, to claim whatever might come up the valley, sun,
or storm, or columned fog.  In the days of the past it had claimed
much more--goods, and cattle, and tribute of the traffic going
northward--as the loop-holed quadrangle for impounded stock, and
the deeply embrasured tower, showed.  At the back of the house rose
a mountain spine, blocking out the westering sun, but cut with one
deep portal where a pass ran into Westmoreland--the scaur-gate
whence the house was named; and through this gate of mountain
often, when the day was waning, a bar of slanting sunset entered,
like a plume of golden dust, and hovered on a broad black patch of
weather-beaten fir-trees.  The day was waning now, and every steep
ascent looked steeper, while down the valley light and shade made
longer cast of shuttle, and the margin of the west began to glow
with a deep wine-color, as the sun came down--the tinge of many
mountains and the distant sea--until the sun himself settled
quietly into it, and there grew richer and more ripe (as old
bottled wine is fed by the crust), and bowed his rubicund farewell,
through the postern of the scaur-gate, to the old Hall, and the
valley, and the face of Mr. Jellicorse.

That gentleman's countenance did not, however, reply with its usual
brightness to the mellow salute of evening.  Wearied and shaken by
the long, rough ride, and depressed by the heavy solitude, he hated
and almost feared the task which every step brought nearer.  As the
house rose higher and higher against the red sky, and grew darker,
and as the sullen roar of blood-hounds (terrors of the neighborhood)
roused the slow echoes of the crags, the lawyer was almost fain to
turn his horse's head, and face the risks of wandering over the moor
by night.  But the hoisting of a flag, the well-known token
(confirmed by large letters on a rock) that strangers might safely
approach, inasmuch as the savage dogs were kennelled--this, and the
thought of such an entry for his day-book, kept Mr. Jellicorse from
ignominious flight.  He was in for it now, and must carry it
through.

In a deep embayed window of leaded glass Mistress Yordas and her
widowed sister sat for an hour, without many words, watching the
zigzag of shale and rock which formed their chief communication
with the peopled world.  They did not care to improve their access,
or increase their traffic; not through cold morosity, or even proud
indifference, but because they had been so brought up, and so
confirmed by circumstance.  For the Yordas blood, however hot and
wild and savage in the gentlemen, was generally calm and good,
though steadfast, in the weaker vessels.  For the main part,
however, a family takes it character more from the sword than the
spindle; and their sword hand had been like Esau's.

Little as they meddled with the doings of the world, of one thing
at least these stately Madams--as the baffled squires of the Riding
called them--were by no means heedless.  They dressed themselves
according to their rank, or perhaps above it.  Many a nobleman's
wife in Yorkshire had not such apparel; and even of those so richly
gifted, few could have come up to the purpose better.  Nobody,
unless of their own sex, thought of their dresses when looking at
them.

"He rides very badly," Philippa said; "the people from the lowlands
always do.  He may not have courage to go home tonight.  But he
ought to have thought of that before."

"Poor man!  We must offer him a bed, of course," Mrs. Carnaby
answered; "but he should have come earlier in the day.  What shall
we do with him, when he has done his business?"

"It is not our place to amuse our lawyer.  He might go and smoke in
the Justice-room, and then Welldrum could play bagatelle with him."

"Philippa, you forget that the Jellicorses are of a good old county
stock.  His wife is a stupid, pretentious thing; but we need not
treat him as we must treat her.  And it may be as well to make much
of him, perhaps, if there really is any trouble coming."

"You are thinking of Pet.  By-the-bye, are you certain that Pet can
not get at Saracen?  You know how he let him loose last Easter,
when the flag was flying, and the poor man has been in his bed ever
since."

"Jordas will see to that.  He can be trusted to mind the dogs well,
ever since you fined him in a fortnight's wages.  That was an
excellent thought of yours."

Jordas might have been called the keeper, or the hind, or the
henchman, or the ranger, or the porter, or the bailiff, or the
reeve, or some other of some fifty names of office, in a place of
more civilization, so many and so various were his tasks.  But here
his professional name was the "dogman;" and he held that office
according to an ancient custom of the Scargate race, whence also
his surname (if such it were) arose.  For of old time and in
outlandish parts a finer humanity prevailed, and a richer practical
wisdom upon certain questions.  Irregular offsets of the stock,
instead of being cast upon the world as waifs and strays, were
allowed a place in the kitchen-garden or stable-yard, and
flourished there without disgrace, while useful and obedient.  Thus
for generations here the legitimate son was Yordas, and took the
house and manors; the illegitimate became Jordas, and took to the
gate, and the minding of the dogs, and any other office of
fidelity.

The present Jordas was, however, of less immediate kin to the
owners, being only the son of a former Jordas, and in the enjoyment
of a Christian name, which never was provided for a first-hand
Jordas; and now as his mistress looked out on the terrace, his
burly figure came duly forth, and his keen eyes ranged the walks
and courts, in search of Master Lancelot, who gave him more trouble
in a day, sometimes, than all the dogs cost in a twelvemonth.  With
a fine sense of mischief, this boy delighted to watch the road for
visitors, and then (if barbarously denied his proper enjoyment and
that of the dogs) he still had goodly devices of his own for
producing little tragedies.

Mr. Jellicorse knew Jordas well, and felt some pity for him,
because, if his grandmother had been wiser, he might have been the
master now; and the lawyer, having much good feeling, liked not to
make a groom of him.  Jordas, however, knew his place, and touched
his hat respectfully, then helped the solicitor to dismount, the
which was sorely needed.

"You came not by the way of the ford, Sir?" the dogman asked, while
considering the leathers.  "The water is down; you might have saved
three miles."

"Better lose thirty than my life.  Will any of your men, Master
Jordas, show me a room, where I may prepare to wait upon your
ladies?"

Mr. Jellicorse walked through the old arched gate of the reever's
court, and was shown to a room, where he unpacked his valise, and
changed his riding clothes, and refreshed himself.  A jug of
Scargate ale was brought to him, and a bottle of foreign wine, with
the cork drawn, lest he should hesitate; also a cold pie, bread and
butter, and a small case-bottle of some liqueur.  He was not
hungry, for his wife had cared to victual him well for the journey;
but for fear of offense he ate a morsel, found it good, and ate
some more.  Then after a sip or two of the liqueur, and a glance or
two at his black silk stockings, buckled shoes, and best small-
clothes, he felt himself fit to go before a duchess, as once upon a
time he had actually done, and expressed himself very well indeed,
according to the dialogue delivered whenever he told the story
about it every day.

Welldrum, the butler, was waiting for him--a man who had his own
ideas, and was going to be put upon by nobody.  "If my father could
only come to life for one minute, he would spend it in kicking that
man," Mrs. Carnaby had exclaimed, about him, after carefully
shutting the door; but he never showed airs before Miss Yordas.

"Come along, Sir," Welldrum said, after one professional glance at
the tray, to ascertain his residue.  "My ladies have been waiting
this half hour; and for sure, Sir, you looks wonderful!  This way,
Sir, and have a care of them oak fagots.  My ladies, Lawyer
Jellicorse!"



CHAPTER V

DECISION


The sun was well down and away behind the great fell at the back of
the house, and the large and heavily furnished room was feebly lit
by four wax candles, and the glow of the west reflected as a gleam
into eastern windows.  The lawyer was pleased to have it so, and to
speak with a dimly lighted face.  The ladies looked beautiful; that
was all that Mr. Jellicorse could say, when cross-examined by his
wife next day concerning their lace and velvet.  Whether they wore
lace or net was almost more than he could say, for he did not heed
such trifles; but velvet was within his knowledge (though not the
color or the shape), because he thought it hot for summer, until he
remembered what the climate was.  Really he could say nothing more,
except that they looked beautiful; and when Mrs. Jellicorse jerked
her head, he said that he only meant, of course, considering their
time of life.

The ladies saw his admiration, and felt that it was but natural.
Mrs. Carnaby came forward kindly, and offered him a nice warm hand;
while the elder sister was content to bow, and thank him for
coming, and hope that he was well.  As yet it had not become proper
for a gentleman, visiting ladies, to yawn, and throw himself into
the nearest chair, and cross his legs, and dance one foot, and ask
how much the toy-terrier cost.  Mr. Jellicorse made a fine series
of bows, not without a scrape or two, which showed his goodly calf;
and after that he waited for the gracious invitation to sit down.

"If I understood your letter clearly," Mistress Yordas began, when
these little rites were duly accomplished, "you have something
important to tell us concerning our poor property here.  A small
property, Mr. Jellicorse, compared with that of the Duke of
Lunedale, but perhaps a little longer in one family."

"The duke is a new-fangled interloper," replied hypocritical
Jellicorse, though no other duke was the husband of the duchess of
whom he indited daily; "properties of that sort come and go, and
only tradesmen notice it.  Your estates have been longer in the
seisin of one family, madam, than any other in the Riding, or
perhaps in Yorkshire."

"We never seized them!" cried Mrs. Carnaby, being sensitive as to
ancestral thefts, through tales about cattle-lifting.  "You must be
aware that they came to us by grant from the Crown, or even before
there was any Crown to grant them."

"I beg your pardon for using a technical word, without explaining
it.  Seisin is a legal word, which simply means possession, or
rather the bodily holding of a thing, and is used especially of
corporeal hereditaments.  You ladies have seisin of this house and
lands, although you never seized them."

"The last thing we would think of doing," answered Mrs. Carnaby,
who was more impulsive than her sister, also less straightforward.
"How often we have wished that our poor lost brother had not been
deprived of them!  But our father's will was sacred, and you told
us we were helpless.  We struggled, as you know; but we could do
nothing."

"That is the question which brought me here," the lawyer said, very
quietly, at the same time producing a small roll of parchment
sealed in cartridge paper.  "Last week I discovered a document
which I am forced to submit to your judgment.  Shall I read it to
you, or tell its purport briefly?"

"Whatever it may be, it can not in any way alter our conclusions.
Our conclusions have never varied, however deeply they may have
grieved us.  We were bound to do justice to our dear father."

"Certainly, madam; and you did it.  Also, as I know, you did it as
kindly as possible toward other relatives, and you only met with
perversity.  I had the honor of preparing your respected father's
will, a model of clearness and precision, considering--considering
the time afforded, and other disturbing influences.  I know for a
fact that a copy was laid before the finest draftsman in London,
by--by those who were displeased with it, and his words were:
'Beautiful! beautiful!  Every word of it holds water.'  Now that,
madam, can not he said of many; indeed, of not one in--"

"Pardon, me for interrupting you, but I have always understood you
to speak highly of it.  And in such a case, what can be the
matter?"

"The matter of all matters, madam, is that the testator should have
disposing power."

"He could dispose of his own property as he was disposed, you
mean."

"You misapprehend me."  Mr. Jellicorse now was in his element, for
he loved to lecture--an absurdity just coming into vogue.  "Indulge
me one moment.  I take this silver dish, for instance; it is in my
hands, I have the use of it; but can I give it to either of you
ladies?"

"Not very well, because it belongs to us already."

"You misapprehend me.  I can not give it because it is not mine to
give."  Mrs. Carnaby looked puzzled.

"Eliza, allow me," said Mistress Yordas, in her stiffer manner, and
now for the first time interfering.  "Mr. Jellicorse assures us
that his language is a model of clearness and precision; perhaps he
will prove it by telling us now, in plain words, what his meaning
is."

"What I mean, madam, is that your respected father could devise you
a part only of this property, because the rest was not his to
devise.  He only had a life-interest in it."

"His will, therefore, fails as to some part of the property?  How
much, and what part, if you please?"

"The larger and better part of the estates, including this house
and grounds, and the home-farm."

Mrs. Carnaby started and began to speak; but her sister moved only
to stop her, and showed no signs of dismay or anger.

"For fear of putting too many questions at once," she said, with a
slight bow and a smile, "let me beg you to explain, as shortly as
possible, this very surprising matter."

Mr. Jellicorse watched her with some suspicion, because she called
it so surprising, yet showed so little surprise herself.  For a
moment he thought that she must have heard of the document now in
his hands; but he very soon saw that it could not be so.  It was
only the ancient Yordas pride, perversity, and stiffneckedness.
And even Mrs. Carnaby, strengthened by the strength of her sister,
managed to look as if nothing more than a tale of some tenant were
pending.  But this, or ten times this, availed not to deceive Mr.
Jellicorse.  That gentleman, having seen much of the world,
whispered to himself that this was all "high jinks," felt himself
placed on the stool of authority, and even ventured upon a pinch of
snuff.  This was unwise, and cost him dear, for the ladies would
not have been true to their birth if they had not stored it against
him.

He, however, with a friendly mind, and a tap now and then upon his
document, to give emphasis to his story, recounted the whole of it,
and set forth how much was come of it already, and how much it
might lead to.  To Scargate Hall, and the better part of the
property always enjoyed therewith, Philippa Yordas and Eliza
Carnaby had no claim whatever, except on the score of possession,
until it could be shown that their brother Duncan was dead, without
any heirs or assignment (which might have come to pass through a
son adult), and even so, his widow might come forward and give
trouble.  Concerning all that, there was time enough to think; but
something must be done at once to cancel the bargain with Sir
Walter Carnaby, without letting his man of law get scent of the
fatal defect in title.  And now that the ladies knew all, what did
they say?

In answer to this, the ladies were inclined to put the whole blame
upon him, for not having managed matters better; and when he had
shown that the whole of it was done before he had any thing to do
with it, they were firmly convinced that he ought to have known it,
and found a proper remedy.  And in the finished manner of well-born
ladies they gave him to know, without a strong expression, that
such an atrocity was a black stain on every legal son of Satan,
living, dead, or still to issue from Gerizim.

"That can not affect the title now--I assure you, madam, that it
can not," the unfortunate lawyer exclaimed at last; "and as for
damages, poor old Duncombe has left no representatives, even if an
action would lie now, which is simply out of the question.  On my
part no neglect can be shown, and indeed for your knowledge of the
present state of things, if humbly I may say so, you are wholly
indebted to my zeal."

"Sir, I heartily wish," Mrs. Carnaby replied, "that your zeal had
been exhausted on your own affairs."

"Eliza, Mr. Jellicorse has acted well, and we can not feel too much
obliged to him."  Miss Yordas, having humor of a sort, smiled
faintly at the double meaning of her own words, which was not
intended.  "Whatever is right must be done, of course, according to
the rule of our family.  In such a case it appears to me that mere
niceties of laws, and quips and quirks, are entirely subordinate to
high sense of honor.  The first consideration must be thoroughly
unselfish and pure justice."

The lawyer looked at her with admiration.  He was capable of large
sentiments.  And yet a faint shadow of disappointment lingered in
the folios of his heart--there might have been such a very grand
long suit, upon which his grandson (to be born next month) might
have been enabled to settle for life, and bring up a legal family.
Justice, however, was justice, and more noble than even such
prospects.  So he bowed his head, and took another pinch of snuff.

But Mrs. Carnaby (who had wept a little, in a place beyond the
candle-light) came back with a passionate flush in her eyes, and a
resolute bearing of her well-formed neck.

"Philippa, I am amazed at you," she said, "Mr. Jellicorse, my share
is equal with my sister's, and more, because my son comes after me.
Whatever she may do, I will never yield a pin's point of my rights,
and leave my son a beggar.  Philippa, would you make Pet a beggar?
And his turtle in bed, before the sun is on the window, and his
sturgeon jelly when he gets out of bed!  There never was any one,
by a good Providence, less sent into the world to be a beggar."

Mrs. Carnaby, having discharged her meaning, began to be overcome
by it.  She sat down, in fear of hysteria, but with her mind made
up to stop it; while the gallant Jellicorse was swept away by her
eloquence, mixed with professional views.  But it came home to him,
from experience with his wife, that the less he said the wiser.
But while he moved about, and almost danced, in his strong desire
to be useful, there was another who sat quite still, and meant to
have the final say.

"From some confusion of ideas, I suppose, or possibly through my
own fault," Philippa Yordas said, with less contempt in her voice
than in her mind, "it seems that I can not make my meaning clear,
even to my own sister.  I said that we first must do the right, and
scorn all legal subtleties.  That we must maintain unselfish
justice, and high sense of honor.  Can there be any doubt what
these dictate?  What sort of daughters should we be if we basely
betrayed our own father's will?"

"Excellent, madam," the lawyer said; "that view of the case never
struck me.  But there is a great deal in it."

"Oh, Philippa, how noble you are!" her sister Eliza cried; and
cried no more, so far as tears go, for a long time afterward.



CHAPTER VI

ANERLEY FARM


On the eastern coast of the same great county, at more than ninety
miles of distance for a homing pigeon, and some hundred and twenty
for a carriage from the Hall of Yordas, there was in those days,
and there still may be found, a property of no vast size--snug,
however, and of good repute--and called universally "Anerley Farm."
How long it has borne that name it knows not, neither cares to moot
the question; and there lives no antiquary of enough antiquity to
decide it.  A place of smiling hope, and comfort, and content with
quietude; no memory of man about it runneth to the contrary; while
every ox, and horse, and sheep, and fowl, and frisky porker, is
full of warm domestic feeling and each homely virtue.

For this land, like a happy country, has escaped, for years and
years, the affliction of much history.  It has not felt the
desolating tramp of lawyer or land-agent, nor been bombarded by
fine and recovery, lease and release, bargain and sale, Doe and Roe
and Geoffrey Styles, and the rest of the pitiless shower of slugs,
ending with a charge of Demons.  Blows, and blights, and plagues of
that sort have not come to Anerley, nor any other drain of nurture
to exhaust the green of meadow and the gold of harvest.  Here
stands the homestead, and here lies the meadow-land; there walk the
kine (having no call to run), and yonder the wheat in the hollow of
the hill, bowing to the silvery stroke of the wind, is touched with
the promise of increasing gold.

As good as the cattle and the crops themselves are the people that
live upon them; or at least, in a fair degree, they try to be so;
though not of course so harmless, or faithful, or peaceful, or
charitable.  But still, in proportion, they may be called as good;
and in fact they believe themselves much better.  And this from no
conceit of any sort, beyond what is indispensable; for nature not
only enables but compels a man to look down upon his betters.

From generation to generation, man, and beast, and house, and land,
have gone on in succession here, replacing, following, renewing,
repairing and being repaired, demanding and getting more support,
with such judicious give-and-take, and thoroughly good understanding,
that now in the August of this year, when Scargate Hall is full of
care, and afraid to cart a load of dung, Anerley farm is quite at
ease, and in the very best of heart, man, and horse, and land, and
crops, and the cock that crows the time of day.  Nevertheless, no
acre yet in Yorkshire, or in the whole wide world, has ever been so
farmed or fenced as to exclude the step of change.

From father to son the good lands had passed, without even a will
to disturb them, except at distant intervals; and the present owner
was Stephen Anerley, a thrifty and well-to-do Yorkshire farmer of
the olden type.  Master Anerley was turned quite lately of his
fifty-second year, and hopeful (if so pleased the Lord) to turn a
good many more years yet, as a strong horse works his furrow.  For
he was strong and of a cheerful face, ruddy, square, and steadfast,
built up also with firm body to a wholesome stature, and able to
show the best man on the farm the way to swing a pitchfork.  Yet
might he be seen, upon every Lord's day, as clean as a new-shelled
chestnut; neither at any time of the week was he dirtier than need
be.  Happy alike in the place of his birth, his lot in life, and
the wisdom of the powers appointed over him, he looked up with a
substantial faith, yet a solid reserve of judgment, to the Church,
the Justices of the Peace, spiritual lords and temporal, and above
all His Majesty George the Third.  Without any reserve of judgmemt,
which could not deal with such low subjects, he looked down upon
every Dissenter, every pork-dealer, and every Frenchman.  What he
was brought up to, that he would abide by; and the sin beyond
repentance, to his mind, was the sin of the turncoat.

With all these hard-set lines of thought, or of doctrine (the
scabbard of thought, which saves its edge, and keeps it out of
mischief), Stephen Anerley was not hard, or stern, or narrow-
hearted.  Kind, and gentle, and good to every one who knew "how to
behave himself," and dealing to every man full justice--meted by
his own measure--he was liable even to generous acts, after being
severe and having his own way.  But if any body ever got the better
of him by lies, and not fair bettering, that man had wiser not
begin to laugh inside the Riding.  Stephen Anerley was slow but
sure; not so very keen, perhaps, but grained with kerns of maxim'd
thought, to meet his uses as they came, and to make a rogue uneasy.
To move him from such thoughts was hard; but to move him from a
spoken word had never been found possible.

The wife of this solid man was solid and well fitted to him.  In
early days, by her own account, she had possessed considerable
elegance, and was not devoid of it even now, whenever she received
a visitor capable of understanding it.  But for home use that gift
had been cut short, almost in the honey-moon, by a total want of
appreciation on the part of her husband.  And now, after five-and-
twenty years of studying and entering into him, she had fairly
earned his firm belief that she was the wisest of women.  For she
always agreed with him, when he wished it; and she knew exactly
when to contradict him, and that was before he had said a thing at
all, and while he was rolling it slowly in his mind, with a strong
tendency against it.  In out-door matters she never meddled,
without being specially consulted by the master; but in-doors she
governed with watchful eyes, a firm hand, and a quiet tongue.

This good woman now was five-and-forty years of age, vigorous,
clean, and of a very pleasant look, with that richness of color
which settles on fair women when the fugitive beauty of blushing is
past.  When the work of the morning was done, and the clock in the
kitchen was only ten minutes from twelve, and the dinner was fit
for the dishing, then Mistress Anerley remembered as a rule the
necessity of looking to her own appearance.  She went up stairs,
with a quarter of an hour to spare, but not to squander, and she
came down so neat that the farmer was obliged to be careful in
helping the gravy.  For she always sat next to him, as she had done
before there came any children, and it seemed ever since to be the
best place for her to manage their plates and their manners as
well.

Alas! that the kindest and wisest of women have one (if not twenty)
blind sides to them; and if any such weakness is pointed out, it is
sure to have come from their father.  Mistress Anerley's weakness
was almost conspicuous to herself--she worshipped her eldest son,
perhaps the least worshipful of the family.

Willie Anerley was a fine young fellow, two inches taller than his
father, with delicate features, and curly black hair, and cheeks as
bright as a maiden's.  He had soft blue eyes, and a rich clear
voice, with a melancholy way of saying things, as if he were above
all this.  And yet he looked not like a fool; neither was he one
altogether, when he began to think of things.  The worst of him was
that he always wanted something new to go on with.  He never could
be idle; and yet he never worked to the end which crowns the task.
In the early stage he would labor hard, be full of the greatness of
his aim, and demand every body's interest, exciting, also, mighty
hopes of what was safe to come of it.  And even after that he
sometimes carried on with patience; but he had not perseverance.
Once or twice he had been on the very nick of accomplishing
something, and had driven home his nail; but then he let it spring
back without clinching.  "Oh, any fool can do that!" he cried, and
never stood to it, to do it again, or to see that it came not
undone.  In a word, he stuck to nothing, but swerved about, here,
there, and every where.

His father, being of so different a cast, and knowing how often the
wisest of men must do what any fool can do, was bitterly vexed at
the flighty ways of Willie, and could do no more than hope, with a
general contempt, that when the boy grew older he might be a wiser
fool.  But Willie's dear mother maintained, with great consistency,
that such a perfect wonder could never be expected to do any thing
not wonderful.  To this the farmer used to listen with a grim,
decorous smile; then grumbled, as soon as he was out of hearing,
and fell to and did the little jobs himself.

Sore jealousy of Willie, perhaps, and keen sense of injustice, as
well as high spirit and love of adventure, had driven the younger
son, Jack, from home, and launched him on a sea-faring life.  With
a stick and a bundle he had departed from the ancestral fields and
lanes, one summer morning about three years since, when the cows
were lowing for the milk pail, and a royal cutter was cruising off
the Head.  For a twelvemonth nothing was heard of him, until there
came a letter beginning, "Dear and respected parents," and ending,
"Your affectionate and dutiful son, Jack."  The body of the letter
was of three lines only, occupied entirely with kind inquiries as
to the welfare of every body, especially his pup, and his old pony,
and dear sister Mary.

Mary Anerley, the only daughter and the youngest child, well
deserved the best remembrance of the distant sailor, though Jack
may have gone too far in declaring (as he did till he came to his
love-time) that the world contained no other girl fit to hold a
candle to her.  No doubt it would have been hard to find a girl
more true and loving, more modest and industrious; but hundreds and
hundreds of better girls might be found perhaps even in Yorkshire.

For this maiden had a strong will of her own, which makes against
absolute perfection; also she was troubled with a strenuous hate of
injustice--which is sure, in this world, to find cause for an
outbreak--and too active a desire to rush after what is right,
instead of being well content to let it come occasionally.  And so
firm could she be, when her mind was set, that she would not take
parables, or long experience, or even kindly laughter, as a power
to move her from the thing she meant.  Her mother, knowing better
how the world goes on, promiscuously, and at leisure, and how the
right point slides away when stronger forces come to bear, was very
often vexed by the crotchets of the girl, and called her wayward,
headstrong, and sometimes nothing milder than "a saucy miss."

This, however, was absurd, and Mary scarcely deigned to cry about
it, but went to her father, as she always did when any weight lay
on her mind.  Nothing was said about any injustice, because that
might lead to more of it, as well as be (from a proper point of
view) most indecorous.  Nevertheless, it was felt between them,
when her pretty hair was shed upon his noble waistcoat, that they
two were in the right, and cared very little who thought otherwise.

Now it was time to leave off this; for Mary (without heed almost of
any but her mother) had turned into a full-grown damsel, comely,
sweet, and graceful.  She was tall enough never to look short, and
short enough never to seem too tall, even when her best feelings
were outraged; and nobody, looking at her face, could wish to do
any thing but please her--so kind was the gaze of her deep blue
eyes, so pleasant the frankness of her gentle forehead, so playful
the readiness of rosy lips for a pretty answer or a lovely smile.
But if any could be found so callous and morose as not to be
charmed or nicely cheered by this, let him only take a longer look,
not rudely, but simply in a spirit of polite inquiry; and then
would he see, on the delicate rounding of each soft and dimpled
cheek, a carmine hard to match on palette, morning sky, or flower
bed.

Lovely people ought to be at home in lovely places; and though this
can not be so always, as a general rule it is.  At Anerley Farm the
land was equal to the stock it had to bear, whether of trees, or
corn, or cattle, hogs, or mushrooms, or mankind.  The farm was not
so large or rambling as to tire the mind or foot, yet wide enough
and full of change--rich pasture, hazel copse, green valleys,
fallows brown, and golden breast-lands pillowing into nooks of
fern, clumps of shade for horse or heifer, and for rabbits sandy
warren, furzy cleve for hare and partridge, not without a little
mere for willows and for wild-ducks.  And the whole of the land,
with a general slope of liveliness and rejoicing, spread itself
well to the sun, with a strong inclination toward the morning, to
catch the cheery import of his voyage across the sea.

The pleasure of this situation was the more desirable because of
all the parts above it being bleak and dreary.  Round the shoulders
of the upland, like the arch of a great arm-chair, ran a barren
scraggy ridge, whereupon no tree could stand upright, no cow be
certain of her own tail, and scarcely a crow breast the violent air
by stooping ragged pinions, so furious was the rush of wind when
any power awoke the clouds; or sometimes, when the air was jaded
with continual conflict, a heavy settlement of brackish cloud lay
upon a waste of chalky flint.

By dint of persevering work there are many changes for the better
now, more shelter and more root-hold; but still it is a battle-
ground of winds, which rarely change their habits, for this is the
chump of the spine of the Wolds, which hulks up at last into
Flamborough Head.

Flamborough Head, the furthest forefront of a bare and jagged
coast, stretches boldly off to eastward--a strong and rugged
barrier.  Away to the north the land falls back, with coving bends,
and some straight lines of precipice and shingle, to which the
German Ocean sweeps, seldom free from sullen swell in the very best
of weather.  But to the southward of the Head a different spirit
seems to move upon the face of every thing.  For here is spread a
peaceful bay, and plains of brighter sea more gently furrowed by
the wind, and cliffs that have no cause to be so steep, and
bathing-places, and scarcely freckled sands, where towns may lay
their drain-pipes undisturbed.  In short, to have rounded that
headland from the north is as good as to turn the corner of a
garden wall in March, and pass from a buffeted back, and bare
shivers, to a sunny front of hope all as busy as a bee, with pears
spurring forward into creamy buds of promise, peach-trees already
in a flush of tasselled pink, and the green lobe of the apricot
shedding the snowy bloom.

Below this point the gallant skipper of the British collier,
slouching with a heavy load of grime for London, or waddling back
in ballast to his native North, alike is delighted to discover
storms ahead, and to cast his tarry anchor into soft gray calm.
For here shall he find the good shelter of friends like-minded with
himself, and of hospitable turn, having no cause to hurry any more
than he has, all too wise to command their own ships; and here will
they all jollify together while the sky holds a cloud or the locker
a drop.  Nothing here can shake their ships, except a violent east
wind, against which they wet the other eye; lazy boats visit them
with comfort and delight, while white waves are leaping, in the
offing; they cherish their well-earned rest, and eat the lotus--or
rather the onion--and drink ambrosial grog; they lean upon the
bulwarks, and contemplate their shadows--the noblest possible
employment for mankind--and lo! if they care to lift their eyes, in
the south shines the quay of Bridlington, inland the long ridge of
Priory stands high, and westward in a nook, if they level well a
clear glass (after holding on the slope so many steamy ones), they
may espy Anerley Farm, and sometimes Mary Anerley herself.

For she, when the ripple of the tide is fresh, and the glance of
the summer morn glistening on the sands, also if a little rocky
basin happens to be fit for shrimping, and only some sleepy ships
at anchor in the distance look at her, fearless she--because all
sailors are generally down at breakfast--tucks up her skirt and
gayly runs upon the accustomed play-ground, with her pony left to
wait for her.  The pony is old, while she is young (although she
was born before him), and now he belies his name, "Lord Keppel," by
starting at every soft glimmer of the sea.  Therefore now he is
left to roam at his leisure above high-water mark, poking his nose
into black dry weed, probing the winnow casts of yellow drift for
oats, and snorting disappointment through a gritty dance of sand-
hoppers.

Mary has brought him down the old "Dane's Dike" for society rather
than service, and to strengthen his nerves with the dew of the
salt, for the sake of her Jack who loved him.  He may do as he
likes, as he always does.  If his conscience allows him to walk
home, no one will think the less of him.  Having very little
conscience at his time of life (after so much contact with
mankind), he considers convenience only.  To go home would suit him
very well, but his crib would be empty till his young mistress
came; moreover, there is a little dog that plagues him when his
door is open; and in spite of old age, it is something to be free,
and in spite of all experience, to hope for something good.
Therefore Lord Keppel is as faithful as the rocks; he lifts his
long heavy head, and gazes wistfully at the anchored ships, and
Mary is sure that the darling pines for his absent master.

But she, with the multitudinous tingle of youth, runs away
rejoicing.  The buoyant power and brilliance of the morning are
upon her, and the air of the bright sea lifts and spreads her, like
a pillowy skate's egg.  The polish of the wet sand flickers like
veneer of maple-wood at every quick touch of her dancing feet.  Her
dancing feet are as light as nature and high spirits made them, not
only quit of spindle heels, but even free from shoes and socks left
high and dry on the shingle.  And lighter even than the dancing
feet the merry heart is dancing, laughing at the shadows of its own
delight; while the radiance of blue eyes springs like a fount of
brighter heaven; and the sunny hair falls, flows, or floats, to
provoke the wind for playmate.

Such a pretty sight was good to see for innocence and largeness.
So the buoyancy of nature springs anew in those who have been
weary, when they see her brisk power inspiring the young, who never
stand still to think of her, but are up and away with her, where
she will, at the breath of her subtle encouragement.



CHAPTER VII

A DANE IN THE DIKE


Now, whether spy-glass had been used by any watchful mariner, or
whether only blind chance willed it, sure it is that one fine
morning Mary met with somebody.  And this was the more remarkable,
when people came to think of it, because it was only the night
before that her mother had almost said as much.

"Ye munna gaw doon to t' sea be yersell," Mistress Anerley said to
her daughter; "happen ye mought be one too many."

Master Anerley's wife had been at "boarding-school," as far south
as Suffolk, and could speak the very best of Southern English (like
her daughter Mary) upon polite occasion.  But family cares and
farm-house life had partly cured her of her education, and from
troubles of distant speech she had returned to the ease of her
native dialect.

"And if I go not to the sea by myself," asked Mary, with natural
logic, "why, who is there now to go with me?"  She was thinking of
her sadly missed comrade, Jack.

"Happen some day, perhaps, one too many."

The maiden was almost too innocent to blush; but her father took
her part as usual.

"The little lass sall gaw doon," he said, "wheniver sha likes."
And so she went down the next morning.

A thousand years ago the Dane's Dike must have been a very grand
intrenchment, and a thousand years ere that perhaps it was still
grander; for learned men say that it is a British work, wrought out
before the Danes had even learned to build a ship.  Whatever,
however, may be argued about that, the wise and the witless do
agree about one thing--the stronghold inside it has been held by
Danes, while severed by the Dike from inland parts; and these Danes
made a good colony of their own, and left to their descendants
distinct speech and manners, some traces of which are existing even
now.  The Dike, extending from the rough North Sea to the calmer
waters of Bridlington Bay, is nothing more than a deep dry trench,
skillfully following the hollows of the ground, and cutting off
Flamborough Head and a solid cantle of high land from the rest of
Yorkshire.  The corner, so intercepted, used to be and is still
called "Little Denmark;" and the in-dwellers feel a large contempt
for all their outer neighbors.  And this is sad, because Anerley
Farm lies wholly outside of the Dike, which for a long crooked
distance serves as its eastern boundary.

Upon the morning of the self-same day that saw Mr. Jellicorse set
forth upon his return from Scargate Hall, armed with instructions
to defy the devil, and to keep his discovery quiet--upon a lovely
August morning of the first year of a new century, Mary Anerley,
blithe and gay, came riding down the grassy hollow of this ancient
Dane's Dike.  This was her shortest way to the sea, and the tide
would suit (if she could only catch it) for a take of shrimps, and
perhaps even prawns, in time for her father's breakfast.  And not
to lose this, she arose right early, and rousing Lord Keppel, set
forth for the spot where she kept her net covered with sea-weed.
The sun, though up and brisk already upon sea and foreland, had not
found time to rout the shadows skulking in the dingles.  But even
here, where sap of time had breached the turfy ramparts, the hover
of the dew-mist passed away, and the steady light was unfolded.

For the season was early August still, with beautiful weather come
at last; and the green world seemed to stand on tiptoe to make the
extraordinary acquaintance of the sun.  Humble plants which had
long lain flat stood up with a sense of casting something off; and
the damp heavy trunks which had trickled for a twelvemonth, or been
only sponged with moss, were hailing the fresher light with keener
lines and dove-colored tints upon their smoother boles.  Then,
conquering the barrier of the eastern land crest, rose the glorious
sun himself, strewing before him trees and crags in long steep
shadows down the hill.  Then the sloping rays, through furze and
brush-land, kindling the sparkles of the dew, descended to the
brink of the Dike, and scorning to halt at petty obstacles, with a
hundred golden hurdles bridged it wherever any opening was.

Under this luminous span, or through it where the crossing gullies
ran, Mary Anerley rode at leisure, allowing her pony to choose his
pace.  That privilege he had long secured, in right of age, wisdom,
and remarkable force of character.  Considering his time of life,
he looked well and sleek, and almost sprightly; and so, without any
reservation, did his gentle and graceful rider.  The maiden looked
well in a place like that, as indeed in almost any place; but now
she especially set off the color of things, and was set off by
them.  For instance, how could the silver of the dew-cloud, and
golden weft of sunrise, playing through the dapples of a partly
wooded glen, do better (in the matter of variety) than frame a
pretty moving figure in a pink checked frock, with a skirt of
russet murrey, and a bright brown hat?  Not that the hat itself was
bright, even under the kiss of sunshine, simply having seen already
too much of the sun, but rather that its early lustre seemed to be
revived by a sense of the happy position it was in; the clustering
hair and the bright eyes beneath it answering the sunny dance of
life and light.  Many a handsomer face, no doubt, more perfect,
grand, and lofty, received--at least if it was out of bed--the
greeting of that morning sun; but scarcely any prettier one, or
kinder, or more pleasant, so gentle without being weak, so good-
tempered without looking void of all temper at all.

Suddenly the beauty of the time and place was broken by sharp angry
sound.  Bang! bang! came the roar of muskets fired from the shore
at the mouth of the Dike, and echoing up the winding glen.  At the
first report the girl, though startled, was not greatly frightened;
for the sound was common enough in the week when those most gallant
volunteers entitled the "Yorkshire Invincibles" came down for their
annual practice of skilled gunnery against the French.  Their habit
was to bring down a red cock, and tether him against a chalky
cliff, and then vie with one another in shooting at him.  The same
cock had tested their skill for three summers, but failed hitherto
to attest it, preferring to return in a hamper to his hens, with a
story of moving adventures.

Mary had watched those Invincibles sometimes from a respectful
distance, and therefore felt sure (when she began to think) that
she had not them to thank for this little scare.  For they always
slept soundly in the first watch of the morning; and even supposing
they had jumped up with nightmare, where was the jubilant crow of
the cock?  For the cock, being almost as invincible as they were,
never could deny himself the glory of a crow when the bullet came
into his neighborhood.  He replied to every volley with an elevated
comb, and a flapping of his wings, and a clarion peal, which rang
along the foreshore ere the musket roar died out.  But before the
girl had time to ponder what it was, or wherefore, round the corner
came somebody, running very swiftly.

In a moment Mary saw that this man had been shot at, and was making
for his life away; and to give him every chance she jerked her pony
aside, and called and beckoned; and without a word he flew to her.
Words were beyond him, till his breath should come back, and he
seemed to have no time to wait for that.  He had outstripped the
wind, and his own wind, by his speed.

"Poor man!" cried Mary Anerley, "what a hurry you are in!  But I
suppose you can not help it.  Are they shooting at you?"

The runaway nodded, for he could not spare a breath, but was deeply
inhaling for another start, and could not even bow without
hinderance.  But to show that he had manners, he took off his hat.
Then he clapped it on his head and set off again.

"Come back!" cried the maid; "I can show you a place.  I can hide
you from your enemies forever."

The young fellow stopped.  He was come to that pitch of exhaustion
in which a man scarcely cares whether he is killed or dies.  And
his face showed not a sign of fear.

"Look!  That little hole--up there--by the fern.  Up at once, and
this cloth over you!"

He snatched it, and was gone, like the darting lizard, up a little
puckering side issue of the Dike, at the very same instant that
three broad figures and a long one appeared at the lip of the
mouth.  The quick-witted girl rode on to meet them, to give the
poor fugitive time to get into his hole and draw the brown skirt
over him.  The dazzle of the sun, pouring over the crest, made the
hollow a twinkling obscurity; and the cloth was just in keeping
with the dead stuff around.  The three broad men, with heavy fusils
cocked, came up from the sea mouth of the Dike, steadily panting,
and running steadily with a long-enduring stride.  Behind them a
tall bony man with a cutlass was swinging it high in the air, and
limping, and swearing with great velocity.

"Coast-riders," thought Mary, "and he a free-trader!  Four against
one is cowardice."

"Halt!" cried the tall man, while the rest were running past her;
"halt! ground arms; never scare young ladies."  Then he flourished
his hat, with a grand bow to Mary.  "Fair young Mistress Anerley, I
fear we spoil your ride.  But his Majesty's duty must be done.
Hats off, fellows, at the name of your king!  Mary, my dear, the
most daring villain, the devil's own son, has just run up here--
scarcely two minutes--you must have seen him.  Wait a minute; tell
no lies--excuse me, I mean fibs.  Your father is the right sort.
He hates those scoundrels.  In the name of his Majesty, which way
is he gone?"

"Was it--oh, was it a man, if you please?  Captain Carroway, don't
say so."

"A man?  Is it likely that we shot at a woman?  You are trifling.
It will be the worse for you.  Forgive me--but we are in such a
hurry.  Whoa! whoa! pony."

"You always used to be so polite, Sir, that you quite surprise me.
And those guns look so dreadful!  My father would be quite
astonished to see me not even allowed to go down to the sea, but
hurried back here, as if the French had landed."

"How can I help it, if your pony runs away so?"  For Mary all this
time had been cleverly contriving to increase and exaggerate her
pony's fear, and so brought the gunners for a long way up the Dike,
without giving them any time to spy at all about.  She knew that
this was wicked from a loyal point of view; not a bit the less she
did it.  "What a troublesome little horse it is!" she cried.  "Oh,
Captain Carroway, hold him just a moment.  I will jump down, and
then you can jump up, and ride after all his Majesty's enemies."

"The Lord forbid!  He slews all out of gear, like a carronade with
rotten lashings.  If I boarded him, how could I get out of his way?
No, no, my dear, brace him up sharp, and bear clear."

"But you wanted to know about some enemy, captain.  An enemy as bad
as my poor Lord Keppel?"

"Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain!  A hundred golden guineas
on his head, and half for you.  Think of your father, my dear, and
Sunday gowns.  And you must have a young man by-and-by, you know--
such a beautiful maid as you are.  And you might get a leather
purse, and give it to him.  Mary, on your duty, now?"

"Captain, you drive me so, what can I say?  I can not bear the
thought of betraying any body."

"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you.  He must be half a mile
off by this time.  You could never hurt him now; and you can tell
your father that you have done your duty to the king."

"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too late
to catch him, I can tell you all about him.  But remember your word
about the fifty guineas."

"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may say to
it.  Quick! quick!  Which way did he run, my dear?"

"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was too
tired."

"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox!  We have been two hours
after him; he could not run; no more can we.  But which way did he
go, I mean?"

"I will not say any thing for certain, Sir; even for fifty guineas.
But he may have come up here--mind, I say not that he did--and if
so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.  Slowly, very slowly,
because of being tired.  But perhaps, after all, he was not the man
you mean."

"Forward, double-quick!  We are sure to have him!" shouted the
lieutenant--for his true rank was that--flourishing his cutlass
again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his limp.
"Five guineas every man Jack of you.  Thank you, young mistress--
most heartily thank you.  Dead or alive, five guineas!"

With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one of
the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked back with
great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of women than
this, that he never could believe even his own wife.  And he knew
that it was mainly by the grace of womankind that so much
contraband work was going on.  Nevertheless, it was out of his
power to act upon his own low opinions now.

The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit, was
informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's suspicions,
and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord Keppel,
impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pursuit of
his Majesty's enemies.  But no sooner did she see all the men
dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor, than she
turned her pony's head toward the sea again, and rode back round
the bend of the hollow.  What would her mother say if she lost the
murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at Bridlington fair?
And ten times that money might be lost much better than for her
father to discover how she lost it.  For Master Stephen Anerley was
a straight-backed man, and took three weeks of training in the Land
Defense Yeomanry, at periods not more than a year apart, so that
many people called him "Captain" now; and the loss of his
suppleness at knee and elbow had turned his mind largely to
politics, making him stiffly patriotic, and especially hot against
all free-traders putting bad bargains to his wife, at the cost of
the king and his revenue.  If the bargain were a good one, that was
no concern of his.

Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have such a
bad mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped by her,
would be mean enough to run off with her property.  And now she
came to think of it, there was something high and noble, she might
almost say something downright honest, in the face of that poor
persecuted man.  And in spite of all his panting, how brave he must
have been, what a runner, and how clever, to escape from all those
cowardly coast-riders shooting right and left at him!  Such a man
steal that paltry skirt that her mother made such a fuss about!
She was much more likely to find it in her clothes-press filled
with golden guineas.

Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by reason of
shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive must
have seized such a chance and made good his escape toward North Sea
or Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced across the long shafts of
the sun, and a bodily form sped after it.  To the middle of the
Dike leaped a young man, smiling, and forth from the gully which
had saved his life.  To look at him, nobody ever could have guessed
how fast he had fled, and how close he had lain hid.  For he stood
there as clean and spruce and careless as even a sailor can be
wished to be.  Limber yet stalwart, agile though substantial, and
as quick as a dart while as strong as a pike, he seemed cut out by
nature for a true blue-jacket; but condition had made him a
smuggler, or, to put it more gently, a free-trader.  Britannia,
being then at war with all the world, and alone in the right (as
usual), had need of such lads, and produced them accordingly, and
sometimes one too many.  But Mary did not understand these laws.

This made her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt
whether he could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded
in his hand, and then she said, "How do you do, Sir?"

The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise.  He had been in
such a hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of a fatal
bullet after him so sharp, that his mind had been astray from any
sense of beauty, and of every thing else except the safety of the
body.  But now he looked at Mary, and his breath again went from
him.

"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and if you
would like to do any thing to please me, run as fast as possible."

"What have I to run away from now?" he answered, in a deep sweet
voice.  "I run from enemies, but not from friends."

"That is very wise.  But your enemies are still almost within call
of you.  They will come back worse than ever when they find you are
not there."

"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways.  I have
led them a good many dances before this; though it would have been
my last, without your help.  They will go on, all the morning, in
the wrong direction, even while they know it.  Carroway is the most
stubborn of men.  He never turns back; and the further he goes, the
better his bad leg is.  They will scatter about, among the fields
and hedges, and call one another like partridges.  And when they
can not take another step, they will come back to Anerley for
breakfast."

"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them.  My father
is a soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the forces of
the king."

"Then you are young Mistress Anerley?  I was sure of it before.
There are no two such.  And you have saved my life.  It is
something to owe it so fairly."

The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being used to
any gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest manner to take
back her riding skirt; and he, though longing in his heart to keep
it, for a token or pretext for another meeting, found no excuse for
doing so.  And yet he was not without some resource.

For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite content
with the good she had done, and the luck of recovering her
property; and that sense of right which in those days formed a part
of every good young woman said to her plainly that she must be off.
And she felt how unkind it was to keep him any longer in a place
where the muzzle of a gun, with a man behind it, might appear at
any moment.  But he, having plentiful breath again, was at home
with himself to spend it.

"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to be
called a lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I ever
can pay you already, may I ask a little more?  Then it is that, on
your way down to the sea, you would just pick up (if you should
chance to see it) the fellow ring to this, and perhaps you will
look at this to know it by.  The one that was shot away flew
against a stone just on the left of the mouth of the Dike, but I
durst not stop to look for it, and I must not go back that way now.
It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though nobody else would
give a crown for it."

"And they really shot away one of your ear-rings?  Careless, cruel,
wasteful men!  What could they have been thinking of?"

"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money.'  One
hundred pounds for Robin Lyth.  Dead or alive--one hundred pounds."

"It makes me shiver, with the sun upon me.  Of course they must
offer money for--for people.  For people who have killed other
people, and bad things--but to offer a hundred pounds for a free-
trader, and fire great guns at him to get it--I never should have
thought it of Captain Carroway."

"Carroway only does his duty.  I like him none the worse for it.
Carroway is a fool, of course.  His life has been in my hands fifty
times; but I will never take it.  He must be killed sooner or
later, because he rushes into every thing.  But never will it be my
doing."

"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth--the new Robin Hood, as
they call him?  The man who can do almost any thing?"

"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen, I can
not do much.  I can not even search for my own earring."

"I will search for it till I find it.  They have shot at you too
much.  Cowardly, cowardly people!  Captain Lyth, where shall I put
it, if I find it?"

"If you could hide it for a week, and then--then tell me where to
find it, in the afternoon, toward four o'clock, in the lane toward
Bempton Cliffs.  We are off tonight upon important business.  We
have been too careless lately, from laughing at poor Carroway."

"You are very careless now.  You quite frighten me almost.  The
coast-riders might come back at any moment.  And what could you do
then?"

"Run away gallantly, as I did before; with this little difference,
that I should be fresh, while they are as stiff as nut-cracks.
They have missed the best chance they ever had at me; it will make
their temper very bad.  If they shot at me again, they could do no
good.  Crooked mood makes crooked mode."

"You forget that I should not see such things.  You may like very
much to be shot at; but--but you should think of other people."

"I shall think of you only--I mean of your great kindness, and your
promise to keep my ring for me.  Of course you will tell nobody,
Carroway will have me like a tiger if you do.  Farewell, young
lady--for one week farewell."

With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time to retract
her promise; and she thought of her mother, as she rode on slowly
to look for the smuggler's trinket.



CHAPTER VIII

CAPTAIN CARROWAY


Fame, that light-of-love trusted by so many, and never a wife till
a widow--fame, the fair daughter of fuss and caprice, may yet take
the phantom of bold Robin Lyth by the right hand, and lead it to a
pedestal almost as lofty as Robin Hood's, or she may let it vanish
like a bat across Lethe--a thing not bad enough for eminence.

However, at the date and in the part of the world now dealt with,
this great free-trader enjoyed the warm though possibly brief
embrace of fame, having no rival, and being highly respected by all
who were unwarped by a sense of duty.  And blessed as he was with a
lively nature, he proceeded happily upon his path in life,
notwithstanding a certain ticklish sense of being shot at
undesirably.  This had befallen him now so often, without producing
any tangible effect, that a great many people, and especially the
shooters (convinced of the accuracy of their aim), went far to
believe that he possessed some charm against wholesome bullet and
gunpowder.  And lately even a crooked sixpence dipped in holy water
(which was still to be had in Yorkshire) confirmed and doubled the
faith of all good people, by being declared upon oath to have
passed clean through him, as was proved by its being picked up
quite clean.

This strong belief was of great use to him; for, like many other
beliefs, it went a very long way to prove itself.  Steady left
hands now grew shaky in the level of the carbine, and firm
forefingers trembled slightly upon draught of trigger, and the
chief result of a large discharge was a wale upon the marksman's
shoulder.  Robin, though so clever and well practiced in the world,
was scarcely old enough yet to have learned the advantage of
misapprehension, which, if well handled by any man, helps him, in
the cunning of paltry things, better than a truer estimate.  But
without going into that, he was pleased with the fancy of being
invulnerable, which not only doubled his courage, but trebled the
discipline of his followers, and secured him the respect of all
tradesmen.  However, the worst of all things is that just when they
are establishing themselves, and earning true faith by continuance,
out of pure opposition the direct contrary arises, and begins to
prove itself.  And to Captain Lyth this had just happened in the
shot which carried off his left ear-ring.

Not that his body, or any fleshly member, could be said directly to
have parted with its charm, but that a warning and a diffidence
arose from so near a visitation.  All genuine sailors are blessed
with strong faith, as they must be, by nature's compensation.
Their bodies continually going up and down upon perpetual fluxion,
they never could live if their minds did the same, like the minds
of stationary landsmen.  Therefore their minds are of stanch
immobility, to restore the due share of firm element.  And not only
that, but these men have compressed (through generations of
circumstance), from small complications, simplicity.  Being out in
all weathers, and rolling about so, how can they stand upon
trifles?  Solid stays, and stanchions, and strong bulwarks are
their need, and not a dance of gnats in gossamer; hating all fogs,
they blow not up with their own breath misty mysteries, and gazing
mainly at the sky and sea, believe purely in God and the devil.  In
a word, these sailors have religion.

Some of their religion is not well pronounced, but declares itself
in overstrong expressions.  However, it is in them, and at any
moment waiting opportunity of action--a shipwreck or a grape-shot;
and the chaplain has good hopes of them when the doctor has given
them over.

Now one of their principal canons of faith, and the one best
observed in practice, is (or at any rate used to be) that a man is
bound to wear ear-rings.  For these, as sure tradition shows, and
no pious mariner would dare to doubt, act as a whetstone in all
weathers to the keen edge of the eyes.  Semble--as the lawyers say--
that this idea was born of great phonetic facts in the days when a
seaman knew his duty better than the way to spell it; and when, if
his outlook were sharpened by a friendly wring from the captain of
the watch, he never dreamed of a police court.

But Robin Lyth had never cared to ask why he wore ear-rings.  His
nature was not meditative.  Enough for him that all the other men
of Flamborough did so; and enough for them that their fathers had
done it.  Whether his own father had done so, was more than he
could say, because he knew of no such parent; and of that other
necessity, a mother, he was equally ignorant.  His first appearance
at Flamborough, though it made little stir at the moment in a place
of so many adventures, might still be considered unusual, and in
some little degree remarkable.  So that Mistress Anerley was not
wrong when she pressed upon Lieutenant Carroway how unwise it might
be to shoot him, any more than Carroway himself was wrong in
turning in at Anerley gate for breakfast.

This he had not done without good cause of honest and loyal
necessity.  Free-trading Robin had predicted well the course of his
pursuers.  Rushing eagerly up the Dike, and over its brim, with
their muskets, that gallant force of revenue men steadily scoured
the neighborhood; and the further they went, the worse they fared.
There was not a horse standing down by a pool, with his stiff legs
shut up into biped form, nor a cow staring blandly across an old
rail, nor a sheep with a pectoral cough behind a hedge, nor a
rabbit making rustle at the eyebrow of his hole, nor even a moot,
that might either be a man or hold a man inside it, whom or which
those active fellows did not circumvent and poke into.  In none of
these, however, could they find the smallest breach of the
strictest laws of the revenue; until at last, having exhausted
their bodies by great zeal both of themselves and of mind, they
braced them again to the duty of going, as promptly as possible, to
breakfast.

For a purpose of that kind few better places, perhaps, could be
found than this Anerley Farm, though not at the best of itself just
now, because of the denials of the season.  It is a sad truth about
the heyday of the year, such as August is in Yorkshire--where they
have no spring--that just when a man would like his victuals to
rise to the mark of the period, to be simple yet varied,
exhilarating yet substantial, the heat of the summer day defrauds
its increased length for feeding.  For instance, to cite a very
trifling point--at least in some opinions--August has banished that
bright content and most devout resignation which ensue the removal
of a petted pig from this troublous world of grunt.  The fat pig
rolls in wallowing rapture, defying his friends to make pork of him
yet, and hugs with complacence unpickleable hams.  The partridge
among the pillared wheat, tenderly footing the way for his chicks,
and teaching little balls of down to hop, knows how sacred are
their lives to others as well as to himself; and the less paternal
cock-pheasant scratches the ridge of green-shouldered potatoes,
without fear of keeping them company at table.

But though the bright glory of the griddle remains in suspense for
the hoary mornings, and hooks that carried woodcocks once, and hope
to do so yet again, are primed with dust instead of lard, and the
frying-pan hangs on the cellar nail with a holiday gloss of raw
mutton suet, yet is there still some comfort left, yet dappled
brawn, and bacon streaked, yet golden-hearted eggs, and mushrooms
quilted with pink satin, spiced beef carded with pellucid fat,
buckstone cake, and brown bread scented with the ash of gorse
bloom--of these, and more that pave the way into the good-will of
mankind, what lack have fine farm-houses?

And then, again, for the liquid duct, the softer and more
sensitive, the one that is never out of season, but perennially
clear--here we have advantage of the gentle time that mellows
thirst.  The long ride of the summer sun makes men who are in
feeling with him, and like him go up and down, not forego the moral
of his labor, which is work and rest.  Work all day, and light the
rounded land with fruit and nurture, and rest at evening, looking
through bright fluid, as the sun goes down.

But times there are when sun and man, by stress of work, or clouds,
or light, or it may be some Process of the Equinox, make draughts
upon the untilted day, and solace themselves in the morning.  For
lack of dew the sun draws lengthy sucks of cloud quite early, and
men who have labored far and dry, and scattered the rime of the
night with dust, find themselves ready about 8 A.M. for the golden
encouragement of gentle ale.

The farm-house had an old porch of stone, with a bench of stone on
either side, and pointed windows trying to look out under brows of
ivy; and this porch led into the long low hall, where the breakfast
was beginning.  To say what was on the table would be only waste of
time, because it has all been eaten so long ago; but the farmer was
vexed because there were no shrimps.  Not that he cared half the
clip of a whisker for all the shrimps that ever bearded the sea,
only that he liked to seem to love them, to keep Mary at work for
him.  The flower of his flock, and of all the flocks of the world
of the universe to his mind, was his darling daughter Mary: the
strength of his love was upon her, and he liked to eat any thing of
her cooking.

His body was too firm to fidget; but his mind was out of its usual
comfort, because the pride of his heart, his Mary, seemed to be
hiding something from him.  And with the justice to be expected
from far clearer minds than his, being vexed by one, he was ripe
for the relief of snapping at fifty others.  Mary, who could read
him, as a sailor reads his compass, by the corner of one eye,
awaited with good content the usual result--an outbreak of words
upon the indolent Willie, whenever that young farmer should come
down to breakfast, then a comforting glance from the mother at her
William, followed by a plate kept hot for him, and then a fine
shake of the master's shoulders, and a stamp of departure for
business.  But instead of that, what came to pass was this.

In the first place, a mighty bark of dogs arose; as needs must be,
when a man does his duty toward the nobler animals; for sure it is
that the dogs will not fail of their part.  Then an inferior noise
of men, crying, "Good dog! good dog!" and other fulsome flatteries,
in the hope of avoiding any tooth-mark on their legs; and after
that a shaking down and settlement of sounds, as if feet were
brought into good order, and stopped.  Then a tall man, with a body
full of corners, and a face of grim temper, stood in the doorway.

"Well, well, captain, now!" cried Stephen Anerley, getting up after
waiting to be spoken to, "the breath of us all is hard to get, with
doing of our duty, Sir.  Come ye in, and sit doon to table, and his
Majesty's forces along o' ye."

"Cadman, Ellis, and Dick, be damned!" the lieutenant shouted out to
them; "you shall have all the victuals you want, by-and-by.  Cross
legs, and get your winds up.  Captain of the coast-defense, I am
under your orders, in your own house."  Carroway was starving, as
only a man with long and active jaws can starve; and now the
appearance of the farmer's mouth, half full of a kindly relish,
made the emptiness of his own more bitter.  But happen what might,
he resolved, as usual, to enforce strict discipline, to feed
himself first, and his men in proper order.

"Walk in gentlemen, all walk in," Master Anerley shouted, as if all
men were alike, and coming to the door with a hospitable stride;
"glad to see all of ye, upon my soul I am.  Ye've hit upon the
right time for coming, too; though there might 'a been more upon
the table.  Mary, run, that's a dear, and fetch your grandfather's
big Sabbath carver.  Them peaky little clams a'most puts out all my
shoulder-blades, and wunna bite through a twine of gristle.  Plates
for all the gentlemen, Winnie lass!  Bill, go and drah the black
jarge full o' yell."

The farmer knew well enough that Willie was not down yet; but this
was his manner of letting people see that he did not approve of
such hours.

"My poor lad Willie," said the mistress of the house, returning
with a courtesy the brave lieutenant's scrape, "I fear he hath the
rheum again, overheating of himself after sungate."

"Ay, ay, I forgot.  He hath to heat himself in bed again, with the
sun upon his coverlid.  Mary lof, how many hours was ye up?"

"Your daughter, Sir," answered the lieutenant, with a glance at the
maiden over the opal gleam of froth, which she had headed up for
him--"your daughter has been down the Dike before the sun was, and
doing of her duty by the king and by his revenue.  Mistress
Anerley, your good health!  Master Anerley, the like to you, and
your daughter, and all of your good household."  Before they had
finished their thanks for this honor, the quart pot was set down
empty.  "A very pretty brew, Sir--a pretty brew indeed!  Fall back,
men!  Have heed of discipline.  A chalked line is what they want,
Sir.  Mistress Anerley, your good health again.  The air is now
thirsty in the mornings.  If those fellows could be given a bench
against the wall--a bench against the wall is what they feel for
with their legs.  It comes so natural to their--yes, yes, their
legs, and the crook of their heels, ma'am, from what they were
brought up to sit upon.  And if you have any beer brewed for
washing days, ma'am, that is what they like, and the right thing
for their bellies.  Cadman, Ellis, and Dick Hackerbody, sit down
and be thankful."

"But surely, Captain Carroway, you would never be happy to sit down
without them.  Look at their small-clothes, the dust and the dirt!
And their mouths show what you might make of them."

"Yes, madam, yes; the very worst of them is that.  They are always
looking out, here, there, and every where, for victuals
everlasting.  Let them wait their proper time, and then they do it
properly."

"Their proper time is now, Sir.  Winnie, fill their horns up.
Mary, wait you upon the officer.  Captain Carroway, I will not have
any body starve in my house."

"Madam, you are the lawgiver in your own house.  Men of the coast-
guard, fall to upon your victuals."

The lieutenant frowned horribly at his men, as much as to say,
"Take no advantage, but show your best manners;" and they touched
their forelocks with a pleasant grin, and began to feed rapidly;
and verily their wives would have said that it was high time for
them.  Feeding, as a duty, was the order of the day, and discipline
had no rank left.  Good things appeared and disappeared, with the
speedy doom of all excellence.  Mary, and Winnie the maid, flitted
in and out like carrier-pigeons.

"Now when the situation comes to this," said the farmer at last,
being heartily pleased with the style of their feeding and
laughing, "his Majesty hath made an officer of me, though void of
his own writing.  Mounted Fencibles, Filey Briggers, called in the
foreign parts 'Brigadiers.'  Not that I stand upon sermonry about
it, except in the matter of his Majesty's health, as never is due
without ardent spirits.  But my wife hath a right to her own way,
and never yet I knowed her go away from it."

"Not so, by any means," the mistress said, and said it so quietly
that some believed her; "I never was so much for that.  Captain,
you are a married man.  But reason is reason, in the middle of us
all, and what else should I say to my husband?  Mary lass, Mary
lof, wherever is your duty?  The captain hath the best pot empty!"

With a bright blush Mary sprang up to do her duty.  In those days
no girl was ashamed to blush; and the bloodless cheek savored of
small-pox.

"Hold up your head, my lof," her father said aloud, with a smile of
tidy pride, and a pat upon her back; "no call to look at all
ashamed, my dear.  To my mind, captain, though I may be wrong,
however, but to my mind, this little maid may stan' upright in the
presence of downright any one."

"There lies the very thing that never should be said.  Captain, you
have seven children, or it may be eight of them justly.  And the
pride of life--Mary, you be off!"

Mary was glad to run away, for she liked not to be among so many
men.  But her father would not have her triumphed over.

"Speak for yourself, good wife," he said.  "I know what you have
got behind, as well as rooks know plough-tail.  Captain, you never
heard me say that the lass were any booty, but the very same as God
hath made her, and thankful for straight legs and eyes.  Howsoever,
there might be worse-favored maidens, without running out of the
Riding."

"You may ride all the way to the city of London," the captain
exclaimed, with a clinch of his fist, "or even to Portsmouth, where
my wife came from, and never find a maid fit to hold a candle for
Mary to curl her hair by."

The farmer was so pleased that he whispered something; but Carroway
put his hand before his mouth, and said, "Never, no, never in the
morning!"  But in spite of that, Master Anerley felt in his pocket
for a key, and departed.

"Wicked, wicked, is the word I use," protested Mrs. Anerley, "for
all this fribble about rooks and looks, and holding of candles, and
curling of hair.  When I was Mary's age--oh dear!  It may not be so
for your daughters, captain; but evil for mine was the day that
invented those proud swinging-glasses."

"That you may pronounce, ma'am, and I will say Amen.  Why, my
eldest daughter, in her tenth year now--"

"Come, Captain Carroway," broke in the farmer, returning softly
with a square old bottle, "how goes the fighting with the Crappos
now?  Put your legs up, and light your pipe, and tell us all the
news."

"Cadman, and Ellis, and Dick Hackerbody," the lieutenant of the
coast-guard shouted, "you have fed well.  Be off, men; no more
neglect of duty!  Place an outpost at fork of the Sewerby road, and
strictly observe the enemy, while I hold a council of war with my
brother officer, Captain Anerley.  Half a crown for you, if you
catch the rogue, half a crown each, and promotion of twopence.
Attention, eyes right, make yourselves scarce!  Well, now the
rogues are gone, let us make ourselves at home.  Anerley, your
question is a dry one.  A dry one; but this is uncommonly fine
stuff!  How the devil has it slipped through our fingers?  Never
mind that, inter amicos--Sir, I was at school at Shrewsbury--but as
to the war, Sir, the service is going to the devil, for the want of
pure principle."

The farmer nodded; and his looks declared that to some extent he
felt it.  He had got the worst side of some bargains that week; but
his wife had another way of thinking.

"Why, Captain Carroway, whatever could be purer?  When you were at
sea, had you ever a man of the downright principles of Nelson?"

"Nelson has done very well in his way; but he is a man who has
risen too fast, as other men rise too slowly.  Nothing in him; no
substance, madam; I knew him as a youngster, and I could have
tossed him on a marling-spike.  And instead of feeding well, Sir,
he quite wore himself away.  To my firm knowledge, he would
scarcely turn the scale upon a good Frenchman of half of the peas.
Every man should work his own way up, unless his father did it for
him.  In my time we had fifty men as good, and made no fuss about
them."

"And you not the last of them, captain, I dare say.  Though I do
love to hear of the Lord's Lord Nelson, as the people call him.  If
ever a man fought his own way up--"

"Madam, I know him, and respect him well.  He would walk up to the
devil, with a sword between his teeth, and a boarder's pistol in
each hand.  Madam, I leaped, in that condition, a depth of six
fathoms and a half into the starboard mizzen-chains of the French
line-of-battle ship Peace and Thunder."

"Oh, Captain Carroway, how dreadful!  What had you to lay hold
with?"

"At such times a man must not lay hold.  My business was to lay
about; and I did it to some purpose.  This little slash, across my
eyes struck fire, and it does the same now by moonlight."

One of the last men in the world to brag was Lieutenant Carroway.
Nothing but the great thirst of this morning, and strong necessity
of quenching it, could ever have led him to speak about himself,
and remember his own little exploits.  But the farmer was pleased,
and said, "Tell us some more, Sir."

"Mistress Anerley," the captain answered, shutting up the scar,
which he was able to expand by means of a muscle of excitement,
"you know that a man should drop these subjects when he has got a
large family.  I have been in the Army and the Navy, madam, and now
I am in the Revenue; but my duty is first to my own house."

"Do take care, Sir; I beg you to be careful.  Those free-traders
now are come to such a pitch that any day or night they may shoot
you."

"Not they, madam.  No, they are not murderers.  In a hand-to-hand
conflict they might do it, as I might do the same to them.  This
very morning my men shot at the captain of all smugglers, Robin
Lyth, of Flamborough, with a hundred guineas upon his head.  It was
no wish of mine; but my breath was short to stop them, and a man
with a family like mine can never despise a hundred guineas."

"Why, Sophy," said the farmer, thinking slowly, with a frown, "that
must have been the noise come in at window, when I were getting up
this morning.  I said, 'Why, there's some poacher fellow popping at
the conies!' and out I went straight to the warren to see.  Three
gun-shots, or might 'a been four.  How many men was you shooting
at?"

"The force under my command was in pursuit of one notorious
criminal--that well-known villain, Robin Lyth."

"Captain, your duty is to do your duty.  But without your own word
for it, I never would believe that you brought four gun muzzles
down upon one man."

"The force under my command carried three guns only.  It was not in
their power to shoot off four."

"Captain, I never would have done it in your place.  I call it no
better than unmanly.  Now go you not for to stir yourself amiss.
To look thunder at me is what I laugh at.  But many things are done
in a hurry, Captain Carroway, and I take it that this was one of
them."

"As to that, no!  I will not have it.  All was in thorough good
order.  I was never so much as a cable's length behind, though the
devil, some years ago, split my heel up, like his own, Sir."

"Captain, I see it, and I ask your pardon.  Your men were out of
reach of hollering.  At our time of life the wind dies quick, from
want of blowing oftener."

"Stuff!" cried the captain.  "Who was the freshest that came to
your hospitable door, Sir?  I will foot it with any man for six
leagues, but not for half a mile, ma'am.  I depart from nothing.  I
said, 'Fire!' and fire they did, and they shall again.  What do
Volunteers know of the service?"

"Stephen, you shall not say a single other word;" Mistress Anerley
stopped her husband thus; "these matters are out of your line
altogether; because you have never taken any body's blood.  The
captain here is used to it, like all the sons of Belial, brought up
in the early portions of the Holy Writ."

Lieutenant Carroway's acquaintance with the Bible was not more
extensive than that of other officers, and comprised little more
than the story of Joseph, and that of David and Goliath; so he
bowed to his hostess for her comparison, while his gaunt and
bristly countenance gave way to a pleasant smile.  For this officer
of the British Crown had a face of strong features, and upon it
whatever he thought was told as plainly as the time of day is told
by the clock in the kitchen.  At the same time, Master Anerley was
thinking that he might have said more than a host should say
concerning a matter which, after all, was no particular concern of
his; whereas it was his special place to be kind to any visitor.
All this he considered with a sound grave mind, and then stretched
forth his right hand to the officer.

Carroway, being a generous man, would not be outdone in apologies.
So these two strengthened their mutual esteem, without any
fighting--which generally is the quickest way of renewing respect--
and Mistress Anerley, having been a little frightened, took credit
to herself for the good words she had used.  Then the farmer, who
never drank cordials, although he liked to see other people do it,
set forth to see a man who was come about a rick, and sundry other
business.  But Carroway, in spite of all his boasts, was stiff,
though he bravely denied that he could be; and when the good
housewife insisted on his stopping to listen to something that was
much upon her mind, and of great importance to the revenue, he
could not help owning that duty compelled him to smoke another
pipe, and hearken.



CHAPTER IX

ROBIN COCKSCROFT


Nothing ever was allowed to stop Mrs. Anerley from seeing to the
bedrooms.  She kept them airing for about three hours at this time
of the sun-stitch--as she called all the doings of the sun upon the
sky--and then there was pushing, and probing, and tossing, and
pulling, and thumping, and kneading of knuckles, till the rib of
every feather was aching; and then (like dough before the fire)
every well-belabored tick was left to yeast itself a while.
Winnie, the maid, was as strong as a post, and wore them all out in
bed-making.  Carroway heard the beginning of this noise, but none
of it meddled at all with his comfort; he lay back nicely in a
happy fit of chair, stretched his legs well upon a bench, and
nodded, keeping slow time with the breathings of his pipe, and
drawing a vapory dream of ease.  He had fared many stony miles
afoot that morning; and feet, legs, and body were now less young
than they used to be once upon a time.  Looking up sleepily, the
captain had idea of a pretty young face hanging over him, and a
soft voice saying, "It was me who did it all," which was very good
grammar in those days; "will you forgive me?  But I could not help
it, and you must have been sorry to shoot him."

"Shoot every body who attempts to land," the weary man ordered,
drowsily.  "Mattie, once more, you are not to dust my pistols."

"I could not be happy without telling you the truth," the soft
voice continued, "because I told you such a dreadful story.  And
now--Oh! here comes mother!"

"What has come over you this morning, child?  You do the most
extraordinary things, and now you can not let the captain rest.  Go
round and look for eggs this very moment.  You will want to be
playing fine music next.  Now, captain, I am at your service, if
you please, unless you feel too sleepy."

"Mistress Anerley, I never felt more wide-awake in all my life.  We
of the service must snatch a wink whenever we can, but with one eye
open; and it is not often that we see such charming sights."

The farmer's wife having set the beds to "plump," had stolen a look
at the glass, and put on her second-best Sunday cap, in honor of a
real officer; and she looked very nice indeed, especially when she
received a compliment.  But she had seen too much of life to be
disturbed thereby.

"Ah, Captain Carroway, what ways you have of getting on with simple
people, while you are laughing all the time at them!  It comes of
the foreign war experience, going on so long that in the end we
shall all be foreigners.  But one place there is that you never can
conquer, nor Boneypart himself, to my belief."

"Ah, you mean Flamborough--Flamborough, yes!  It is a nest of
cockatrices."

"Captain, it is nothing of the sort.  It is the most honest place
in all the world.  A man may throw a guinea on the crossroads in
the night, and have it back from Dr. Upandown any time within seven
years.  You ought to know by this time what they are, hard as it is
to get among them."

"I only know that they can shut their mouths; and the devil
himself--I beg your pardon, madam--Old Nick himself never could
unscrew them."

"You are right, Sir.  I know their manner well.  They are open as
the sky with one another, but close as the grave to all the world
outside them, and most of all to people of authority like you."

"Mistress Anerley, you have just hit it.  Not a word can I get out
of them.  The name of the king--God bless him!--seems to have no
weight among them."

"And you can not get at them, Sir, by any dint of money, or even by
living in the midst of them.  The only way to do it is by kin of
blood, or marriage.  And that is how I come to know more about them
than almost any body else outside.  My master can scarcely win a
word of them even, kind as he is, and well-spoken; and neither
might I, though my tongue was tenfold, if it were not for Joan
Cockscroft.  But being Joan's cousin, I am like one of themselves."

"Cockscroft!  Cockscroft?  I have heard that name.  Do they keep
the public-house there?"

The lieutenant was now on the scent of duty, and assumed his most
knowing air, the sole effect of which was to put every body upon
guard against him.  For this was a man of no subtlety, but
straightforward, downright, and ready to believe; and his cleverest
device was to seem to disbelieve.

"The Cockscrofts keep no public-house," Mrs. Anerley answered, with
a little flush of pride.  "Why, she was half-niece to my own
grandmother, and never was beer in the family.  Not that it would
have been wrong, if it was.  Captain, you are thinking of Widow
Precious, licensed to the Cod with the hook in his gills.  I should
have thought, Sir, that you might have known a little more of your
neighbors having fallen below the path of life by reason of bad
bank-tokens.  Banking came up in her parts like dog-madness, as it
might have done here, if our farmers were the fools to handle their
cash with gloves on.  And Joan became robbed by the fault of her
trustees, the very best bakers in Scarborough, though Robin never
married her for it, thank God!  Still it was very sad, and scarcely
bears describing of, and pulled them in the crook of this world's
swing to a lower pitch than if they had robbed the folk that robbed
and ruined them.  And Robin so was driven to the fish again, which
he always had hankered after.  It must have been before you heard
of this coast, captain, and before the long war was so hard on us,
that every body about these parts was to double his bags by
banking, and no man was right to pocket his own guineas, for fear
of his own wife feeling them.  And bitterly such were paid out for
their cowardice and swindling of their own bosoms."

"I have heard of it often, and it served them right.  Master
Anerley knew where his money was safe, ma'am!"

"Neither Captain Robin Cockscroft nor his wife was in any way to
blame," answered Mrs. Anerley.  "I have framed my mind to tell you
about them; and I will do it truly, if I am not interrupted.  Two
hammers never yet drove a nail straight, and I make a rule of
silence when my betters wish to talk."

"Madam, you remind me of my own wife.  She asks me a question, and
she will not let me answer."

"That is the only way I know of getting on.  Mistress Carroway must
understand you, captain.  I was at the point of telling you how my
cousin Joan was married, before her money went, and when she was
really good-looking.  I was quite a child, and ran along the shore
to see it.  It must have been in the high summer-time, with the
weather fit for bathing, and the sea as smooth as a duck-pond.  And
Captain Robin, being well-to-do, and established with every thing
except a wife, and pleased with the pretty smile and quiet ways of
Joan--for he never had heard of her money, mind--put his oar into
the sea and rowed from Flamborough all the way to Filey Brigg, with
thirty-five fishermen after him; for the Flamborough people make a
point of seeing one another through their troubles.  And Robin was
known for the handsomest man and the uttermost fisher of the
landing, with three boats of his own, and good birth, and long sea-
lines.  And there at once they found my cousin Joan, with her
trustees, come overland, four wagons and a cart in all of them; and
after they were married, they burned sea-weed, having no fear in
those days of invasions.  And a merry day they made of it, and
rowed back by the moonshine.  For every one liked and respected
Captain Cockscroft on account of his skill with the deep-sea lines,
and the openness of his hands when full--a wonderful quiet and
harmless man, as the manner is of all great fishermen.  They had
bacon for breakfast whenever they liked, and a guinea to lend to
any body in distress.

"Then suddenly one morning, when his hair was growing gray and his
eyes getting weary of the night work, so that he said his young
Robin must grow big enough to learn all the secrets of the fishes,
while his father took a spell in the blankets, suddenly there came
to them a shocking piece of news.  All his wife's bit of money, and
his own as well, which he had been putting by from year to year,
was lost in a new-fangled Bank, supposed as faithful as the Bible.
Joan was very nearly crazed about it; but Captain Cockscroft never
heaved a sigh, though they say it was nearly seven hundred guineas.
'There are fish enough still in the sea,' he said; 'and the Lord
has spared our children.  I will build a new boat, and not think of
feather-beds.'

"Captain Carroway, he did so, and every body knows what befell him.
The new boat, built with his own hands, was called the Mercy Robin,
for his only son and daughter, little Mercy and poor Robin.  The
boat is there as bright as ever, scarlet within and white outside;
but the name is painted off, because the little dears are in their
graves.  Two nicer children were never seen, clever, and sprightly,
and good to learn; they never even took a common bird's nest, I
have heard, but loved all the little things the Lord has made, as
if with a foreknowledge of going early home to Him.  Their father
came back very tired one morning, and went up the hill to his
breakfast, and the children got into the boat and pushed off, in
imitation of their daddy.  It came on to blow, as it does down
there, without a single whiff of warning; and when Robin awoke for
his middle-day meal, the bodies of his little ones were lying on
the table.  And from that very day Captain Cockscroft and his wife
began to grow old very quickly.  The boat was recovered without
much damage; and in it he sits by the hour on dry land, whenever
there is no one on the cliffs to see him, with his hands upon his
lap, and his eyes upon the place where his dear little children
used to sit.  Because he has always taken whatever fell upon him
gently; and of course that makes it ever so much worse when he
dwells upon the things that come inside of him."

"Madam, you make me feel quite sorry for him," the lieutenant
exclaimed, as she began to cry, "If even one of my little ones was
drowned, I declare to you, I can not tell what I should be like.
And to lose them all at once, and as his own wife perhaps would
say, because he was thinking of his breakfast!  And when he had
been robbed, and the world all gone against him!  Madam, it is a
long time, thank God, since I heard so sad a tale."

"Now you would not, captain, I am sure you would not," said
Mistress Anerley, getting up a smile, yet freshening his perception
of a tear as well--"you would never have the heart to destroy that
poor old couple by striking the last prop from under them.  By the
will of the Lord they are broken down enough.  They are quietly
hobbling to their graves, and would you be the man to come and
knock them on their heads at once?"

"Mistress Anerley, have you ever heard that I am a brute and
inhuman?  Madam, I have no less than seven children, and I hope to
have fourteen."

"I hope with all my heart you may.  And you will deserve them all,
for promising so very kindly not to shoot poor Robin Lyth."

"Robin Lyth!  I never spoke of him, madam.  He is outlawed,
condemned, with a fine reward upon him.  We shot at him to-day; we
shall shoot at him again; and before very long we must hit him.
Ma'am, it is my duty to the king, the Constitution, the service I
belong to, and the babes I have begotten."

"Blood-money poisons all innocent mouths, Sir, and breaks out for
generations.  And for it you will have to take three lives--
Robin's, the captain's, and my dear old cousin Joan's."

"Mistress Anerley, you deprive me of all satisfaction.  It is just
my luck, when my duty was so plain, and would pay so well for doing
of."

"Listen now, captain.  It is my opinion, and I am generally borne
out by the end, that instead of a hundred pounds for killing Robin
Lyth, you may get a thousand for preserving him alive.  Do you know
how he came upon this coast, and how he has won his extraordinary
name?"

"I have certainly heard rumors; scarcely any two alike.  But I took
no heed of them.  My duty was to catch him; and it mattered not a
straw to me who or what he was.  But now I must really beg to know
all about him, and what makes you think such things of him.  Why
should that excellent old couple hang upon him? and what can make
him worth such a quantity of money?  Honestly, of course, I mean;
honestly worth it, ma'am, without any cheating of his Majesty."

"Captain Carroway," his hostess said, not without a little blush,
as she thought of the king and his revenue, "cheating of his
Majesty is a thing we leave for others.  But if you wish to hear
the story of that young man, so far as known, which is not so even
in Flamborough, you must please to come on Sunday, Sir; for Sunday
is the only day that I can spare for clacking, as the common people
say.  I must be off now; I have fifty things to see to.  And on
Sunday my master has his best things on, and loves no better than
to sit with his legs up, and a long clay pipe lying on him down
below his waist (or, to speak more correctly, where it used to be,
as he might, indeed, almost say the very same to me), and then not
to speak a word, but hear other folk tell stories, that might not
have made such a dinner as himself.  And as for dinner, Sir, if you
will do the honor to dine with them that are no more than in the
Volunteers, a saddle of good mutton fit for the Body-Guards to ride
upon, the men with the skins around them all turned up, will be
ready just at one o'clock, if the parson lets us out."

"My dear madam, I shall scarcely care to look at any slice of
victuals until one o'clock on Sunday, by reason of looking
forward."

After all, this was not such a gross exaggeration, Anerley Farm
being famous for its cheer; whereas the poor lieutenant, at the
best of times, had as much as he could do to make both ends meet;
and his wife, though a wonderful manager, could give him no better
than coarse bread, and almost coarser meat.

"And, Sir, if your good lady would oblige us also--"

"No, madam, no!" he cried, with vigorous decision, having found
many festive occasions spoiled by excess of loving vigilance; "we
thank you most truly; but I must say 'no.'  She would jump at the
chance; but a husband must consider.  You may have heard it
mentioned that the Lord is now considering about the production of
an eighth little Carroway."

"Captain, I have not, or I should not so have spoken.  But with all
my heart I wish you joy."

"I have pleasure, I assure you, in the prospect, Mistress Anerley.
My friends make wry faces, but I blow them away, 'Tush,' I say,
'tush, Sir; at the rate we now are fighting, and exhausting all
British material, there can not be too many, Sir, of mettle such as
mine!'  What do you say to that, madam?"

"Sir, I believe it is the Lord's own truth.  And true it is also
that our country should do more to support the brave hearts that
fight for it."

Mrs. Anerley sighed, for she thought of her younger son, by his own
perversity launched into the thankless peril of fighting England's
battles.  His death at any time might come home, if any kind person
should take the trouble even to send news of it; or he might lie at
the bottom of the sea unknown, even while they were talking.  But
Carroway buttoned up his coat and marched, after a pleasant and
kind farewell.  In the course of hard service he had seen much
grief, and suffered plenty of bitterness, and he knew that it is
not the part of a man to multiply any of his troubles but children.
He went about his work, and he thought of all his comforts, which
need not have taken very long to count, but he added to their score
by not counting them, and by the self-same process diminished that
of troubles.  And thus, upon the whole, he deserved his Sunday
dinner, and the tale of his hostess after it, not a word of which
Mary was allowed to hear, for some subtle reason of her mother's.
But the farmer heard it all, and kept interrupting so, when his
noddings and the joggings of his pipe allowed, or, perhaps one
should say, compelled him, that merely for the courtesy of saving
common time it is better now to set it down without them.
Moreover, there are many things well worthy of production which she
did not produce, for reasons which are now no hinderance.  And the
foremost of those reasons is that the lady did not know the things;
the second that she could not tell them clearly as a man might; and
the third, and best of all, that if she could, she would not do so.
In which she certainly was quite right; for it would have become
her very badly, as the cousin of Joan Cockscroft (half removed, and
upon the mother's side), and therefore kindly received at
Flamborough, and admitted into the inner circle, and allowed to buy
fish at wholesale prices, if she had turned round upon all these
benefits, and described all the holes to be found in the place, for
the teaching of a revenue officer.

Still, it must be clearly understood that the nature of the people
is fishing.  They never were known to encourage free-trading, but
did their very utmost to protect themselves; and if they had
produced the very noblest free-trader, born before the time of Mr.
Cobden, neither the credit nor the blame was theirs.



CHAPTER X

ROBIN LYTH


Half a league to the north of bold Flamborough Head the billows
have carved for themselves a little cove among cliffs which are
rugged, but not very high.  This opening is something like the
grain shoot of a mill, or a screen for riddling gravel, so steep is
the pitch of the ground, and so narrow the shingly ledge at the
bottom.  And truly in bad weather and at high tides there is no
shingle ledge at all, but the crest of the wave volleys up the
incline, and the surf rushes on to the top of it.  For the cove,
though sheltered from other quarters, receives the full brunt of
northeasterly gales, and offers no safe anchorage.  But the hardy
fishermen make the most of its scant convenience, and gratefully
call it "North Landing," albeit both wind and tide must be in good
humor, or the only thing sure of any landing is the sea.  The long
desolation of the sea rolls in with a sound of melancholy, the gray
fog droops its fold of drizzle in the leaden-tinted troughs, the
pent cliffs overhang the flapping of the sail, and a few yards of
pebble and of weed are all that a boat may come home upon
harmlessly.  Yet here in the old time landed men who carved the
shape of England; and here even in these lesser days, are landed
uncommonly fine cod.

The difficulties of the feat are these: to get ashore soundly, and
then to make it good; and after that to clinch the exploit by
getting on land, which is yet a harder step.  Because the steep of
the ground, like a staircase void of stairs, stands facing you, and
the cliff upon either side juts up close, to forbid any flanking
movement, and the scanty scarp denies fair start for a rush at the
power of the hill front.  Yet here must the heavy boats beach
themselves, and wallow and yaw in the shingly roar, while their
cargo and crew get out of them, their gunwales swinging from side
to side, in the manner of a porpoise rolling, and their stem and
stern going up and down like a pair of lads at seesaw.

But after these heavy boats have endured all that, they have not
found their rest yet without a crowning effort.  Up that gravelly
and gliddery ascent, which changes every groove and run at every
sudden shower, but never grows any the softer--up that the heavy
boats must make clamber somehow, or not a single timber of their
precious frames is safe.  A big rope from the capstan at the summit
is made fast as soon as the tails of the jackasses (laden with
three cwt. of fish apiece) have wagged their last flick at the brow
of the steep; and then with "yo-heave-ho" above and below, through
the cliffs echoing over the dull sea, the groaning and grinding of
the stubborn tug begins.  Each boat has her own special course to
travel up, and her own special berth of safety, and she knows every
jag that will gore her on the road, and every flint from which she
will strike fire.  By dint of sheer sturdiness of arms, legs, and
lungs, keeping true time with the pant and the shout, steadily goes
it with hoist and haul, and cheerily undulates the melody of call
that rallies them all with a strong will together, until the steep
bluff and the burden of the bulk by masculine labor are conquered,
and a long row of powerful pinnaces displayed, as a mounted
battery, against the fishful sea.  With a view to this clambering
ruggedness of life, all of these boats receive from their cradle a
certain limber rake and accommodating curve, instead of a straight
pertinacity of keel, so that they may ride over all the scandals of
this arduous world.  And happen what may to them, when they are at
home, and gallantly balanced on the brow line of the steep, they
make a bright show upon the dreariness of coast-land, hanging as
they do above the gullet of the deep.  Painted outside with the
brightest of scarlet, and inside with the purest white, at a little
way off they resemble gay butterflies, preening their wings for a
flight into the depth.

Here it must have been, and in the middle of all these, that the
very famous Robin Lyth--prophetically treating him, but free as yet
of fame or name, and simply unable to tell himself--shone in the
doubt of the early daylight (as a tidy-sized cod, if forgotten,
might have shone) upon the morning of St. Swithin, A.D. 1782.

The day and the date were remembered long by all the good people of
Flamborough, from the coming of the turn of a long bad luck and a
bitter time of starving.  For the weather of the summer had been
worse than usual--which is no little thing to say--and the fish had
expressed their opinion of it by the eloquent silence of absence.
Therefore, as the whole place lives on fish, whether in the fishy
or the fiscal form, goodly apparel was becoming very rare, even
upon high Sundays; and stomachs that might have looked well beneath
it, sank into unobtrusive grief.  But it is a long lane that has no
turning; and turns are the essence of one very vital part.

Suddenly over the village had flown the news of a noble arrival of
fish.  From the cross-roads, and the public-house, and the licensed
head-quarters of pepper and snuff, and the loop-hole where a sheep
had been known to hang, in times of better trade, but never could
dream of hanging now; also from the window of the man who had had a
hundred heads (superior to his own) shaken at him because he set up
for making breeches in opposition to the women, and showed a few
patterns of what he could do if any man of legs would trade with
him--from all these head-centres of intelligence, and others not so
prominent but equally potent, into the very smallest hole it went
(like the thrill in a troublesome tooth) that here was a chance
come of feeding, a chance at last of feeding.  For the man on the
cliff, the despairing watchman, weary of fastening his eyes upon
the sea, through constant fog and drizzle, at length had discovered
the well-known flicker, the glassy flaw, and the hovering of gulls,
and had run along Weighing Lane so fast, to tell his good news in
the village, that down he fell and broke his leg, exactly opposite
the tailor's shop.  And this was on St. Swithin's Eve.

There was nothing to be done that night, of course, for mackerel
must be delicately worked; but long before the sun arose, all
Flamborough, able to put leg in front of leg, and some who could
not yet do that, gathered together where the land-hold was, above
the incline for the launching of the boats.  Here was a medley, not
of fisher-folk alone, and all their bodily belongings, but also of
the thousand things that have no soul, and get kicked about and
sworn at much because they can not answer.  Rollers, buoys, nets,
kegs, swabs, fenders, blocks, buckets, kedges, corks, buckie-pots,
oars, poppies, tillers, sprits, gaffs, and every kind of gear (more
than Theocritus himself could tell) lay about, and rolled about,
and upset their own masters, here and there and everywhere, upon
this half acre of slip and stumble, at the top of the boat channel
down to the sea, and in the faint rivalry of three vague lights,
all making darkness visible.

For very ancient lanterns, with a gentle horny glimmer, and loop-
holes of large exaggeration at the top, were casting upon anything
quite within their reach a general idea of the crinkled tin that
framed them, and a shuffle of inconstant shadows, but refused to
shed any light on friend or stranger, or clear up suspicions, more
than three yards off.  In rivalry with these appeared the pale disk
of the moon, just setting over the western highlands, and "drawing
straws" through summer haze; while away in the northeast over the
sea, a slender irregular wisp of gray, so weak that it seemed as if
it were being blown away, betokened the intention of the sun to
restore clear ideas of number and of figure by-and-by.  But little
did anybody heed such things; every one ran against everybody else,
and all was eagerness, haste, and bustle for the first great launch
of the Flamborough boats, all of which must be taken in order.

But when they laid hold of the boat No. 7, which used to be the
Mercy Robin, and were jerking the timber shores out, one of the men
stooping under her stern beheld something white and gleaming.  He
put his hand down to it, and, lo! it was a child, in imminent peril
of a deadly crush, as the boat came heeling over.  "Hold hard!"
cried the man, not in time with his voice, but in time with his
sturdy shoulder, to delay the descent of the counter.  Then he
stooped underneath, while they steadied the boat, and drew forth a
child in a white linen dress, heartily asleep and happy.

There was no time to think of any children now, even of a man's own
fine breed, and the boat was beginning much to chafe upon the rope,
and thirty or forty fine fellows were all waiting, loath to hurry
Captain Robin (because of the many things he had dearly lost), yet
straining upon their own hearts to stand still.  And the captain
could not find his wife, who had slipped aside of the noisy scene,
to have her own little cry, because of the dance her children would
have made if they had lived to see it.

There were plenty of other women running all about to help, and to
talk, and to give the best advice to their husbands and to one
another; but most of them naturally had their own babies, and if
words came to action, quite enough to do to nurse them.  On this
account, Cockscroft could do no better, bound as he was to rush
forth upon the sea, than lay the child gently aside of the stir,
and cover him with an old sail, and leave word with an ancient
woman for his wife when found.  The little boy slept on calmly
still, in spite of all the din and uproar, the song and the shout,
the tramp of heavy feet, the creaking of capstans, and the thump of
bulky oars, and the crush of ponderous rollers.  Away went these
upon their errand to the sea, and then came back the grating roar
and plashy jerks of launching, the plunging, and the gurgling, and
the quiet murmur of cleft waves.

That child slept on, in the warm good luck of having no boat keel
launched upon him, nor even a human heel of bulk as likely to prove
fatal.  And the ancient woman fell asleep beside him, because at
her time of life it was unjust that she should be astir so early.
And it happened that Mrs. Cockscroft followed her troubled husband
down the steep, having something in her pocket for him, which she
failed to fetch to hand.  So everybody went about its own business
(according to the laws of nature), and the old woman slept by the
side of the child, without giving him a corner of her scarlet
shawl.

But when the day was broad and brave, and the spirit of the air was
vigorous, and every cliff had a color of its own, and a character
to come out with; and beautiful boats, upon a shining sea, flashed
their oars, and went up waves which clearly were the stairs of
heaven; and never a woman, come to watch her husband, could be sure
how far he had carried his obedience in the matter of keeping his
hat and coat on; neither could anybody say what next those very
clever fishermen might be after--nobody having a spy-glass--but
only this being understood all round, that hunger and salt were the
victuals for the day, and the children must chew the mouse-trap
baits until their dads came home again; and yet in spite of all
this, with lightsome hearts (so hope outstrips the sun, and soars
with him behind her) and a strong will, up the hill they went, to
do without much breakfast, but prepare for a glorious supper.  For
mackerel are good fish that do not strive to live forever, but seem
glad to support the human race.

Flamburians speak a rich burr of their own, broadly and handsomely
distinct from that of outer Yorkshire.  The same sagacious contempt
for all hot haste and hurry (which people of impatient fibre are
too apt to call "a drawl") may here be found, as in other
Yorkshire, guiding and retarding well that headlong instrument the
tongue.  Yet even here there is advantage on the side of
Flamborough--a longer resonance, a larger breadth, a deeper power
of melancholy, and a stronger turn up of the tail of discourse, by
some called the end of a sentence.  Over and above all these there
dwell in "Little Denmark" many words foreign to the real
Yorkshireman.  But, alas! these merits of their speech can not be
embodied in print without sad trouble, and result (if successful)
still more saddening.  Therefore it is proposed to let them speak
in our inferior tongue, and to try to make them be not so very long
about it.  For when they are left to themselves entirely, they have
so much solid matter to express, and they ripen it in their minds
and throats with a process so deliberate, that strangers might
condemn them briefly, and be off without hearing half of it.
Whenever this happens to a Flamborough man, he finishes what he
proposed to say, and then says it all over again to the wind.

When the "lavings" of the village (as the weaker part, unfit for
sea, and left behind, were politely called, being very old men,
women, and small children), full of conversation, came, upon their
way back from the tide, to the gravel brow now bare of boats, they
could not help discovering there the poor old woman that fell
asleep because she ought to have been in bed, and by her side a
little boy, who seemed to have no bed at all.  The child lay above
her in a tump of stubbly grass, where Robin Cockscroft had laid
him; he had tossed the old sail off, perhaps in a dream, and he
threatened to roll down upon the granny.  The contrast between his
young, beautiful face, white raiment, and readiness to roll, and
the ancient woman's weary age (which it would be ungracious to
describe), and scarlet shawl which she could not spare, and
satisfaction to lie still--as the best thing left her now to do--
this difference between them was enough to take anybody's notice,
facing the well-established sun.

"Nanny Pegler, get oop wi' ye!" cried a woman even older, but of
tougher constitution.  "Shame on ye to lig aboot so.  Be ye browt
to bed this toime o' loife?"

"A wonderful foine babby for sich an owd moother," another
proceeded with the elegant joke; "and foine swaddles too, wi' solid
gowd upon 'em!"

"Stan' ivery one o' ye oot o' the way," cried ancient Nanny, now as
wide-awake as ever; "Master Robin Cockscroft gie ma t' bairn, an'
nawbody sall hev him but Joan Cockscroft."

Joan Cockscroft, with a heavy heart, was lingering far behind the
rest, thinking of the many merry launches, when her smart young
Robin would have been in the boat with his father, and her pretty
little Mercy clinging to her hand upon the homeward road, and
prattling of the fish to be caught that day; and inasmuch as Joan
had not been able to get face to face with her husband on the
beach, she had not yet heard of the stranger child.  But soon the
women sent a little boy to fetch her, and she came among them,
wondering what it could be.  For now a debate of some vigor was
arising upon a momentous and exciting point, though not so keen by
a hundredth part as it would have been twenty years afterward.  For
the eldest old woman had pronounced her decision.

"Tell ye wat, ah dean't think bud wat yon bairn mud he a Frogman."

This caused some panic and a general retreat; for though the
immortal Napoleon had scarcely finished changing his teeth as yet,
a chronic uneasiness about Crappos haunted that coast already, and
they might have sent this little boy to pave the way, being capable
of almost everything.

"Frogman!" cried the old woman next to her by birth, and believed
to have higher parts, though not yet ripe.  "Na, na; what Frogman
here?  Frogmen ha' skinny shanks, and larks' heels, and holes down
their bodies like lamperns.  No sign of no frog aboot yon bairn.
As fair as a wench, and as clean as a tyke.  A' mought a'most been
born to Flaambro'.  And what gowd ha' Crappos got, poor divils?"

This opened the gate for a clamor of discourse; for there surely
could be no denial of her words.  And yet while her elder was alive
and out of bed, the habit of the village was to listen to her say,
unless any man of equal age arose to countervail it.  But while
they were thus divided, Mrs. Cockscroft came, and they stood aside.
For she had been kind to everybody when her better chances were;
and now in her trouble all were grieved because she took it so to
heart.  Joan Cockscroft did not say a word, but glanced at the
child with some contempt.  In spite of white linen and yellow gold,
what was he to her own dead Robin?

But suddenly this child, whatever he was, and vastly soever
inferior, opened his eyes and sent home their first glance to the
very heart of Joan Cockscroft.  It was the exact look--or so she
always said--of her dead angel, when she denied him something, for
the sake of his poor dear stomach.  With an outburst of tears, she
flew straight to the little one, snatched him in her arms, and
tried to cover him with kisses.

The child, however, in a lordly manner, did not seem to like it.
He drew away his red lips, and gathered up his nose, and passion
flew out of his beautiful eyes, higher passion than that of any
Cockscroft.  And he tried to say something which no one could make
out.  And women of high consideration, looking on, were wicked
enough to be pleased at this, and say that he must be a young lord,
and they had quite foreseen it.  But Joan knew what children are,
and soothed him down so with delicate hands, and a gentle look, and
a subtle way of warming his cold places, that he very soon began to
cuddle into her, and smile.  Then she turned round to the other
people, with both of his arms flung round her neck, and his cheek
laid on her shoulder, and she only said, "The Lord hath sent him."



CHAPTER XI

DR. UPANDOWN


The practice of Flamborough was to listen fairly to anything that
might be said by any one truly of the native breed, and to receive
it well into the crust of the mind, and let it sink down slowly.
But even after that, it might not take root, unless it were fixed
in its settlement by their two great powers--the law, and the Lord.

They had many visitations from the Lord, as needs must be in such a
very stormy place; whereas of the law they heard much less; but
still they were even more afraid of that; for they never knew how
much it might cost.

Balancing matters (as they did their fish, when the price was worth
it, in Weigh Lane), they came to the set conclusion that the law
and the Lord might not agree concerning the child cast among them
by the latter.  A child or two had been thrown ashore before, and
trouble once or twice had come of it; and this child being cast, no
one could say how, to such a height above all other children, he
was likely enough to bring a spell upon their boats, if anything
crooked to God's will were done; and even to draw them to their
last stocking, if anything offended the providence of law.

In any other place it would have been a point of combat what to say
and what to do in such a case as this.  But Flamborough was of all
the wide world happiest in possessing an authority to reconcile all
doubts.  The law and the Lord--two powers supposed to be at
variance always, and to share the week between them in proportions
fixed by lawyers--the holy and unholy elements of man's brief
existence, were combined in Flamborough parish in the person of its
magisterial rector.  He was also believed to excel in the arts of
divination and medicine too, for he was a full Doctor of Divinity.
Before this gentleman must be laid, both for purse and conscience'
sake, the case of the child just come out of the fogs.

And true it was that all these powers were centred in one famous
man, known among the laity as "Parson Upandown."  For the Reverend
Turner Upround, to give him his proper name, was a doctor of
divinity, a justice of the peace, and the present rector of
Flamborough.  Of all his offices and powers, there was not one that
he overstrained; and all that knew him, unless they were thorough-
going rogues and vagabonds, loved him.  Not that he was such a
soft-spoken man as many were, who thought more evil; but because of
his deeds and nature, which were of the kindest.  He did his
utmost, on demand of duty, to sacrifice this nature to his stern
position as pastor and master of an up-hill parish, with many wrong
things to be kept under.  But while he succeeded in the form now
and then, he failed continually in the substance.

This gentleman was not by any means a fool, unless a kind heart
proves folly.  At Cambridge he had done very well, in the early
days of the tripos, and was chosen fellow and tutor of Gonville and
Caius College.  But tiring of that dull round in his prime, he
married, and took to a living; and the living was one of the many
upon which a perpetual faster can barely live, unless he can go
naked also, and keep naked children.  Now the parsons had not yet
discovered the glorious merits of hard fasting, but freely enjoyed,
and with gratitude to God, the powers with which He had blessed
them.  Happily Dr. Upround had a solid income of his own, and (like
a sound mathematician) he took a wife of terms coincident.  So,
without being wealthy, they lived very well, and helped their
poorer neighbors.

Such a man generally thrives in the thriving of his flock, and does
not harry them.  He gives them spiritual food enough to support
them without daintiness, and he keeps the proper distinction
between the Sunday and the poorer days.  He clangs no bell of
reproach upon a Monday, when the squire is leading the lady in to
dinner, and the laborer sniffing at his supper pot; and he lets the
world play on a Saturday, while he works his own head to find good
ends for the morrow.  Because he is a wise man who knows what other
men are, and how seldom they desire to be told the same thing more
than a hundred and four times in a year.  Neither did his clerical
skill stop here; for Parson Upround thought twice about it before
he said anything to rub sore consciences, even when he had them at
his mercy, and silent before him, on a Sunday.  He behaved like a
gentleman in this matter, where so much temptation lurks, looking
always at the man whom he did not mean to hit, so that the guilty
one received it through him, and felt himself better by comparison.
In a word, this parson did his duty well, and pleasantly for all
his flock; and nothing imbittered him, unless a man pretended to
doctrine without holy orders.

For the doctor reasoned thus--and sound it sounds--if divinity is a
matter for Tom, Dick, or Harry, how can there be degrees in it?  He
held a degree in it, and felt what it had cost; and not the parish
only, but even his own wife, was proud to have a doctor every
Sunday.  And his wife took care that his rich red hood, kerseymere
small-clothes, and black silk stockings upon calves of dignity,
were such that his congregation scorned the surgeons all the way to
Beverley.

Happy in a pleasant nature, kindly heart, and tranquil home, he was
also happy in those awards of life in which men are helpless.  He
was blessed with a good wife and three good children, doing well,
and vigorous and hardy as the air and clime and cliffs.  His wife
was not quite of his own age, but old enough to understand and
follow him faithfully down the slope of years.  A wife with mind
enough to know that a husband is not faultless, and with heart
enough to feel that if he were, she would not love him so.  And
under her were comprised their children--two boys at school, and a
baby-girl at home.

So far, the rector of this parish was truly blessed and blessing.
But in every man's lot must be some crook, since this crooked world
turned round.  In Parson Upround's lot the crook might seem a very
small one; but he found it almost too big for him.  His dignity and
peace of mind, large good-will of ministry and strong Christian
sense of magistracy, all were sadly pricked and wounded by a very
small thorn in the flesh of his spirit.

Almost every honest man is the rightful owner of a nickname.  When
he was a boy at school he could not do without one, and if the
other boys valued him, perhaps he had a dozen.  And afterward, when
there is less perception of right and wrong and character, in the
weaker time of manhood, he may earn another, if the spirit is
within him.

But woe is him if a nasty foe, or somebody trying to be one,
annoyed for the moment with him, yet meaning no more harm than
pepper, smite him to the quick, at venture, in his most retired and
privy-conscienced hole.  And when this is done by a Nonconformist
to a Doctor of Divinity, and the man who does it owes some money to
the man he does it to, can the latter gentleman take a large and
genial view of his critics.

This gross wrong and ungrateful outrage was inflicted thus.  A
leading Methodist from Filey town, who owed the doctor half a
guinea, came one summer and set up his staff in the hollow of a
limekiln, where he lived upon fish for change of diet, and because
he could get it for nothing.  This was a man of some eloquence, and
his calling in life was cobbling, and to encourage him therein, and
keep him from theology, the rector not only forgot his half guinea,
but sent him three or four pairs of riding-boots to mend, and let
him charge his own price, which was strictly heterodox.  As a part
of the bargain, this fellow came to church, and behaved as well as
could be hoped of a man who had received his money.  He sat by a
pillar, and no more than crossed his legs at the worst thing that
disagreed with him.  And it might have done him good, and made a
decent cobbler of him, if the parson had only held him when he got
him on the hook.  But this is the very thing which all great
preachers are too benevolent to do.  Dr. Upround looked at this
sinner, who was getting into a fright upon his own account, though
not a bad preacher when he could afford it; and the cobbler could
no more look up to the doctor than when he charged him a full crown
beyond the contract.  In his kindness for all who seemed convinced
of sin, the good preacher halted, and looked at Mr. Jobbins with a
soft, relaxing gaze.  Jobbins appeared as if he would come to
church forever, and never cheat any sound clergyman again;
whereupon the generous divine omitted a whole page of menaces
prepared for him, and passed prematurely to the tender strain which
always winds up a good sermon.

Now what did Jobbins do in return for all this magnanimous mercy?
Invited to dine with the senior church-warden upon the strength of
having been at church, and to encourage him for another visit, and
being asked, as soon as ever decency permitted, what he thought of
Parson Upround's doctrine, between two crackles of young griskin
(come straight from the rectory pig-sty), he was grieved to express
a stern opinion long remembered at Flamborough:

"Ca' yo yon mon 'Dr. Uproond?'  I ca' un 'Dr. Upandoon.'"

From that day forth the rector of the parish was known far and wide
as "Dr. Upandown," even among those who loved him best.  For the
name well described his benevolent practice of undoing any harsh
thing he might have said, sometimes by a smile, and very often with
a shilling, or a basket of spring cabbages.  So that Mrs. Upround,
when buttoning up his coat--which he always forgot to do for
himself--did it with the words, "My dear, now scold no one; really
it is becoming too expensive."  "Shall I abandon duty," he would
answer, with some dignity, "while a shilling is sufficient to
enforce it?"

Dr. Upround's people had now found out that their minister and
magistrate discharged his duty toward his pillow, no less than to
his pulpit.  His parish had acquired, through the work of
generations, a habit of getting up at night, and being all alive at
cock-crow; and the rector (while very new amongst them) tried to
bow--or rather rise--to night-watch.  But a little of that exercise
lasted him for long; and he liked to talk of it afterward, but for
the present was obliged to drop it.  For he found himself pale,
when his wife made him see himself; and his hours of shaving were
so dreadful; and scarcely a bit of fair dinner could be got, with
the whole of the day thrown out so.  In short, he settled it wisely
that the fishers of fish must yield to the habits of fish, which
can not be corrected; but the fishers of men (who can live without
catching them) need not be up to all their hours, but may take them
reasonably.

His parishioners--who could do very well without him, as far as
that goes, all the week, and by no means wanted him among their
boats--joyfully left him to his own time of day, and no more
worried him out of season than he worried them so.  It became a
matter of right feeling with them not to ring a big bell, which the
rector had put up to challenge everybody's spiritual need, until
the stable clock behind the bell had struck ten and finished
gurgling.

For this reason, on St. Swithin's morn, in the said year 1782, the
grannies, wives, and babes of Flamborough, who had been to help the
launch, but could not pull the laboring oar, nor even hold the
tiller, spent the time till ten o'clock in seeing to their own
affairs--the most laudable of all pursuits for almost any woman.
And then, with some little dispute among them (the offspring of the
merest accident), they arrived in some force at the gate of Dr.
Upround, and no woman liked to pull the bell, and still less to let
another woman do it for her.  But an old man came up who was quite
deaf, and every one asked him to do it.

In spite of the scarcity of all good things, Mrs. Cockscroft had
thoroughly fed the little stranger, and washed him, and undressed
him, and set him up in her own bed, and wrapped him in her woollen
shawl, because he shivered sadly; and there he stared about with
wondering eyes, and gave great orders--so far as his new nurse
could make out--but speaking gibberish, as she said, and flying
into a rage because it was out of Christian knowledge.  But he
seemed to understand some English, although he could only pronounce
two words, both short, and in such conjunction quite unlawful for
any except the highest Spiritual Power.  Mrs. Cockscroft, being a
pious woman, hoped that her ears were wrong, or else that the words
were foreign and meant no harm, though the child seemed to take in
much of what was said, and when asked his name, answered,
wrathfully, and as if everybody was bound to know, "Izunsabe!
Izunsabe!"

But now, when brought before Dr. Upround, no child of the very best
English stock could look more calm and peaceful.  He could walk
well enough, but liked better to be carried; and the kind woman who
had so taken him up was only too proud to carry him.  Whatever the
rector and magistrate might say, her meaning was to keep this
little one, with her husband's good consent, which she was sure of
getting.

"Set him down, ma'am," the doctor said, when he had heard from half
a dozen good women all about him; "Mistress Cockscroft, put him on
his legs, and let me question him."

But the child resisted this proceeding.  With nature's inborn and
just loathing of examination, he spun upon his little heels, and
swore with all his might, at the same time throwing up his hands
and twirling his thumbs in a very odd and foreign way.

"What a shocking child!" cried Mrs. Upround, who was come to know
all about it.  "Jane, run away with Miss Janetta."

"The child is not to blame," said the rector, "but only the people
who have brought him up.  A prettier or more clever little head I
have never seen in all my life; and we studied such things at
Cambridge.  My fine little fellow, shake hands with me."

The boy broke off his vicious little dance, and looked up at this
tall gentleman with great surprise.  His dark eyes dwelt upon the
parson's kindly face, with that power of inquiry which the very
young possess, and then he put both little hands into the
gentleman's, and burst into a torrent of the most heart-broken
tears.

"Poor little man!" said the rector, very gently, taking him up in
his arms and patting the silky black curls, while great drops fell,
and a nose was rubbed on his shoulder; "it is early for you to
begin bad times.  Why, how old are you, if you please?"

The little boy sat up on the kind man's arm, and poked a small
investigating finger into the ear that was next to him, and the
locks just beginning to be marked with gray; and then he said,
"Sore," and tossed his chin up, evidently meaning, "Make your best
of that."  And the women drew a long breath, and nudged at one
another.

"Well done!  Four years old, my dear.  You see that he understands
English well enough," said the parson to his parishioners: "he will
tell us all about himself by-and-by, if we do not hurry him.  You
think him a French child.  I do not, though the name which he gives
himself, 'Izunsabe,' has a French aspect about it.  Let me think.
I will try him with a French interrogation:  'Parlez-vous Francais,
mon enfan?'"

Dr. Upround watched the effect of his words with outward calm, but
an inward flutter.  For if this clever child should reply in
French, the doctor could never go on with it, but must stand there
before his congregation in a worse position than when he lost his
place, as sometimes happened, in a sermon.  With wild temerity he
had given vent to the only French words within his knowledge; and
he determined to follow them up with Latin if the worst came to the
worst.

But luckily no harm came of this, but, contrariwise, a lasting
good.  For the child looked none the wiser, while the doctor's
influence was increased.

"Aha!" the good parson cried.  "I was sure that he was no
Frenchman.  But we must hear something about him very soon, for
what you tell me is impossible.  If he had come from the sea, he
must have been wet; it could never be otherwise.  Whereas, his
linen clothes are dry, and even quite lately fullered--ironed you
might call it."

"Please your worship," cried Mrs. Cockscroft, who was growing wild
with jealousy, "I did up all his little things, hours and hours ere
your hoose was up."

"Ah, you had night-work!  To be sure!  Were his clothes dry or wet
when you took them off?"

"Not to say dry, your worship; and yet not to say very wet.
Betwixt and between, like my good master's, when he cometh from a
pour of rain, or a heavy spray.  And the color of the land was upon
them here and there.  And the gold tags were sewn with something
wonderful.  My best pair of scissors would not touch it.  I was
frightened to put them to the tub, your worship; but they up and
shone lovely like a tailor's buttons.  My master hath found him,
Sir; and it lies with him to keep him.  And the Lord hath taken
away our Bob."

"It is true," said Dr. Upround, gently, and placing the child in
her arms again, "the Almighty has chastened you very sadly.  This
child is not mine to dispose of, nor yours; but if he will comfort
you, keep him till we hear of him.  I will take down in writing the
particulars of the case, when Captain Robin has come home and had
his rest--say, at this time to-morrow, or later; and then you will
sign them, and they shall be published.  For you know, Mrs.
Cockscroft, however much you may be taken with him, you must not
turn kidnapper.  Moreover, it is needful, as there may have been
some wreck (though none of you seem to have heard of any), that
this strange occurrence should be made known.  Then, if nothing is
heard of it, you can keep him, and may the Lord bless him to you!"

Without any more ado, she kissed the child, and wanted to carry him
straight away, after courtesying to his worship; but all the other
women insisted on a smack of him, for pity's sake, and the pleasure
of the gold, and to confirm the settlement.  And a settlement it
was, for nothing came of any publication of the case, such as in
those days could be made without great expense and exertion.

So the boy grew up, tall, brave, and comely, and full of the spirit
of adventure, as behooved a boy cast on the winds.  So far as that
goes, his foster-parents would rather have found him more steady
and less comely, for if he was to step into their lost son's shoes,
he might do it without seeming to outshine him.  But they got over
that little jealousy in time, when the boy began to be useful, and,
so far as was possible, they kept him under by quoting against him
the character of Bob, bringing it back from heaven of a much higher
quality than ever it was upon the earth.  In vain did this living
child aspire to such level; how can an earthly boy compare with one
who never did a wrong thing, as soon as he was dead?

Passing that difficult question, and forbearing to compare a boy
with angels, be he what he will, his first need (after that of
victuals) is a name whereby his fellow-boys may know him.  Is he to
be shouted at with, "Come here, what's your name?" or is he to be
called (as if in high rebuke), "Boy?"  And yet there are grown-up
folk who do all this without hesitation, failing to remember their
own predicament at a by-gone period.  Boys are as useful, in their
way, as any other order; and if they can be said to do some
mischief, they can not be said to do it negligently.  It is their
privilege and duty to be truly active; and their Maker, having
spread a dull world before them, has provided them with gifts of
play while their joints are supple.

The present boy, having been born without a father or a mother (so
far as could yet be discovered), was driven to do what our
ancestors must have done when it was less needful.  That is to say,
to work his own name out by some distinctive process.  When the
parson had clearly shown him not to be a Frenchman, a large
contumely spread itself about, by reason of his gold, and eyes, and
hair, and name (which might be meant for Isaak), that he was sprung
from a race more honored now than a hundred years ago.  But the
women declared that it could not be; and the rector desiring to
christen him, because it might never have been done before, refused
point-blank to put any "Isaac" in, and was satisfied with "Robin"
only, the name of the man who had saved him.

The rector showed deep knowledge of his flock, which looked upon
Jews as the goats of the Kingdom; for any Jew must die for a world
of generations ere ever a Christian thinks much of him.  But
finding him not to be a Jew, the other boys, instead of being
satisfied, condemned him for a Dutchman.

Whatever he was, the boy throve well, and being so flouted by his
playmates, took to thoughts and habits and amusements of his own.
In-door life never suited him at all, nor too much of hard
learning, although his capacity was such that he took more
advancement in an hour than the thick heads of young Flamborough
made in a whole leap-year of Sundays.  For any Flamburian boy was
considered a "Brain Scholar," and a "Head-Languager," when he could
write down the parson's text, and chalk up a fish on the weigh-
board so that his father or mother could tell in three guesses what
manner of fish it was.  And very few indeed had ever passed this
trial.

For young Robin it was a very hard thing to be treated so by the
other boys.  He could run, or jump, or throw a stone, or climb a
rock with the best of them; but all these things he must do by
himself, simply because he had no name.  A feeble youth would have
moped, but Robin only grew more resolute.  Alone he did what the
other boys would scarcely in competition dare.  No crag was too
steep for him, no cave too dangerous and wave-beaten, no race of
the tide so strong and swirling as to scare him of his wits.  He
seemed to rejoice in danger, having very little else to rejoice in;
and he won for himself by nimble ways and rapid turns on land and
sea, the name of "Lithe," or "Lyth," and made it famous even far
inland.

For it may be supposed that his love of excitement, versatility,
and daring demanded a livelier outlet than the slow toil of deep-
sea fishing.  To the most patient, persevering, and long-suffering
of the arts, Robin Lyth did not take kindly, although he was so
handy with a boat.  Old Robin vainly strove to cast his angling
mantle over him.  The gifts of the youth were brighter and higher;
he showed an inborn fitness for the lofty development of free
trade.  Eminent powers must force their way, as now they were doing
with Napoleon; and they did the same with Robin Lyth, without
exacting tithe in kind of all the foremost human race.



CHAPTER XII

IN A LANE, NOT ALONE


Stephen Anerley's daughter was by no means of a crooked mind, but
open as the day in all things, unless any one mistrusted her, and
showed it by cross-questioning.  When this was done, she resented
it quickly by concealing the very things which she would have told
of her own accord; and it so happened that the person to whom of
all she should have been most open, was the one most apt to check
her by suspicious curiosity.  And now her mother already began to
do this, as concerned the smuggler, knowing from the revenue
officer that Mary must have seen him.  Mary, being a truthful
damsel, told no lies about it; but, on the other hand, she did not
rush forth with all the history, as she probably would have done if
left unexamined.  And so she said nothing about the ear-ring, or
the run that was to come off that week, or the riding-skirt, or a
host of little things, including her promise to visit Bempton Lane.

On the other hand, she had a mind to tell her father, and take his
opinion about it all.  But he was a little cross that evening, not
with her, but with the world at large; and that discouraged her;
and then she thought that being an officer of the king--as he liked
to call himself sometimes--he might feel bound to give information
about the impending process of free trade; which to her would be a
breach of honor, considering how she knew of it.

Upon the whole, she heartily wished that she never had seen that
Robin Lyth; and then she became ashamed of herself for indulging
such a selfish wish.  For he might have been lying dead but for
her; and then what would become of the many poor people whose
greatest comfort he was said to be?  And what good could arise from
his destruction, if cruel people compassed it?  Free trade must be
carried on, for the sake of everybody, including Captain Carroway
himself; and if an old and ugly man succeeded a young and generous
one as leader of the free-trade movement, all the women in the
country would put the blame on her.

Looking at these things loftily, and with a strong determination
not to think twice of what any one might say who did not understand
the subject, Mary was forced at last to the stern conclusion that
she must keep her promise.  Not only because it was a promise--
although that went a very long way with her--but also because there
seemed no other chance of performing a positive duty.  Simple
honesty demanded that she should restore to the owner a valuable,
and beyond all doubt important, piece of property.  Two hours had
she spent in looking for it, and deprived her dear father of his
breakfast shrimps; and was all this trouble to be thrown away, and
herself, perhaps, accused of theft, because her mother was so short
and sharp in wanting to know everything, and to turn it her own
way?

The trinket, which she had found at last, seemed to be a very
uncommon and precious piece of jewelry; it was made of pure gold,
minutely chased and threaded with curious workmanship, in form like
a melon, and bearing what seemed to be characters of some foreign
language: there might be a spell, or even witchcraft, in it, and
the sooner it was out of her keeping the better.  Nevertheless she
took very good care of it, wrapping it in lamb's-wool, and peeping
at it many times a day, to be sure that it was safe, until it made
her think of the owner so much, and the many wonders she had heard
about him, that she grew quite angry with herself and it, and
locked it away, and then looked at it again.

As luck would have it, on the very day when Mary was to stroll down
Bempton Lane (not to meet any one, of course, but simply for the
merest chance of what might happen), her father had business at
Driffield corn market, which would keep him from home nearly all
the day.  When his daughter heard of it she was much cast down; for
she hoped that he might have been looking about on the northern
part of the farm, as he generally was in the afternoon; and
although he could not see Bempton Lane at all, perhaps, without
some newly acquired power of seeing round sharp corners, still it
would have been a comfort and a strong resource for conscience to
have felt that he was not so very far away.  And this feeling of
want made his daughter resolve to have some one at any rate near
her.  If Jack had only been at home, she need have sought no
further, for he would have entered into all her thoughts about it,
and obeyed her orders beautifully.  But Willie was quite different,
and hated any trouble, being spoiled so by his mother and the
maidens all around them.

However, in such a strait, what was there to do but to trust in
Willie, who was old enough, being five years in front of Mary, and
then to try to make him sensible?  Willie Anerley had no idea that
anybody--far less his own sister--could take such a view of him.
He knew himself to be, and all would say the same of him, superior
in his original gifts, and his manner of making use of them, to the
rest of the family put together.  He had spent a month in Glasgow,
when the whole place was astir with the ferment of many great
inventions, and another month in Edinburgh, when that noble city
was aglow with the dawn of large ideas; also, he had visited
London, foremost of his family, and seen enough new things there to
fill all Yorkshire with surprise; and the result of such wide
experience was that he did not like hard work at all.  Neither
could he even be content to accept and enjoy, without labor of his
own, the many good things provided for him.  He was always trying
to discover something which never seemed to answer, and continually
flying after something new, of which he never got fast hold.  In a
word, he was spoiled, by nature first, and then by circumstances,
for the peaceful life of his ancestors, and the unacknowledged
blessings of a farmer.

"Willie dear, will you come with me?" Mary said to him that day,
catching him as he ran down stairs to air some inspiration.  "Will
you come with me for just one hour?  I wish you would; and I would
be so thankful."

"Child, it is quite impossible," he answered, with a frown which
set off his delicate eyebrows and high but rather narrow forehead;
"you always want me at the very moment when I have the most
important work in hand.  Any childish whim of yours matters more
than hours and hours of hard labor."

"Oh, Willie, but you know how I try to help you, and all the
patterns I cut out last week!  Do come for once, Willie; if you
refuse, you will never, never forgive yourself."

Willie Anerley was as good-natured as any self-indulged youth can
be; he loved his sister in his way, and was indebted to her for
getting out of a great many little scrapes.  He saw how much she
was in earnest now, and felt some desire to know what it was about.
Moreover--which settled the point--he was getting tired of sticking
to one thing for a time unusually long with him.  But he would not
throw away the chance of scoring a huge debt of gratitude.

"Well, do what you like with me," he answered, with a smile; "I
never can have my own way five minutes.  It serves me quite right
for being so good-natured."

Mary gave him a kiss, which must have been an object of ambition to
anybody else; but it only made him wipe his mouth; and presently
the two set forth upon the path toward Bempton.

Robin Lyth had chosen well his place for meeting Mary.  The lane
(of which he knew every yard as well as he knew the rocks
themselves) was deep and winding, and fringed with bushes, so that
an active and keen-eyed man might leap into thicket almost before
there was a fair chance of shooting him.  He knew well enough that
he might trust Mary; but he never could be sure that the bold
"coast-riders," despairing by this time of catching him at sea, and
longing for the weight of gold put upon his head, might not be
setting privy snares to catch him in his walks abroad.  They had
done so when they pursued him up the Dike; and though he was
inclined to doubt the strict legality of that proceeding, he could
not see his way to a fair discussion of it, in case of their
putting a bullet through him.  And this consideration made him
careful.

The brother and sister went on well by the foot-path over the
uplands of the farm, and crossing the neck of the Flamburn
peninsula, tripped away merrily northward.  The wheat looked
healthy, and the barley also, and a four-acre patch of potatoes
smelled sweetly (for the breeze of them was pleasant in their
wholesome days), and Willie, having overworked his brain, according
to his own account of it, strode along loftily before his sister,
casting over his shoulder an eddy of some large ideas with which he
had been visited before she interrupted him.  But as nothing ever
came of them, they need not here be stated.  From a practical point
of view, however, as they both had to live upon the profits of the
farm, it pleased them to observe what a difference there was when
they had surmounted the chine and began to descend toward the north
upon other people's land.  Here all was damp and cold and slow; and
chalk looked slimy instead of being clean; and shadowy places had
an oozy cast; and trees (wherever they could stand) were facing the
east with wrinkled visage, and the west with wiry beards.  Willie
(who had, among other great inventions, a scheme for improvement of
the climate) was reminded at once of all the things he meant to do
in that way; and making, as he always did, a great point of getting
observations first--a point whereon he stuck fast mainly--without
any time for delay he applied himself to a rapid study of the
subject.  He found some things just like other things which he had
seen in Scotland, yet differing so as to prove, more clearly than
even their resemblance did, the value of his discovery.

"Look!" he cried; "can anything be clearer?  The cause of all these
evils is not (as an ignorant person might suppose) the want of
sunshine, or too much wet, but an inadequate movement of the air--"

"Why, I thought it was always blowing up here.  The very last time
I came, my bonnet strings were split."

"You do not understand me; you never do.  When I say inadequate, I
mean, of course, incorrect, inaccurate, unequable.  Now the air is
a fluid; you may stare as you like, Mary, but the air has been
proved to be a fluid.  Very well; no fluid in large bodies moves
with an equal velocity throughout.  Part of it is rapid and part
quite stagnant.  The stagnant places of the air produce this green
scum, this mossy, unwholesome, and injurious stuff; while the
overrapid motion causes this iron appearance, this hard surface,
and general sterility.  By the simplest of simple contrivances, I
make this evil its own remedy.  An equable impulse given to the air
produces an adequate uniform flow, preventing stagnation in one
place, and excessive vehemence in another.  And the beauty of it is
that by my new invention I make the air itself correct and regulate
its own inequalities."

"How clever you are, to be sure!" exclaimed Mary, wondering that
her father could not see it.  "Oh, Willie, you will make your
fortune by it!  However do you do it?"

"The simplicity of it is such that even you can understand it.  All
great discoveries are simple.  I fix in a prominent situation a
large and vertically revolving fan, of a light and vibrating
substance.  The movement of the air causes this to rotate by the
mere force of the impact.  The rotation and the vibration of the
fan convert an irregular impulse into a steady and equable
undulation; and such is the elasticity of the fluid called, in
popular language, 'the air,' that for miles around the rotation of
this fan regulates the circulation, modifies extremes, annihilates
sterility, and makes it quite impossible for moss and green scum
and all this sour growth to live.  Even you can see, Mary, how
beautiful it is."

"Yes, that I can," she answered, simply, as they turned the corner
upon a large windmill, with arms revolving merrily; "but, Willie
dear, would not Farmer Topping's mill, perpetually going as it is,
answer the same purpose?  And yet the moss seems to be as thick as
ever here, and the ground as naked."

"Tush!" cried Willie.  "Stuff and nonsense!  When will you girls
understand?  Good-by!  I will throw away no more time on you."

Without stopping to finish his sentence he was off and out of sight
both of the mill and Mary, before the poor girl, who had not the
least intention of offending him, could even beg his pardon, or say
how much she wanted him; for she had not dared as yet to tell him
what was the purpose of her walk, his nature being such that no
one, not even his own mother, could tell what conclusion he might
come to upon any practical question.  He might rush off at once to
put the revenue men on the smuggler's track, or he might stop his
sister from going, or he might (in the absence of his father) order
a feast to be prepared, and fetch the outlaw to be his guest.  So
Mary had resolved not to tell him until the last moment, when he
could do none of these things.

But now she must either go on all alone, or give up her purpose and
break her promise.  After some hesitation she determined to go on,
for the place would scarcely seem so very lonely now with the
windmill in view, which would always remind her henceforth of her
dear brother William.  It was perfectly certain that Captain Robert
Lyth, whose fame for chivalry was everywhere, and whose character
was all in all to him with the ladies who bought his silks and
lace, would see her through all danger caused by confidence in him;
and really it was too bad of her to admit any paltry misgivings.
But reason as she might, her young conscience told her that this
was not the proper thing to do, and she made up her mind not to do
it again.  Then she laughed at the notion of being ever even asked,
and told herself that she was too conceited; and to cut the matter
short, went very bravely down the hill.

The lane, which came winding from the beach up to the windmill, was
as pretty a lane as may anywhere be found in any other county than
that of Devon.  With a Devonshire lane it could not presume to vie,
having little of the glorious garniture of fern, and nothing of the
crystal brook that leaps at every corner; no arches of tall ash,
keyed with dog-rose, and not much of honeysuckle, and a sight of
other wants which people feel who have lived in the plenitude of
everything.  But in spite of all that, the lane was very fine for
Yorkshire.

On the other hand, Mary had prettier ankles, and a more graceful
and lighter walk, than the Devonshire lanes, which like to echo
something, for the most part seem accustomed to; and the short
dress of the time made good such favorable facts when found.  Nor
was this all that could be said, for the maiden (while her mother
was so busy pickling cabbage, from which she drove all intruders)
had managed to forget what the day of the week was, and had opened
the drawer that should be locked up until Sunday.  To walk with
such a handsome tall fellow as Willie compelled her to look like
something too, and without any thought of it she put her best hat
on, and a very pretty thing with some French name, and made of a
delicate peach-colored silk, which came down over her bosom, and
tied in the neatest of knots at the small of her back, which at
that time of life was very small.  All these were the gifts of her
dear uncle Popplewell, upon the other side of Filey, who might have
been married for forty years, but nobody knew how long it was,
because he had no children, and so he made Mary his darling.  And
this ancient gentleman had leanings toward free trade.

Whether these goods were French or not--which no decent person
could think of asking--no French damsel could have put them on
better, or shown a more pleasing appearance in them; for Mary's
desire was to please all people who meant no harm to her--as nobody
could--and yet to let them know that her object was only to do what
was right, and to never think of asking whether she looked this,
that, or the other.  Her mother, as a matter of duty, told her how
plain she was almost every day; but the girl was not of that
opinion; and when Mrs. Anerley finished her lecture (as she did
nine times in ten) by turning the glass to the wall, and declaring
that beauty was a snare skin-deep, with a frown of warning instead
of a smile of comfort, then Mary believed in her looking-glass
again, and had the smile of comfort on her own face.

However, she never thought of that just now, but only of how she
could do her duty, and have no trouble in her own mind with
thinking, and satisfy her father when she told him all, as she
meant to do, when there could be no harm done to any one; and this,
as she heartily hoped, would be to-morrow.  And truly, if there did
exist any vanity at all, it was not confined to the sex in which it
is so much more natural and comely.

For when a very active figure came to light suddenly, at a little
elbow of the lane, and with quick steps advanced toward Mary, she
was lost in surprise at the gayety, not to say grandeur, of its
apparel.  A broad hat, looped at the side, and having a pointed
black crown, with a scarlet feather and a dove-colored brim, sat
well upon the mass of crisp black curls.  A short blue jacket of
the finest Flemish cloth, and set (not too thickly) with embossed
silver buttons, left properly open the strong brown neck, while a
shirt of pale blue silk, with a turned-down collar of fine needle-
work, fitted, without a wrinkle or a pucker, the broad and amply
rounded chest.  Then a belt of brown leather, with an anchor clasp,
and empty loops for either fire-arm or steel, supported true
sailor's trousers of the purest white and the noblest man-of-war
cut; and where these widened at the instep shone a lovely pair of
pumps, with buckles radiant of best Bristol diamonds.  The wearer
of all these splendors smiled, and seemed to become them as they
became him.

"Well," thought Mary, "how free trade must pay!  What a pity that
he is not in the Royal Navy!"

With his usual quickness, and the self-esteem which added such
lustre to his character, the smuggler perceived what was passing in
her mind, but he was not rude enough to say so.

"Young lady," he began--and Mary, with all her wisdom, could not
help being fond of that--"young lady, I was quite sure that you
would keep your word."

"I never do anything else," she answered, showing that she scarcely
looked at him.  "I have found this for you, and then good-by."

"Surely you will wait to hear my thanks, and to know what made me
dare to ask you, after all you had done for me already, to begin
again for me.  But I am such an outcast that I never should have
done it."

"I never saw any one look more thoroughly unlike an outcast," Mary
said; and then she was angry with herself for speaking, and
glancing, and, worst of all, for smiling,

"Ladies who live on land can never understand what we go through,"
Robin replied, in his softest voice, as rich as the murmur of the
summer sea.  "When we expect great honors, we try to look a little
tidy, as any one but a common boor would do; and we laugh at
ourselves for trying to look well, after all the knocking about we
get.  Our time is short--we must make the most of it."

"Oh, please not to talk in such a dreadful way," said Mary.

"You remind me of my dear friend Dr. Upround--the very best man in
the whole world, I believe.  He always says to me, 'Robin, Robin--
'"

"What! is Dr. Upandown a friend of yours?" Mary exclaimed, in
amazement, and with a stoppage of the foot that was poised for
quick departure.

"Dr. Upandown, as many people call him," said the smuggler, with a
tone of condemnation, "is the best and dearest friend I have, next
to Captain and Mistress Cockscroft, who may have been heard of at
Anerley Manor.  Dr. Upround is our magistrate and clergyman, and he
lets people say what they like against me, while he honors me with
his friendship.  I must not stay long to thank you even, because I
am going to the dear old doctor's for supper at seven o'clock and a
game of chess."

"Oh dear! oh dear!  And he is such a Justice!  And yet they shot at
you last week!  It makes me wonder when I hear such things."

"Young lady, it makes everybody wonder.  In my opinion there never
could be a more shameful murder than to shoot me; and yet but for
you it would surely have been done."

"You must not dwell upon such things," said Mary; "they may have a
very bad effect upon your mind.  But good-by, Captain Lyth; I
forgot that I was robbing Dr. Upround of your society."

"Shall I be so ungrateful as not to see you safe upon your own land
after all your trouble?  My road to Flamborough lies that way.
Surely you will not refuse to hear what made me so anxious about
this bauble, which now will be worth ten times as much.  I never
saw it look so bright before."

"It--it must be the sand has made it shine," the maiden stammered,
with a fine bright blush; "it does the same to my shrimping net."

"Ah, shrimping is a very fine pursuit!  There is nothing I love
better; what pools I could show you, if I only might; pools where
you may fill a sack with large prawns in a single tide--pools known
to nobody but myself.  When do you think of going shrimping next?"

"Perhaps next summer I may try again, if Captain Carroway will come
with me."

"That is too unkind of you.  How very harsh you are to me!  I could
hardly have believed it after all that you have done.  And you
really do not care to hear the story of this relic?"

"If I could stop, I should like it very much.  But my brother, who
came with me, may perhaps be waiting for me."  Mary knew that this
was not very likely; still, it was just possible, for Willie's ill
tempers seldom lasted very long; and she wanted to let the smuggler
know that she had not come all alone to meet him.

"I shall not be two minutes," Robin Lyth replied; "I have been
forced to learn short talking.  May I tell you about this trinket?"

"Yes, if you will only begin at once, and finish by the time we get
to that corner."

"That is very short measure for a tale," said Robin, though he
liked her all the better for such qualities; "however, I will try;
only walk a little slower.  Nobody knows where I was born, any more
than they know how or why.  Only when I came upon this coast as a
very little boy, and without knowing anything about it, they say
that I had very wonderful buttons of gold upon a linen dress,
adorned with gold-lace, which I used to wear on Sundays.  Dr.
Upround ordered them to keep those buttons, and was to have had
them in his own care; but before that, all of them were lost save
two.  My parents, as I call them from their wonderful goodness,
kinder than the ones who have turned me on the world (unless
themselves went out of it), resolved to have my white coat done up
grandly, when I grew too big for it, and to lay it by in lavender;
and knowing of a great man in the gold-lace trade, as far away as
Scarborough, they sent it by a fishing-smack to him, with people
whom they knew thoroughly.  That was the last of it ever known
here.  The man swore a manifest that he never saw it, and
threatened them with libel; and the smack was condemned, and all
her hands impressed, because of some trifle she happened to carry;
and nobody knows any more of it.  But two of the buttons had fallen
off, and good mother had put them by, to give a last finish to the
coat herself; and when I grew up, and had to go to sea at night,
they were turned into a pair of ear-rings.  There, now, Miss
Anerley, I have not been long, and you know all about it."

"How very lonesome it must be for you," said Mary, with a gentle
gaze, which, coming from such lovely eyes, went straight into his
heart, "to have no one belonging to you by right, and to seem to
belong to nobody!  I am sure I can not tell whatever I should do
without any father, or mother, or uncle, or even a cousin to be
certain of."

"All the ladies seem to think that it is rather hard upon me,"
Robin answered, with an excellent effort at a sigh; "but I do my
very best to get on without them.  And one thing that helps me most
of all is when kind ladies, who have good hearts, allow me to talk
to them as if I had a sister.  This makes me forget what I am
sometimes."

"You never should try to forget what you are.  Everybody in the
world speaks well of you.  Even that cruel Lieutenant Carroway can
not help admiring you.  And if you have taken to free trade, what
else could you do, when you had no friends, and even your coat was
stolen?"

"High-minded people take that view of it, I know.  But I do not
pretend to any such excuse.  I took to free trade for the sake of
my friends--to support the old couple who have been so good to me."

"That is better still; it shows such good principle.  My uncle
Popplewell has studied the subject of what they call 'political
economy,' and he says that the country requires free trade, and the
only way to get it is to go on so that the government must give way
at last.  However, I need not instruct you about that; and you must
not stop any longer."

"Miss Anerley, I will not encroach upon your kindness.  You have
said things that I never shall forget.  On the Continent I meet
very many ladies who tell me good things, and make me better; but
not at all as you have done.  A minute of talk with you is worth an
hour with anybody else.  But I fear that you laugh at me all the
while, and are only too glad to be rid of me.  Good-by.  May I kiss
your hand?  God bless you!"

Mary had no time to say a single word, or even to express her ideas
by a look, before Robin Lyth, with all his bright apparel, was
"conspicuous by his absence."  As a diving bird disappears from a
gun, or a trout from a shadow on his hover, or even a debtor from
his creditor, so the great free-trader had vanished into lightsome
air, and left emptiness behind him.

The young maid, having been prepared to yield him a few yards more
of good advice, if he held out for another corner, now could only
say to herself that she never had met such a wonderful man.  So
active, strong, and astonishingly brave; so thoroughly acquainted
with foreign lands, yet superior to their ladies; so able to see
all the meaning of good words, and to value them when offered
quietly; so sweet in his manner, and voice, and looks; and with all
his fame so unpretending, and--much as it frightened her to think
it--really seeming to be afraid of her.



CHAPTER XIII

GRUMBLING AND GROWLING


While these successful runs went on, and great authorities smiled
at seeing the little authorities set at naught, and men of the
revenue smote their breasts for not being born good smugglers, and
the general public was well pleased, and congratulated them
cordially upon their accomplishment of naught, one man there was
whose noble spirit chafed and knew no comfort.  He strode up and
down at Coast-guard Point, and communed with himself, while Robin
held sweet converse in the lane.

"Why was I born?" the sad Carroway cried; "why was I thoroughly
educated and trained in both services of the king, expected to
rise, and beginning to rise, till a vile bit of splinter stopped
me, and then sent down to this hole of a place to starve, and be
laughed at, and baffled by a boy?  Another lucky run, and the
revenue bamboozled, and the whole of us sent upon a wild-goose
chase!  Every gapper-mouth zany grinning at me, and scoundrels
swearing that I get my share!  And the only time I have had my
dinner with my knees crook'd, for at least a fortnight, was at
Anerley Farm on Sunday.  I am not sure that even they wouldn't turn
against me; I am certain that pretty girl would.  I've a great mind
to throw it up--a great mind to throw it up.  It is hardly the work
for a gentleman born, and the grandson of a rear-admiral.  Tinkers'
and tailors' sons get the luck now; and a man of good blood is put
on the back shelf, behind the blacking-bottles.  A man who has
battled for his country--"

"Charles, are you coming to your dinner, once more?"

"No, I am not.  There's no dinner worth coming to.  You and the
children may eat the rat pie.  A man who has battled for his
country, and bled till all his veins were empty, and it took two
men to hold him up, and yet waved his Sword at the head of them--it
is the downright contradiction of the world in everything for him
to poke about with pots and tubs, like a pig in a brewery, grain-
hunting."

"Once more, Charles, there is next to nothing left.  The children
are eating for their very lives.  If you stay out there another
minute, you must take the consequence."

"Alas, that I should have so much stomach, and so little to put
into it!  My dear, put a little bit under a basin, if any of them
has no appetite.  I wanted just to think a little."

"Charles, they have all got tremendous appetites.  It is the way
the wind is.  You may think by-and-by, but if you want to eat, you
must do it now, or never."

"'Never' never suits me in that matter," the brave lieutenant
answered.  "Matilda, put Geraldine to warm the pewter plate for me.
Geraldine darling, you can do it with your mouth full."

The commander of the coast-guard turned abruptly from his long
indignant stride, and entered the cottage provided for him, and
which he had peopled so speedily.

Small as it was, it looked beautifully clean and neat, and
everybody used to wonder how Mrs. Carroway kept it so.  But in
spite of all her troubles and many complaints, she was very proud
of this little house, with its healthful position and beautiful
outlook over the bay of Bridlington.  It stood in a niche of the
low soft cliff, where now the sea-parade extends from the northern
pier of Bridlington Quay; and when the roadstead between that and
the point was filled with a fleet of every kind of craft, or,
better still, when they all made sail at once--as happened when a
trusty breeze arose--the view was lively, and very pleasant, and
full of moving interest.  Often one of his Majesty's cutters,
Swordfish, Kestrel, or Albatross, would swoop in with all sail set,
and hover, while the skipper came ashore to see the "Ancient
Carroway," as this vigilant officer was called; and sometimes even
a sloop of war, armed brigantine, or light corvette, prowling for
recruits, or cruising for their training, would run in under the
Head, and overhaul every wind-bound ship with a very high hand.

"Ancient Carroway"--as old friends called him, and even young
people who had never seen him--was famous upon this coast now for
nearly three degrees of latitude.  He had dwelled here long, and in
highly good content, hospitably treated by his neighbors, and
himself more hospitable than his wife could wish, until two
troubles in his life arose, and from year to year grew worse and
worse.  One of these troubles was the growth of mouths in number
and size, that required to be filled; and the other trouble was the
rampant growth of smuggling, and the glory of that upstart Robin
Lyth.  Now let it be lawful to take that subject first.

Fair Robin, though not at all anxious for fame, but modestly
willing to decline it, had not been successful--though he worked so
much by night--in preserving sweet obscurity.  His character was
public, and set on high by fortune, to be gazed at from wholly
different points of view.  From their narrow and lime-eyed outlook
the coast-guard beheld in him the latest incarnation of Old Nick;
yet they hated him only in an abstract manner, and as men feel
toward that evil one.  Magistrates also, and the large protective
powers, were arrayed against him, yet happy to abstain from laying
hands, when their hands were their own, upon him.  And many of the
farmers, who should have been his warmest friends and best
customers, were now so attached to their king and country, by
bellicose warmth and army contracts, that instead of a guinea for a
four-gallon anker, they would offer three crowns, or the exciseman.
And not only conscience, but short cash, after three bad harvests,
constrained them.

Yet the staple of public opinion was sound, as it must be where
women predominate.  The best of women could not see why they should
not have anything they wanted for less than it cost the maker.  To
gaze at a sister woman better dressed at half the money was simply
to abjure every lofty principle.  And to go to church with a
counterfeit on, when the genuine lace was in the next pew on a body
of inferior standing, was a downright outrage to the congregation,
the rector, and all religion.  A cold-blooded creature, with no
pin-money, might reconcile it with her principles, if any she had,
to stand up like a dowdy and allow a poor man to risk his life by
shot and storm and starvation, and then to deny him a word or a
look, because of his coming with the genuine thing at a quarter the
price fat tradesmen asked, who never stirred out of their shops
when it rained, for a thing that was a story and an imposition.
Charity, duty, and common honesty to their good husbands in these
bad times compelled them to make the very best of bargains; of
which they got really more and more, as those brave mariners
themselves bore witness, because of the depression in the free
trade now and the glorious victories of England.  Were they bound
to pay three times the genuine value, and then look a figure, and
be laughed at?

And as for Captain Carroway, let him scold, and threaten, and
stride about, and be jealous, because his wife dare not buy true
things, poor creature--although there were two stories also about
that, and the quantities of things that he got for nothing,
whenever he was clever enough to catch them, which scarcely ever
happened, thank goodness!  Let Captain Carroway attend to his own
business; unless he was much belied, he had a wife who would keep
him to it.  Who was Captain Carroway to come down here, without
even being born in Yorkshire, and lay down the law, as if he owned
the manor?

Lieutenant Carroway had heard such questions, but disdained to
answer them.  He knew who he was, and what his grandfather had
been, and he never cared a--short word--what sort of stuff long
tongues might prate of him.  Barbarous broad-drawlers, murderers of
his Majesty's English, could they even pronounce the name of an
officer highly distinguished for many years in both of the royal
services?  That was his description, and the Yorkshire yokels might
go and read it--if read they could--in the pages of authority.

Like the celebrated calf that sucked two cows, Carroway had drawn
royal pay, though in very small drains, upon either element,
beginning with a skeleton regiment, and then, when he became too
hot for it, diving off into a frigate as a recommended volunteer.
Here he was more at home, though he never ceased longing to be a
general; and having the credit of fighting well ashore, he was
looked at with interest when he fought a fight at sea.  He fought
it uncommonly well, and it was good, and so many men fell that he
picked up his commission, and got into a fifty-two-gun ship.  After
several years of service, without promotion--for his grandfather's
name was worn out now, and the wars were not properly constant--
there came a very lively succession of fights, and Carroway got
into all of them, or at least into all the best of them.  And he
ought to have gone up much faster than he did, and he must have
done so but for his long lean jaws, the which are the worst things
that any man can have.  Not only because of their own consumption
and slow length of leverage, but mainly on account of the sadness
they impart, and the timid recollection of a hungry wolf, to the
man who might have lifted up a fatter individual.

But in Rodney's great encounter with the Spanish fleet, Carroway
showed such a dauntless spirit, and received such a wound, that it
was impossible not to pay him some attention.  His name was near
the bottom of a very long list, but it made a mark on some one's
memory, depositing a chance of coming up some day, when he should
be reported hit again.  And so good was his luck that he soon was
hit again, and a very bad hit it was; but still he got over it
without promotion, because that enterprise was one in which nearly
all our men ran away, and therefore required to be well pushed up
for the sake of the national honor.  When such things happen, the
few who stay behind must be left behind in the Gazette as well.
That wound, therefore, seemed at first to go against him, but he
bandaged it, and plastered it, and hoped for better luck.  And his
third wound truly was a blessed one, a slight one, and taken in the
proper course of things, without a slur upon any of his comrades.
This set him up again with advancement and appointment, and enabled
him to marry and have children seven.

The lieutenant was now about fifty years of age, gallant and lively
as ever, and resolute to attend to his duty and himself as well.
His duty was now along shore, in command of the Coast-guard of the
East District; for the loss of a good deal of one heel made it hard
for him to step about as he should do when afloat.  The place
suited him, and he was fond of it, although he grumbled sometimes
about his grandfather, and went on as if his office was beneath
him.  He abused all his men, and all the good ones liked him, and
respected him for his clear English.  And he enjoyed this free
exercise of language out-of-doors, because inside his threshold he
was on his P's and Q's.  To call him "ugly Carroway," as coarse
people did, because of a scar across his long bold nose, was petty
and unjust, and directly contradicted by his own and his wife's
opinion.  For nobody could have brighter eyes, or a kindlier smile,
and more open aspect in the forepart of the week, while his Sunday
shave retained its influence, so far as its limited area went, for
he kept a long beard always.  By Wednesday he certainly began to
look grim, and on Saturday ferocious, pending the advent of the
Bridlington barber, who shaved all the Quay every Sunday.  But his
mind was none the worse, and his daughters liked him better when he
rasped their young cheeks with his beard, and paid a penny.  For to
his children he was a loving and tender-hearted father, puzzled at
their number, and sometimes perplexed at having to feed and clothe
them, yet happy to give them his last and go without, and even
ready to welcome more, if Heaven should be pleased to send them.

But Mrs. Carroway, most fidgety of women, and born of a well-shorn
family, was unhappy from the middle to the end of the week that she
could not scrub her husband's beard off.  The lady's sense of human
crime, and of everything hateful in creation, expressed itself
mainly in the word "dirt."  Her rancor against that nobly tranquil
and most natural of elements inured itself into a downright
passion.  From babyhood she had been notorious for kicking her
little legs out at the least speck of dust upon a tiny red shoe.
Her father--a clergyman--heard so much of this, and had so many
children of a different stamp, that when he came to christen her,
at six months of age (which used to be considered quite an early
time of life), he put upon her the name of "Lauta," to which she
thoroughly acted up; but people having ignorance of foreign tongues
said that he always meant "Matilda."

Such was her nature, and it grew upon her; so that when a young and
gallant officer, tall and fresh, and as clean as a frigate, was
captured by her neat bright eyes, very clean run, and sharp cut-
water, she began to like to look at him.  Before very long, his
spruce trim ducks, careful scrape of Brunswick-leather boots, clean
pocket-handkerchiefs, and fine specklessness, were making and
keeping a well-swept path to the thoroughly dusted store-room of
her heart.  How little she dreamed, in those virgin days, that the
future could ever contain a week when her Charles would decline to
shave more than once, and then have it done for him on a Sunday!

She hesitated, for she had her thoughts--doubts she disdained to
call them--but still he forgot once to draw his boots sideways,
after having purged the toe and heel, across the bristle of her
father's mat.  With the quick eye of love he perceived her frown,
and the very next day he conquered her.  His scheme was unworthy,
as it substituted corporate for personal purity; still it
succeeded, as unworthy schemes will do.  On the birthday of his
sacred Majesty, Charles took Matilda to see his ship, the 48-gun
frigate Immaculate, commanded by a well-known martinet.  Her spirit
fell within her, like the Queen of Sheba's, as she gazed, but
trembled to set down foot upon the trim order and the dazzling
choring.  She might have survived the strict purity of all things,
the deck lines whiter than Parian marble, the bulwarks brighter
than the cheek-piece of a grate, the breeches of the guns like
goodly gold, and not a whisker of a rope's end curling the wrong
way, if only she could have espied a swab, or a bucket, or a flake
of holy-stone, or any indicament of labor done.  "Artis est celare
artem;" this art was unfathomable.

Matilda was fain to assure herself that the main part of this might
be superficial, like a dish-cover polished with the spots on, and
she lost her handkerchief on purpose to come back and try a little
test-work of her own.  This was a piece of unstopped knotting in
the panel of a hatchway, a resinous hole that must catch and keep
any speck of dust meandering on the wayward will of wind.  Her
cambric came out as white as it went in!

She surrendered at discretion, and became the prize of Carroway.

Now people at Bridlington Quay declared that the lieutenant, though
he might have carried off a prize, was certainly not the prize-
master; and they even went so far as to say that "he could scarcely
call his soul his own."  The matter was no concern of theirs,
neither were their conclusions true.  In little things the gallant
officer, for the sake of discipline and peace, submitted to due
authority; and being so much from home, he left all household
matters to a firm control.  In return for this, he was always
thought of first, and the best of everything was kept for him, and
Mrs. Carroway quoted him to others as a wonder, though she may not
have done so to himself.  And so, upon the whole, they got on very
well together.

Now on this day, when the lieutenant had exhausted a grumble of
unusual intensity, and the fair Geraldine (his eldest child) had
obeyed him to the letter, by keeping her mouth full while she
warmed a plate for him, it was not long before his usual luck
befell the bold Carroway.  Rap, rap, came a knock at the side door
of his cottage--a knock only too familiar; and he heard the gruff
voice of Cadman--"Can I see his honor immediately?"

"No, you can not," replied Mrs. Carroway.  "One would think you
were all in a league to starve him.  No sooner does he get half a
mouthful--"

"Geraldine, put it on the hob, my dear, and a basin over it.
Matilda, my love, you know my maxim--'Duty first, dinner
afterward.'  Cadman, I will come with you."

The revenue officer took up his hat (which had less time now than
his dinner to get cold) and followed Cadman to the usual place for
holding privy councils.  This was under the heel of the pier (which
was then about half as long as now) at a spot where the outer wall
combed over, to break the crest of the surges in the height of a
heavy eastern gale.  At neap tides, and in moderate weather, this
place was dry, with a fine salt smell; and with nothing in front of
it but the sea, and nothing behind it but solid stone wall, any one
would think that here must be commune sacred, secret, and secluded
from eavesdroppers.  And yet it was not so, by reason of a very
simple reason.

Upon the roadway of the pier, and over against a mooring-post,
where the parapet and the pier itself made a needful turn toward
the south, there was an equally needful thing, a gully-hole with an
iron trap to carry off the rain that fell, or the spray that broke
upon the fabric; and the outlet of this gully was in the face of
the masonry outside.  Carroway, not being gifted with a crooked
mind, had never dreamed that this little gut might conduct the
pulses of the air, like the Tyrant's Ear, and that the trap at the
end might be a trap for him.  Yet so it was; and by gently raising
the movable iron frame at the top, a well-disposed person might
hear every word that was spoken in the snug recess below.  Cadman
was well aware of this little fact, but left his commander to find
it out.

The officer, always thinly clad (both through the state of his
wardrobe and his dread of effeminate comfort), settled his bony
shoulders against the rough stonework, and his heels upon a groyne,
and gave his subordinate a nod, which meant, "Make no fuss, but out
with it."  Cadman, a short square fellow with crafty eyes, began to
do so.

"Captain, I have hit it off at last.  Hackerbody put me wrong last
time, through the wench he hath a hankering after.  This time I got
it, and no mistake, as right as if the villain lay asleep 'twixt
you and me, and told us all about it with his tongue out; and a
good thing for men of large families like me."

"All that I have heard such a number of times," his commander
answered, crustily, "that I whistle, as we used to do in a dead
calm, Cadman.  An old salt like you knows how little comes of
that."

"There I don't quite agree with your honor.  I have known a
hurricane come from whistling.  But this time there is no woman
about it, and the penny have come down straightforrard.  New moon
Tuesday next, and Monday we slips first into that snug little cave.
He hath a' had his last good run."

"How much is coming this time, Cadman?  I am sick and tired of
those three caves.  It is all old woman's talk of caves, while they
are running south, upon the open beach."

"Captain, it is a big venture--the biggest of all the summer, I do
believe.  Two thousand pounds, if there is a penny, in it.  The
schooner, and the lugger, and the ketch, all to once, of purpose to
send us scattering.  But your honor knows what we be after most.
No woman in it this time, Sir.  The murder has been of the women,
all along.  When there is no woman, I can see my way.  We have got
the right pig by the ear this time."

"John Cadman, your manner of speech is rude.  You forget that your
commanding officer has a wife and family, three-quarters of which
are female.  You will give me your information without any rude
observations as to sex, of which you, as a married man, should be
ashamed.  A man and his wife are one flesh, Cadman, and therefore
you are a woman yourself, and must labor not to disgrace yourself.
Now don't look amazed, but consider these things.  If you had not
been in a flurry, like a woman, you would not have spoiled my
dinner so.  I will meet you at the outlook at six o'clock.  I have
business on hand of importance."

With these words Carroway hastened home, leaving Cadman to mutter
his wrath, and then to growl it, when his officer was out of ear-
shot.

"Never a day, nor an hour a'most, without he insulteth of me.  A
woman, indeed!  Well, his wife may be a man, but what call hath he
to speak of mine so?  John Cadman a woman, and one flesh with his
wife!  Pretty news that would be for my missus!"



CHAPTER XIV

SERIOUS CHARGES


"Stephen, if it was anybody else, you would listen to me in a
moment," said Mrs. Anerley to her lord, a few days after that
little interview in the Bempton Lane; "for instance, if it was poor
Willie, how long would you be in believing it?  But because it is
Mary, you say 'pooh! pooh!'  And I may as well talk to the old
cracked churn."

"First time of all my born days," the farmer answered, with a
pleasant smile, "that ever I was resembled to a churn.  But a man's
wife ought to know best about un."

"Stephen, it is not the churn--I mean you; and you never should
attempt to ride off in that sort of way.  I tell you Mary hath a
mischief on her mind; and you never ought to bring up old churns to
me.  As long as I can carry almost anything in mind, I have been
considered to be full of common-sense.  And what should I use it
upon, Captain Anerley, without it was my own daughter?"

The farmer was always conquered when she called him "Captain
Anerley."  He took it to point at him as a pretender, a coxcomb
fond of titles, a would-be officer who took good care to hold aloof
from fighting.  And he knew in his heart that he loved to be called
"Captain Anerley" by every one who meant it.

"My dear," he said, in a tone of submission, and with a look that
grieved her, "the knowledge of such things is with you.  I can not
enter into young maids' minds, any more than command a company."

"Stephen, you could do both, if you chose, better than ten of
eleven who do it.  For, Stephen, you have a very tender mind, and
are not at all like a churn, my dear.  That was my manner of
speech, you ought to know, because from my youngest days I had a
crowd of imagination.  You remember that, Stephen, don't you?"

"I remember, Sophy, that in the old time you never resembled me to
a churn, let alone a cracked one.  You used to christen me a
pillar, and a tree, and a rock, and a polished corner; but there,
what's the odds, when a man has done his duty?  The names of him
makes no difference."

"'Twist you and me, my dear," she said, "nothing can make any
difference.  We know one another too well for that.  You are all
that I ever used to call you, before I knew better about you, and
when I used to dwell upon your hair and your smile.  You know what
I used to say of them, now, Stephen?"

"Most complimentary--highly complimentary!  Another young woman
brought me word of it, and it made me stick firm when my mind was
doubtful."

"And glad you ought to be that you did stick firm.  And you have
the Lord to thank for it, as well as your own sense.  But no time
to talk of our old times now.  They are coming up again, with those
younkers, I'm afraid.  Willie is like a Church; and Jack--no chance
of him getting the chance of it; but Mary, your darling of the lot,
our Mary--her mind is unsettled, and a worry coming over her; the
same as with me when I saw you first."

"It is the Lord that directs those things," the farmer answered,
steadfastly; "and Mary hath the sense of her mother, I believe.
That it is maketh me so fond on her.  If the young maid hath taken
a fancy, it will pass, without a bit of substance to settle on.
Why, how many fancies had you, Sophy, before you had the good luck
to clap eyes on me?"

"That is neither here nor there," his wife replied, audaciously;
"how many times have you asked such questions, which are no concern
of yours?  You could not expect me, before ever I saw you, not to
have any eyes or ears.  I had plenty to say for myself; and I was
not plain; and I acted accordingly."

Master Anerley thought about this, because he had heard it and
thought of it many times before.  He hated to think about anything
new, having never known any good come of it; and his thoughts would
rather flow than fly, even in the fugitive brevity of youth.  And
now, in his settled way, his practice was to tread thought deeper
into thought, as a man in deep snow keeps the track of his own
boots, or as a child writes ink on pencil in his earliest copy-
books.  "You acted according," he said; "and Mary might act
according to you, mother."

"How can you talk so, Stephen?  That would be a different thing
altogether.  Young girls are not a bit like what they used to be in
my time.  No steadiness, no diligence, no duty to their parents.
Gadding about is all they think of, and light-headed chatter, and
saucy ribbons."

"May be so with some of them.  But I never see none of that in
Mary."

"Mary is a good girl, and well brought up," her mother could not
help admitting, "and fond of her home, and industrious.  But for
all that, she must be looked after sharply.  And who can look after
a child like her mother?  I can tell you one thing, Master Stephen:
your daughter Mary has more will of her own than the rest of your
family all put together, including even your own good wife."

"Prodigious!" cried the farmer, while he rubbed his hands and
laughed--"prodigious, and a man might say impossible.  A young lass
like Mary, such a coaxing little poppet, as tender as a lambkin,
and as soft as wool!"

"Flannel won't only run one way; no more won't Mary," said her
mother.  "I know her better a long sight than you do; and I say if
ever Mary sets her heart on any one, have him she will, be he
cowboy, thief, or chimney-sweep.  So now you know what to expect,
Master Anerley."

Stephen Anerley never made light of his wife's opinions in those
few cases wherein they differed from his own.  She agreed with him
so generally that in common fairness he thought very highly of her
wisdom, and the present subject was one upon which she had an
especial right to be heard.

"Sophy," he said, as he set up his coat to be off to a cutting of
clover on the hill--for no reaping would begin yet for another
month--"the things you have said shall abide in my mind.  Only you
be a-watching of the little wench.  Harry Tanfield is the man I
would choose for her of all others.  But I never would force any
husband on a lass; though stern would I be to force a bad one off,
or one in an unfit walk of life.  No inkle in your mind who it is,
or wouldst have told me?"

"Well, I may, or I may not.  I never like to speak promiscuous.
You have the first right to know what I think.  But I beg you to
let me be a while.  Not even to you, Steve, would I say it, without
more to go upon than there is yet.  I might do the lass a great
wrong in my surmising; and then you would visit my mistake on me,
for she is the apple of your eye, no doubt."

"There is never such another maid in all York County, nor in
England, to my thinking."

"She is my daughter as well as yours, and I would be the last to
make cheap of her.  I will not say another word until I know.  But
if I am right--which the Lord forbid--we shall both be ashamed of
her, Stephen."

"The Lord forbid!  The Lord forbid!  Amen.  I will not hear another
word."  The farmer snatched up his hat, and made off with a haste
unusual for him, while his wife sat down, and crossed her arms, and
began to think rather bitterly.  For, without any dream of such a
possibility, she was jealous sometimes of her own child.  Presently
the farmer rushed back again, triumphant with a new idea.  His eyes
were sparkling, and his step full of spring, and a brisk smile
shone upon his strong and ruddy face.

"What a pair of stupes we must be to go on so!" he cried, with a
couple of bright guineas in his hand.  "Mary hath not had a new
frock even, going on now for a year and a half.  Sophy, it is
enough to turn a maid into thinking of any sort of mischief.  Take
you these and make everything right.  I was saving them up for her
birthday, but maybe another will turn up by that.  My dear, you
take them, and never be afeared."

"Stephen, you may leave them, if you like.  I shall not be in any
haste to let them go.  Either give them to the lass yourself, or
leave it to me purely.  She shall not have a sixpence, unless it is
deserved."

"Of course I leave it in your hands, wife.  I never come between
you and your children.  But young folk go piping always after money
now; and even our Mary might be turning sad without it."

He hastened off again, without hearing any more; for he knew that
some hours of strong labor were before him, and to meet them with a
heavy heart would be almost a new thing for him.  Some time ago he
had begun to hold the plough of heaviness, through the difficult
looseness of Willie's staple, and the sudden maritime slope of
Jack; yet he held on steadily through all this, with the strength
of homely courage.  But if in the pride of his heart, his Mary, he
should find no better than a crooked furrow, then truly the labor
of his latter days would be the dull round of a mill horse.

Now Mary, in total ignorance of that council held concerning her,
and even of her mother's bad suspicions, chanced to come in at the
front porch door soon after her father set off to his meadows by
way of the back yard.  Having been hard at work among her flowers,
she was come to get a cupful of milk for herself, and the cheery
content and general goodwill encouraged by the gardener's gentle
craft were smiling on her rosy lips and sparkling in her eyes.  Her
dress was as plain as plain could be--a lavender twill cut and
fitted by herself--and there was not an ornament about her that
came from any other hand than Nature's.  But simple grace of
movement and light elegance of figure, fair curves of gentle face
and loving kindness of expression, gladdened with the hope of
youth--what did these want with smart dresses, golden brooches, and
two guineas?  Her mother almost thought of this when she called
Mary into the little parlor.  And the two guineas lay upon the
table.

"Mary, can you spare a little time to talk with me?  You seem
wonderfully busy, as usual."

"Mother, will you never make allowance for my flowers?  They depend
upon the weather, and they must have things accordingly."

"Very well; let them think about what they want next, while you sit
down a while and talk with me."

The girl was vexed; for to listen to a lecture, already manifest in
her mother's eyes, was a far less agreeable job than gardening.
And the lecture would have done as well by candle-light, which
seldom can be said of any gardening.  However, she took off her
hat, and sat down, without the least sign of impatience, and
without any token of guilt, as her mother saw, and yet stupidly
proceeded just the same.

"Mary," she began, with a gaze of stern discretion, which the girl
met steadfastly and pleasantly, "you know that I am your own
mother, and bound to look after you well, while you are so very
young; for though you are sensible some ways, Mary, in years and in
experience what are you but a child?  Of the traps of the world and
the wickedness of people you can have no knowledge.  You always
think the best of everybody; which is a very proper thing to do,
and what I have always brought you up to, and never would dream of
discouraging.  And with such examples as your father and your
mother, you must be perverse to do otherwise.  Still, it is my duty
to warn you, Mary--and you are getting old enough to want it--that
the world is not made up of fathers and mothers, brothers and
sisters, and good uncles.  There are always bad folk who go
prowling about like wolves in--wolves in--what is it--"

"Sheep's clothing," the maiden suggested, with a smile, and then
dropped her eyes maliciously.

"How dare you be pert, miss, correcting your own mother?  Do I ever
catch you reading of your Bible?  But you seem to know so much
about it, perhaps you have met some of them?"

"How can I tell, mother, when you won't tell me?"

"I tell you, indeed!  It is your place to tell me, I think.  And
what is more, I insist at once upon knowing all about it.  What
makes you go on in the way that you are doing?  Do you take me for
a drumledore, you foolish child?  On Tuesday afternoon I saw you
sewing with a double thread.  Your father had potato-eyes upon his
plate on Sunday; and which way did I see you trying to hang up a
dish-cover?  But that is nothing; fifty things you go wandering
about in; and always out, on some pretense, as if the roof you were
born under was not big enough for you.  And then your eyes--I have
seen your eyes flash up, as if you were fighting; and the bosom of
your Sunday frock was loose in church two buttons; it was not hot
at all to speak of, and there was a wasp next pew.  All these
things make me unhappy, Mary.  My darling, tell me what it is."

Mary listened with great amazement to this catalogue of crimes.  At
the time of their commission she had never even thought of them,
although she was vexed with herself when she saw one eye--for in
verity that was all--of a potato upon her father's plate.  Now she
blushed when she heard of the buttons of her frock--which was only
done because of tightness, and showed how long she must have worn
it; but as to the double thread, she was sure that nothing of that
sort could have happened.

"Why, mother dear," she said, quite softly, coming up in her
coaxing way, which nobody could resist, because it was true and
gentle lovingness, "you know a hundred times more than I do.  I
have never known of any of the sad mistakes you speak of, except
about the potato-eye, and then I had a round-pointed knife.  But I
want to make no excuses, mother; and there is nothing the matter
with me.  Tell me what you mean about the wolves."

"My child," said her mother, whose face she was kissing, while they
both went on with talking, "it is no good trying to get over me.
Either you have something on your mind, or you have not--which is
it?"

"Mother, what can I have on my mind?  I have never hurt any one,
and never mean to do it.  Every one is kind to me, and everybody
likes me, and of course I like them all again.  And I always have
plenty to do, in and out, as you take very good care, dear mother.
My father loves me, and so do you, a great deal more than I
deserve, perhaps.  I am happy in a Sunday frock that wants more
stuff to button; and I have only one trouble in all the world.
When I think of the other girls I see--"

"Never mind them, my dear.  What is your one trouble?"

"Mother, as if you could help knowing!  About my dear brother Jack,
of course.  Jack was so wonderfully good to me!  I would walk on my
hands and knees all the way to York to get a single glimpse of
him."

"You would never get as far as the rick-yard hedge.  You children
talk such nonsense.  Jack ran away of his own free-will, and out of
downright contrariness.  He has repented of it only once, I dare
say, and that has been ever since he did it, and every time he
thought of it.  I wish he was home again, with all my heart, for I
can not bear to lose my children.  And Jack was as good a boy as
need be, when he got everything his own way.  Mary, is that your
only trouble?  Stand where I can see you plainly, and tell me every
word the truth.  Put your hair back from your eyes now, like the
catechism."

"If I were saying fifty catechisms, what more could I do than speak
the truth?"  Mary asked this with some little vexation, while she
stood up proudly before her mother, and clasped her hands behind
her back.  "I have told you everything I know, except one little
thing, which I am not sure about."

"What little thing, if you please? and how can you help being sure
about it, positive as you are about everything?"

"Mother, I mean that I have not been sure whether I ought to tell
you; and I meant to tell my father first, when there could be no
mischief."

"Mary, I can scarcely believe my ears.  To tell your father before
your mother, and not even him until nothing could be done to stop
it, which you call 'mischief!'  I insist upon knowing at once what
it is.  I have felt that you were hiding something.  How very
unlike you, how unlike a child of mine!"

"You need not disturb yourself, mother dear.  It is nothing of any
importance to me, though to other people it might be.  And that is
the reason why I kept it to myself."

"Oh, we shall come to something by-and-by!  One would really think
you were older than your mother.  Now, miss, if you please, let us
judge of your discretion.  What is it that you have been hiding so
long?"

Mary's face grew crimson now, but with anger rather than with
shame; she had never thought twice about Robin Lyth with anything
warmer than pity, but this was the very way to drive her into
dwelling in a mischievous manner upon him.

"What I have been hiding," she said, most distinctly, and
steadfastly looking at her mother, "is only that I have had two
talks with the great free-trader Robin Lyth."

"That arrant smuggler!  That leader of all outlaws!  You have been
meeting him on the sly!"

"Certainly not.  But I met him once by chance; and then, as a
matter of business, I was forced to meet him again, dear mother."

"These things are too much for me," Mrs. Anerley said, decisively.
"When matters have come to such a pass, I must beg your dear father
to see to them."

"Very well, mother; I would rather have it so.  May I go now and
make an end of my gardening?"

"Certainly--as soon as you have made an end of me, as you must
quite have laid your plans to do.  I have seen too much to be
astonished any more.  But to think that a child of mine, my one and
only daughter, who looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth,
should be hand in glove with the wickedest smuggler of the age, the
rogue everybody shoots at--but can not hit him, because he was born
to be hanged---the by-name, the by-word, the by-blow, Robin Lyth!"
Mrs. Anerley covered her face with both hands.

"How would you like your own second cousin," said Mary, plucking up
her spirit, "your own second cousin, Mistress Cockscroft, to hear
you speak so of the man that supports them at the risk of his life,
every hour of it?  He may be doing wrong--it is not for me to say--
but he does it very well, and he does it nobly.  And what did you
show me in your drawer, dear mother?  And what did you wear when
that very cruel man, Captain Carroway, came here to dine on
Sunday?"

"You wicked, undutiful child!  Go away!  I wish to have nothing
more to say to you."

"No, I will not go away," cried Mary, with her resolute spirit in
her eyes and brow; "when false and cruel charges are brought
against me, I have the right to speak, and I will use it.  I am not
hand in glove with Robin Lyth, or any other Robin.  I think a
little more of myself than that.  If I have done any wrong, I will
meet it, and be sorry, and submit to any punishment.  I ought to
have told you before, perhaps; that is the worst you can say of it.
But I never attached much importance to it; and when a man is
hunted so, was I to join his enemies?  I have only seen him twice:
the first time by purest accident, and the second time to give him
back a piece of his own property.  And I took my brother with me;
but he ran away, as usual."

"Of course, of course.  Every one to blame but you, miss.  However,
we shall see what your father has to say.  You have very nearly
taken all my breath away; but I shall expect the whole sky to
tumble in upon us if Captain Anerley approves of Robin Lyth as a
sweetheart for his daughter."

"I never thought of Captain Lyth; and Captain Lyth never thought of
me.  But I can tell you one thing, mother--if you wanted to make me
think of him, you could not do it better than by speaking so
unjustly."

"After that perhaps you will go back to your flowers.  I have heard
that they grow very fine ones in Holland.  Perhaps you have got
some smuggled tulips, my dear."

Mary did not condescend to answer, but said to herself, as she went
to work again, "Tulips in August!  That is like the rest of it.
However, I am not going to be put out, when I feel that I have not
done a single bit of harm."  And she tried to be happy with her
flowers, but could not enter into them as before.

Mistress Anerley was as good as her word, at the very first
opportunity.  Her husband returned from the clover-stack tired and
hungry, and angry with a man who had taken too much beer, and ran
at him with a pitchfork; angry also with his own son Willie for not
being anywhere in the way to help.  He did not complain; and his
wife knew at once that he ought to have done so, to obtain relief.
She perceived that her own discourse about their daughter was still
on his mind, and would require working off before any more was said
about it.  And she felt as sure as if she saw it that in his
severity against poor Willie--for not doing things that were
beneath him--her master would take Mary's folly as a joke, and fall
upon her brother, who was so much older, for not going on to
protect and guide her.  So she kept till after supper-time her
mouthful of bad tidings.

And when the farmer heard it all, as he did before going to sleep
that night, he had smoked three pipes of tobacco, and was calm; he
had sipped (for once in a way) a little Hollands, and was hopeful.
And though he said nothing about it, he felt that without any order
of his, or so much as the faintest desire to be told of it, neither
of these petty comforts would bear to be rudely examined of its
duty.  He hoped for the best, and he believed the best, and if the
king was cheated, why, his loyal subject was the same, and the
women were their masters.

"Have no fear, no fear," he muttered back through the closing gate
of sleep; "Mary knows her business--business--" and he buzzed it off
into a snore.

In the morning, however, he took a stronger and more serious view
of the case, pronouncing that Mary was only a young lass, and no
one could ever tell about young lasses.  And he quite fell into his
wife's suggestion, that the maid could be spared till harvest-time,
of which (even with the best of weather) there was little chance
now for another six weeks, the season being late and backward.  So
it was resolved between them both that the girl should go on the
following day for a visit to her uncle Popplewell, some miles the
other side of Filey.  No invitation was required; for Mr. and Mrs.
Popplewell, a snug and comfortable pair, were only too glad to have
their niece, and had often wanted to have her altogether; but the
farmer would never hear of that.



CHAPTER XV

CAUGHT AT LAST


While these little things were doing thus, the coast from the mouth
of the Tees to that of Humber, and even the inland parts, were in a
great stir of talk and work about events impending.  It must not be
thought that Flamborough, although it was Robin's dwelling-place--
so far as he had any--was the principal scene of his operations, or
the stronghold of his enterprise.  On the contrary, his liking was
for quiet coves near Scarborough, or even to the north of Whitby,
when the wind and tide were suitable.  And for this there were many
reasons which are not of any moment now.

One of them showed fine feeling and much delicacy on his part.  He
knew that Flamborough was a place of extraordinary honesty, where
every one of his buttons had been safe, and would have been so
forever; and strictly as he believed in the virtue of his own free
importation, it was impossible for him not to learn that certain
people thought otherwise, or acted as if they did so.  From the
troubles which such doubts might cause, he strove to keep the
natives free.

Flamburians scarcely understood this largeness of good-will to
them.  Their instincts told them that free trade was every Briton's
privilege; and they had the finest set of donkeys on the coast for
landing it.  But none the more did any of them care to make a
movement toward it.  They were satisfied with their own old way--to
cast the net their father cast, and bait the hook as it was baited
on their good grandfather's thumb.

Yet even Flamborough knew that now a mighty enterprise was in hand.
It was said, without any contradiction, that young Captain Robin
had laid a wager of one hundred guineas with the worshipful mayor
of Scarborough and the commandant of the castle, that before the
new moon he would land on Yorkshire coast, without firing pistol or
drawing steel, free goods to the value of two thousand pounds, and
carry them inland safely.  And Flamborough believed that he would
do it.

Dr. Upround's house stood well, as rectories generally contrive to
do.  No place in Flamborough parish could hope to swindle the wind
of its vested right, or to embezzle much treasure of the sun, but
the parsonage made a good effort to do both, and sometimes for
three days together got the credit of succeeding.  And the dwellers
therein, who felt the edge of the difference outside their own
walls, not only said but thoroughly believed that they lived in a
little Goshen.

For the house was well settled in a wrinkle of the hill expanding
southward, and encouraging the noon.  From the windows a pleasant
glimpse might be obtained of the broad and tranquil anchorage,
peopled with white or black, according as the sails went up or
down; for the rectory stood to the southward of the point, as the
rest of Flamborough surely must have stood, if built by any other
race than armadillos.  But to see all those vessels, and be sure
what they were doing, the proper place was a little snug "gazebo,"
chosen and made by the doctor himself, near the crest of the gully
he inhabited.

Here upon a genial summer day--when it came, as it sometimes dared
to do--was the finest little nook upon the Yorkshire coast for
watching what Virgil calls "the sail-winged sea."  Not that a man
could see round the Head, unless his own were gifted with very
crooked eyes; but without doing that (which would only have
disturbed the tranquillity of his prospect) there was plenty to
engage him in the peaceful spread of comparatively waveless waters.
Here might he see long vessels rolling, not with great misery, but
just enough to make him feel happy in the firmness of his bench,
and little jolly-boats it was more jolly to be out of, and faraway
heads giving genial bobs, and sea-legs straddled in predicaments
desirable rather for study than for practice.  All was highly
picturesque and nice, and charming for the critic who had never got
to do it.

"Now, papa, you must come this very moment," cried Miss Janetta
Upround, the daughter of the house, and indeed the only daughter,
with a gush of excitement, rushing into the study of this deeply
read divine; "there is something doing that I can not understand.
You must bring up the spy-glass at once and explain.  I am sure
that there is something very wrong."

"In the parish, my dear?" the rector asked, with a feeble attempt
at malice, for he did not want to be disturbed just now, and for
weeks he had tried (with very poor success) to make Janetta useful;
for she had no gift in that way.

"No, not in the parish at all, papa, unless it runs out under
water, as I am certain it ought to do, and make every one of those
ships pay tithe.  If the law was worth anything, they would have to
do it.  They get all the good out of our situation, and they save
whole thousands of pounds at a time, and they never pay a penny,
nor even hoist a flag, unless the day is fine, and the flag wants
drying.  But come along, papa, now.  I really can not wait; and
they will have done it all without us."

"Janetta, take the glass and get the focus.  I will come presently,
presently.  In about two minutes--by the time that you are ready."

"Very well, papa.  It is very good of you.  I see quite clearly
what you want to do; and I hope you will do it.  But you promise
not to play another game now?"

"My dear, I will promise that with pleasure.  Only do please be off
about your business."

The rector was a most inveterate and insatiable chess-player.  In
the household, rather than by it, he was, as a matter of lofty
belief, supposed to be deeply engaged with theology, or magisterial
questions of almost equal depth, or (to put it at the lowest)
parochial affairs, the while he was solidly and seriously engaged
in getting up the sound defense to some Continental gambit.  And
this, not only to satisfy himself upon some point of theory, but
from a nearer and dearer point of view--for he never did like to be
beaten.

At present he was laboring to discover the proper defense to a new
and slashing form of the Algaier gambit, by means of which Robin
Lyth had won every game in which he had the move, upon their last
encounter.  The great free-trader, while a boy, had shown an
especial aptitude for chess, and even as a child he had seemed to
know the men when first, by some accident, he saw them.  The rector
being struck by this exception to the ways of childhood--whose
manner it is to take chess-men for "dollies," or roll them about
like nine-pins--at once included in the education of "Izunsabe,"
which he took upon himself, a course of elemental doctrine in the
one true game.  And the boy fought his way up at such a pace that
he jumped from odds of queen and rook to pawn and two moves in less
than two years.  And now he could almost give odds to his tutor,
though he never presumed to offer them; and trading as he did with
enlightened merchants of large Continental sea-ports, who had
plenty of time on their hands and played well, he imported new
openings of a dash and freedom which swallowed the ground up under
the feet of the steady-going players, who had never seen a book
upon their favorite subject.  Of course it was competent to all
these to decline such fiery onslaught; but chivalry and the true
love of analysis (which without may none play chess) compelled the
acceptance of the challenge, even with a trembling forecast of the
taste of dust.

"Never mind," said Dr. Upround, as he rose and stretched himself, a
good straight man of threescore years, with silver hair that shone
like silk; "it has not come to me yet; but it must, with a little
more perseverance.  At Cambridge I beat everybody; and who is this
uncircumcised--at least, I beg his pardon, for I did myself baptize
him--but who is Robin Lyth, to mate his pastor and his master?  All
these gambits are like a night attack.  If once met properly and
expelled, you are in the very heart of the enemy's camp.  He has
left his own watch-fires to rush at yours.  The next game I play, I
shall be sure to beat him."

Fully convinced of this great truth, he took a strong oak staff and
hastened to obey his daughter.  Miss Janetta Upround had not only
learned by nature, but also had been carefully taught by her
parents, and by every one, how to get her own way always, and to be
thanked for taking it.  But she had such a happy nature, full of
kindness and good-will, that other people's wishes always seemed to
flow into her own, instead of being swept aside.  Over her father
her government was in no sort constitutional, nor even a quiet
despotism sweetened with liberal illusions, but as pure a piece of
autocracy as the Continent could itself contain, in the time of
this first Napoleon.

"Papa, what a time you have been, to be sure!" she exclaimed, as
the doctor came gradually up, probing his way in perfect leisure,
and fragrant still of that gambit; "one would think that your
parish was on dry land altogether, while the better half of it, as
they call themselves--though the women are in righteousness the
better half a hundredfold--"

"My dear, do try to talk with some little sense of arithmetic, if
no other.  A hundredfold the half would be the unit multiplied by
fifty.  Not to mention that there can be no better half--"

"Yes, there can, papa, ever so many; and you may see one in mamma
every day.  Now you put one eye to this glass, and the half is
better than the whole.  With both, you see nothing; with one,
you see better, fifty times better, than with both before.  Don't
talk of arithmetic after that.  It is algebra now, and quod
demonstrandum."

"To reason with the less worthy gender is degeneration of reason.
What would they have said in the Senate-house, Janetta?  However, I
will obey your orders.  What am I to look at?"

"A tall and very extraordinary man, striking his arms out, thus and
thus.  I never saw any one looking so excited; and he flourishes a
long sword now and again, as if he would like to cut everybody's
head off.  There he has been going from ship to ship, for an hour
or more, with a long white boat, and a lot of men jumping after
him.  Every one seems to be scared of him, and he stumps along the
deck just as if he were on springs, and one spring longer than the
other.  You see that heavy brig outside the rest, painted with ten
port-holes; well, she began to make sail and run away, but he fired
a gun--quite a real cannon--and she had to come back again and drop
her colors.  Oh, is it some very great admiral, papa?  Perhaps Lord
Nelson himself; I would go and be seasick for three days to see
Lord Nelson.  Papa, it must be Lord Nelson."

"My dear, Lord Nelson is a little, short man, with a very brisk
walk, and one arm gone.  Now let me see who this can be.
Whereabout is he now, Janetta?"

"Do you see that clumsy-looking schooner, papa, just behind a
pilot-boat?  He is just in front of her foremast--making such a
fuss--"

"What eyes you have got, my child!  You see better without the
glass than I do with it.--Oh, now I have him!  Why, I might have
guessed.  Of course it is that very active man and vigilant officer
Lieutenant Carroway."

"Captain Carroway from Bridlington, papa?  Why, what can he be
doing with such authority?  I have often heard of him, but I
thought he was only a coast-guard."

"He is, as you say, showing great authority, and, I fear, using
very bad language, for which he is quite celebrated.  However, the
telescope refuses to repeat it, for which it is much to be
commended.  But every allowance must be made for a man who has to
deal with a wholly uncultivated race, and not of natural piety,
like ours."

"Well, papa, I doubt if ours have too much, though you always make
the best of them.  But let me look again, please; and do tell me
what he can be doing there."

"You know that the revenue officers must take the law into their
own hands sometimes.  There have lately been certain rumors of some
contraband proceedings on the Yorkshire coast.  Not in Flamborough
parish, of course, and perhaps--probably, I may say--a long way
off---"

"Papa dear, will you never confess that free trade prevails and
flourishes greatly even under your own dear nose?"

"Facts do not warrant me in any such assertion.  If the fact were
so, it must have been brought officially before me.  I decline to
listen to uncharitable rumors.  But however that matter may be,
there are officers on the spot to deal with it.  My commission as a
justice of the peace gives me no cognizance of offenses--if such
there are--upon the high seas.  Ah! you see something particular;
my dear, what is it?"

"Captain Carroway has found something, or somebody, of great
importance.  He has got a man by the collar, and he is absolutely
dancing with delight.  Ah! there he goes, dragging him along the
deck as if he were a cod-fish or a conger.  And now, I declare, he
is lashing his arms and legs with a great thick rope.  Papa, is
that legal, without even a warrant?"

"I can hardly say how far his powers may extend, and he is just the
man to extend them farther.  I only hope not to be involved in the
matter.  Maritime law is not my province."

"But, papa, it is much within three miles of the shore, if that has
got anything to do with it.  My goodness me!  They are all coming
here; I am almost sure that they will apply to you.  Yes, two boat-
loads of people, racing to get their oars out, and to be here
first.  Where are your spectacles, dear papa?  You had better go
and get up the law before they come.  You will scarcely have time,
they are coming so fast--a white boat and a black boat.  The
prisoner is in the white boat, and the officer has got him by the
collar still.  The men in the white boat will want to commit him,
and the men in the black boat are his friends, no doubt, coming for
a habeas corpus--"

"My dear, what nonsense you do talk!  What has a simple justice of
the peace--"

"Never mind that, papa; my facts are sound--sounder than yours
about smuggling, I fear.  But do hurry in, and get up the law.
I will go and lock both gates, to give you more time."

"Do nothing of the kind, Janetta.  A magistrate should be
accessible always; and how can I get up the law, without knowing
what it is to be about--or even a clerk to help me?  And perhaps
they are not coming here at all.  They may be only landing their
prisoner."

"If that were it, they would not be coming so, but rowing toward
the proper place, Bridlington Quay, where their station-house is.
Papa, you are in for it, and I am getting eager.  May I come and
hear all about it?  I should be a great support to you, you know.
And they would tell the truth so much better!"

"Janetta, what are you dreaming of?  It may even be a case of
secrecy."

"Secrecy, papa, with two boat-loads of men and about thirty ships
involved in it!  Oh, do let me hear all about it!"

"Whatever it may be, your presence is not required, and would be
improper.  Unless I should happen to want a book; and in that case
I might ring for you."

"Oh, do, papa, do!  No one else can ever find them.  Promise me now
that you will want a book.  If I am not there, there will be no
justice done.  I wish you severely to reprimand, whatever the facts
of the case may be, and even to punish, if you can, that tall,
lame, violent, ferocious man, for dragging the poor fellow about
like that, and cutting him with ropes, when completely needless,
and when he was quite at his mercy.  It is my opinion that the
other man does not deserve one bit of it; and whatever the law may
be, papa, your duty is to strain it benevolently, and question
every syllable upon the stronger side."

"Perhaps I had better resign, my dear, upon condition that you
shall be appointed in the stead of me.  It might be a popular
measure, and would secure universal justice."

"Papa, I would do justice to myself--which is a thing you never do.
But here, they are landing; and they hoist him out as if he were a
sack, or a thing without a joint.  They could scarcely be harder
with a man compelled to be hanged to-morrow morning."

"Condemned is what you mean, Janetta.  You never will understand
the use of words.  What a nice magistrate you would make!"

"There can be no more correct expression.  Would any man be hanged
if he were not compelled?  Papa, you say the most illegal things
sometimes.  Now please to go in and get up your legal points.  Let
me go and meet those people for you.  I will keep them waiting till
you are quite ready."

"My dear, you will go to your room, and try to learn a little
patience.  You begin to be too pat with your own opinions, which in
a young lady is ungraceful.  There, you need not cry, my darling,
because your opinions are always sensible, and I value them very
highly; but still you must bear in mind that you are but a girl."

"And behave accordingly, as they say.  Nobody can do more so.  But
though I am only a girl, papa, can you put your hand upon a better
one?"

"Certainly not, my dear; for going down hill, I can always depend
on you."

Suiting the action to the word, Dr. Upround, whose feet were a
little touched with gout, came down from his outlook to his
kitchen-garden, and thence through the shrubbery back to his own
study, where, with a little sigh, he put away his chess-men, and
heartily hoped that it might not be his favorite adversary who was
coming before him to be sent to jail.  For although the good rector
had a warm regard, and even affection, for Robin Lyth, as a waif
cast into his care, and then a pupil wonderfully apt (which breeds
love in the teacher), and after that a most gallant and highly
distinguished young parishioner--with all this it was a difficulty
for him to be ignorant that the law was adverse.  More than once he
had striven hard to lead the youth into some better path of life,
and had even induced him to "follow the sea" for a short time in
the merchant service.  But the force of nature and of circumstances
had very soon prevailed again, and Robin returned to his old
pursuits with larger experience, and seamanship improved.

A violent ringing at the gate bell, followed by equal urgency upon
the front door, apprised the kind magistrate of a sharp call on his
faculties, and perhaps a most unpleasant one.  "The poor boy!" he
said to himself--"poor boy!  From Carroway's excitement I greatly
fear that it is indeed poor Robin.  How many a grand game have we
had!  His new variety of that fine gambit scarcely beginning to be
analyzed; and if I commit him to the meeting next week, when shall
we ever meet again?  It will seem as if I did it because he won
three games; and I certainly was a little vexed with him.  However,
I must be stern, stern, stern.  Show them in, Betsy; I am quite
prepared."

A noise, and a sound of strong language in the hall, and a dragging
of something on the oil-cloth, led up to the entry of a dozen rough
men, pushed on by at least another dozen.

"You will have the manners to take off your hats," said the
magistrate, with all his dignity; "not from any undue deference to
me, but common respect to his Majesty."

"Off with your covers, you sons of"--something, shouted a loud
voice; and then the lieutenant, with his blade still drawn, stood
before them.

"Sheathe your sword, Sir," said Dr. Upround, in a voice which
amazed the officer.

"I beg your Worship's pardon," he began, with his grim face
flushing purple, but his sword laid where it should have been; "but
if you knew half of the worry I have had, you would not care to
rebuke me.  Cadman, have you got him by the neck?  Keep your
knuckles into him, while I make my deposition."

"Cast that man free, I receive no depositions with a man half
strangled before me."

The men of the coast-guard glanced at their commander, and
receiving a surly nod, obeyed.  But the prisoner could not stand as
yet; he gasped for breath, and some one set him on a chair.

"Your Worship, this is a mere matter of form," said Carroway, still
keeping eyes on his prey; "if I had my own way, I would not trouble
you at all, and I believe it to be quite needless.  For this man is
an outlaw felon, and not entitled to any grace of law; but I must
obey my orders."

"Certainly you must, Lieutenant Carroway, even though you are
better acquainted with the law.  You are ready to be sworn?  Take
this book, and follow me."

This being done, the worthy magistrate prepared to write down what
the gallant officer might say, which, in brief, came to this, that
having orders to seize Robin Lyth wherever he might find him, and
having sure knowledge that said Robin was on board of a certain
schooner vessel, the Elizabeth, of Goole, the which he had laden
with goods liable to duty, he, Charles Carroway, had gently laid
hands on him, and brought him to the nearest justice of the peace,
to obtain an order of commitment.

All this, at fifty times the length here given, Lieutenant Carroway
deposed on oath, while his Worship, for want of a clerk, set it
down in his own very neat handwriting.  But several very coaly-
looking men, who could scarcely be taught to keep silence, observed
that the magistrate smiled once or twice; and this made them wait a
bit, and wink at one another.

"Very clear indeed, Lieutenant Carroway," said Dr. Upround, with
spectacles on nose.  "Good Sir, have the kindness to sign your
deposition.  It may become my duty to commit the prisoner, upon
identification.  Of that I must have evidence, confirmatory
evidence.  But first we will hear what he has to say.  Robin Lyth,
stand forward."

"Me no Robin Lyth, Sar; no Robin man or woman," cried the captive,
trying very hard to stand; "me only a poor Francais, make liberty
to what you call--row, row, sweem, sweem, sail, sail, from la belle
France; for why, for why, there is no import to nobody."

"Your Worship, he is always going on about imports," Cadman said,
respectfully; "that is enough to show who he is."

"You may trust me to know him," cried Lieutenant Carroway.  "My
fine fellow, no more of that stuff!  He can pass himself off for
any countryman whatever.  He knows all their jabber, Sir, better
than his own.  Put a cork between his teeth, Hackerbody.  I never
did see such a noisy rogue.  He is Robin Lyth all over."

"I'll be blest if he is, nor under nayther," cried the biggest of
the coaly men; "this here froggy come out of a Chaise and Mary as
had run up from Dunkirk.  I know Robin Lyth as well as our own
figure-head.  But what good to try reason with that there revenue
hofficer?"

At this, all his friends set a good laugh up, and wanted to give
him a cheer for such a speech; but that being hushed, they were
satisfied with condemning his organs of sight and their own quite
fairly.

"Lieutenant Carroway," his Worship said, amidst an impressive
silence, "I greatly fear that you have allowed zeal, my dear Sir,
to outrun discretion.  Robin Lyth is a young, and in many ways
highly respected, parishioner of mine.  He may have been guilty of
casual breaches of the laws concerning importation--laws which
fluctuate from year to year, and require deep knowledge of
legislation both to observe and to administer.  I heartily trust
that you may not suffer from having discharged your duty in a
manner most truly exemplary, if only the example had been the right
one.  This gentleman is no more Robin Lyth than I am."



CHAPTER XVI

DISCIPLINE ASSERTED


As soon as his troublesome visitors were gone, the rector sat down
in his deep arm-chair, laid aside his spectacles, and began to
think.  His face, while he thought, lost more and more of the calm
and cheerful expression which made it so pleasant a face to gaze
upon; and he sighed, without knowing it, at some dark ideas, and
gave a little shake of his grand old head.  The revenue officer had
called his favorite pupil and cleverest parishioner "a felon
outlaw;" and if that were so, Robin Lyth was no less than a
convicted criminal, and must not be admitted within his doors.
Formerly the regular penalty for illicit importation had been the
forfeiture of the goods when caught, and the smugglers (unless they
made resistance or carried fire-arms) were allowed to escape and
retrieve their bad luck, which they very soon contrived to do.  And
as yet, upon this part of the coast, they had not been guilty of
atrocious crimes, such as the smugglers of Sussex and Hampshire--
who must have been utter fiends--committed, thereby raising all the
land against them.  Dr. Upround had heard of no proclamation,
exaction, or even capias issued against this young free-trader; and
he knew well enough that the worst offenders were not the bold
seamen who contracted for the run, nor the people of the coast who
were hired for the carriage, but the rich indwellers who provided
all the money, and received the lion's share of all the profits.
And with these the law never even tried to deal.  However, the
magistrate-parson resolved that, in spite of all the interest of
tutorship and chess-play, and even all the influence of his wife
and daughter (who were hearty admirers of brave smuggling), he must
either reform this young man, or compel him to keep at a distance,
which would be very sad.

Meanwhile the lieutenant had departed in a fury, which seemed to be
incapable of growing any worse.  Never an oath did he utter all the
way to the landing where his boat was left; and his men, who knew
how much that meant, were afraid to do more than just wink at one
another.  Even the sailors of the collier schooner forbore to jeer
him, until he was afloat, when they gave him three fine rounds of
mock cheers, to which the poor Frenchman contributed a shriek.  For
this man had been most inhospitably treated, through his strange
but undeniable likeness to a perfidious Briton.

"Home!" cried the officer, glowering at those fellows, while his
men held their oars, and were ready to rush at them.  "Home, with a
will!  Give way, men!"  And not another word he spoke, till they
touched the steps at Bridlington.  Then he fixed stern eyes upon
Cadman, who vainly strove to meet them, and he said, "Come to me in
one hour and a half."  Cadman touched his hat without an answer,
saw to the boat, and then went home along the quay.

Carroway, though of a violent temper, especially when laughed at,
was not of that steadfast and sedentary wrath which chews the cud
of grievances, and feeds upon it in a shady place.  He had a good
wife--though a little overclean--and seven fine-appetited children,
who gave him the greatest pleasure in providing victuals.  Also, he
had his pipe, and his quiet corners, sacred to the atmosphere and
the private thoughts of Carroway.  And here he would often be
ambitious even now, perceiving no good reason why he might not yet
command a line-of-battle ship, and run up his own flag, and nobly
tread his own lofty quarter-deck.  If so, he would have Mrs.
Carroway on board, and not only on the boards, but at them; so that
a challenge should be issued every day for any other ship in all
the service to display white so wholly spotless, and black so void
of streakiness.  And while he was dwelling upon personal matters--
which, after all, concerned the nation most--he had tried very hard
to discover any reason (putting paltry luck aside) why Horatio
Nelson should be a Lord, and what was more to the purpose, an
admiral, while Charles Carroway (his old shipmate, and in every way
superior, who could eat him at a mouthful, if only he were good
enough) should now be no more than a 'long-shore lieutenant, and a
Jonathan Wild of the revenue.  However, as for envying Nelson, the
Lord knew that he would not give his little Geraldine's worst frock
for all the fellow's grand coat of arms, and freedom in a snuff-
box, and golden shields, and devices, this, that, and the other,
with Bona Robas to support them.

To this conclusion he was fairly come, after a good meal, and with
the second glass of the finest Jamaica pine-apple rum--which he
drank from pure principle, because it was not smuggled--steaming
and scenting the blue curls of his pipe, when his admirable wife
came in to say that on no account would she interrupt him.

"My dear, I am busy, and am very glad to hear it.  Pish! where have
I put all those accounts?"

"Charles, you are not doing any accounts.  When you have done your
pipe and glass, I wish to say a quiet word or two.  I am sure that
there is not a woman in a thousand--"

"Matilda, I know it.  Nor one in fifty thousand.  You are very good
at figures: will you take this sheet away with you?  Eight o'clock
will be quite time enough for it."

"My dear, I am always too pleased to do whatever I can to help you.
But I must talk to you now; really I must say a few words about
something, tired as you may be, Charles, and well deserving of a
little good sleep, which you never seem able to manage in bed.  You
told me, you know, that you expected Cadman, that surly, dirty
fellow, who delights to spoil my stones, and would like nothing
better than to take the pattern out of our drawing-room
Kidderminster.  Now I have a reason for saying something.  Charles,
will you listen to me once, just once?"

"I never do anything else," said the husband, with justice, and
meaning no mischief.

"Ah! how very seldom you hear me talk; and when I do, I might just
as well address the winds!  But for once, my dear, attend, I do
implore you.  That surly, burly Cadman will be here directly, and I
know that you are much put out with him.  Now I tell you he is
dangerous, savagely dangerous; I can see it in his unhealthy skin.
Oh, Charles, where have you put down your pipe?  I cleaned that
shelf this very morning!  How little I thought when I promised to
be yours that you ever would knock out your ashes like that!  But
do bear in mind, dear, whatever you do, if anything happened to
you, what ever would become of all of us?  All your sweet children
and your faithful wife--I declare you have made two great rings
with your tumbler upon the new cover of the table."

"Matilda, that has been done ever so long.  But I am almost certain
this tumbler leaks."

"So you always say; just as if I would allow it.  You never will
think of simply wiping the rim every time you use it; when I put
you a saucer for your glass, you forget it; there never was such a
man, I do believe.  I shall have to stop the rum and water
altogether."

"No, no, no.  I'll do anything you like.  I'll have a tumbler made
with a saucer to it--I'll buy a piece of oil-cloth the size of a
foretop-sail--I'll--"

"Charles, no nonsense, if you please: as if I were ever
unreasonable!  But your quickness of temper is such that I dread
what you may say to that Cadman.  Remember what opportunities he
has, dear.  He might shoot you in the dark any night, my darling,
and put it upon the smugglers.  I entreat you not to irritate the
man, and make him your enemy.  He is so spiteful; and I should be
in terror the whole night long."

"Matilda, in the house you may command me as you please--even in my
own cuddy here.  But as regards my duty, you know well that I
permit no interference.  And I should have expected you to have
more sense.  A pretty officer I should be if I were afraid of my
own men!  When a man is to blame, I tell him so, in good round
language, and shall do so now.  This man is greatly to blame, and I
doubt whether to consider him a fool or a rogue.  If it were not
that he has seven children, as we have, I would discharge him this
very night."

"Charles, I am very sorry for his seven children, but our place is
to think of our own seven first.  I beg you, I implore you, to
discharge the man; for he has not the courage to harm you, I
believe, except with the cowardly advantage he has got.  Now
promise me either to say nothing to him, or to discharge him, and
be done with him."

"Matilda, of such things you know nothing; and I can not allow you
to say any more."

"Very well, very well.  I know my duty.  I shall sit up and pray
every dark night you are out, and the whole place will go to the
dogs, of course.  Of the smugglers I am not afraid one bit, nor of
any honest fighting, such as you are used to.  But oh, my dear
Charles, the very bravest man can do nothing against base
treachery."

"To dream of such things shows a bad imagination," Carroway
answered, sternly; but seeing his wife's eyes fill with tears, he
took her hand gently, and begged her pardon, and promised to be
very careful, "I am the last man to be rash," he said, "after
getting so many more kicks than coppers.  I never had a fellow
under my command who would lift a finger to harm me.  And you must
remember, my darling Tilly, that I command Englishmen, not
Lascars."

With this she was forced to be content, to the best of her ability;
and Geraldine ran bouncing in from school to fill her father's pipe
for him; so that by the time John Cadman came, his commander had
almost forgotten the wrath created by the failure of the morning.
But unluckily Cadman had not forgotten the words and the look he
received before his comrades.

"Here I am, Sir, to give an account of myself," he said, in an
insolent tone, having taken much liquor to brace him for the
meeting.  "Is it your pleasure to say out what you mean?"

"Yes, but not here.  You will follow me to the station."  The
lieutenant took his favorite staff, and set forth, while his wife,
from the little window, watched him with a very anxious gaze.  She
saw her husband stride in front with the long rough gait she knew
so well, and the swing of his arms which always showed that his
temper was not in its best condition; and behind him Cadman
slouched along, with his shoulders up and his red hands clinched.
And the poor wife sadly went back to work, for her life was a truly
anxious one.

The station, as it was rather grandly called, was a hut, about the
size of a four-post bed, upon the low cliff, undermined by the sea,
and even then threatened to be swept away.  Here was a tall flag-
staff for signals, and a place for a beacon-light when needed, and
a bench with a rest for a spy-glass.  In the hut itself were signal
flags, and a few spare muskets, and a keg of bullets, with maps and
codes hung round the wall, and flint and tinder, and a good many
pipes, and odds and ends on ledges.  Carroway was very proud of
this place, and kept the key strictly in his own pocket, and very
seldom allowed a man to pass through the narrow doorway.  But he
liked to sit inside, and see them looking desirous to come in.

"Stand there, Cadman," he said, as soon as he had settled himself
in the one hard chair; and the man, though thoroughly primed for
revolt, obeyed the old habit, and stood outside.

"Once more you have misled me, Cadman, and abused my confidence.
More than that, you have made me a common laughing-stock for scores
of fools, and even for a learned gentleman, magistrate of divinity.
I was not content with your information until you confirmed it by
letters you produced from men well known to you, as you said, and
even from the inland trader who had contracted for the venture.
The schooner Elizabeth, of Goole, disguised as a collier, was to
bring to, with Robin Lyth on board of her, and the goods in her
hold under covering of coal, and to run the goods at the South
Flamborough landing this very night.  I have searched the Elizabeth
from stem to stern, and the craft brought up alongside of her; and
all I have found is a wretched Frenchman, who skulked so that I
made sure of him, and not a blessed anker of foreign brandy, nor
even a forty-pound bag of tea.  You had that packet of letters in
your neck-tie.  Hand them to me this moment--"

"If your Honor has made up your mind to think that a sailor of the
Royal Navy--"

"Cadman, none of that!  No lick-spittle lies to me; those letters,
that I may establish them!  You shall have them back, if they are
right.  And I will pay you a half crown for the loan."

"If I was to leave they letters in your hand, I could never hold
head up in Burlington no more."

"That is no concern of mine.  Your duty is to hold up your head
with me, and those who find you in bread and butter."

"Precious little butter I ever gets, and very little bread to speak
of.  The folk that does the work gets nothing.  Them that does
nothing gets the name and game."

"Fellow, no reasoning, but obey me!" Carroway shouted, with his
temper rising.  "Hand over those letters, or you leave the
service."

"How can I give away another man's property?"  As he said these
words, the man folded his arms, as who should say, "That is all you
get out of me."

"Is that the way you speak to your commanding officer?  Who owns
those letters, then, according to your ideas?"

"Butcher Hewson; and he says that you shall have them as soon as he
sees the money for his little bill."

This was a trifle too much for Carroway.  Up he jumped with
surprising speed, took one stride through the station door, and
seizing Cadman by the collar, shook him, wrung his ear with the
left hand, which was like a pair of pincers, and then with the
other flung him backward as if he were an empty bag.  The fellow
was too much amazed to strike, or close with him, or even swear,
but received the vehement impact without any stay behind him.  So
that he staggered back, hat downward, and striking one heel on a
stone, fell over the brink of the shallow cliff to the sand below.

The lieutenant, who never had thought of this, was terribly scared,
and his wrath turned cold.  For although the fall was of no great
depth, and the ground at the bottom so soft, if the poor man had
struck it poll foremost, as he fell, it was likely that his neck
was broken.  Without any thought of his crippled heel, Carroway
took the jump himself.

As soon as he recovered from the jar, which shook his stiff joints
and stiffer back, he ran to the coast-guardsman and raised him, and
found him very much inclined to swear.  This was a good sign, and
the officer was thankful, and raised him in the gravelly sand, and
kindly requested him to have it out, and to thank the Lord as soon
as he felt better.  But Cadman, although he very soon came round,
abstained from every token of gratitude.  Falling with his mouth
wide open in surprise, he had filled it with gravel of inferior
taste, as a tidy sewer pipe ran out just there, and at every
execration he discharged a little.

"What can be done with a fellow so ungrateful?" cried the
lieutenant, standing stiffly up again; "nothing but to let him come
back to his manners.  Hark you, John Cadman, between your bad
words, if a glass of hot grog will restore your right wits, you can
come up and have it, when your clothes are brushed."

With these words Carroway strode off to his cottage, without even
deigning to look back, for a minute had been enough to show him
that no very serious harm was done.

The other man did not stir until his officer was out of sight; and
then he arose and rubbed himself, but did not care to go for his
rummer of hot grog.

"I must work this off," the lieutenant said, as soon as he had told
his wife, and received his scolding; "I can not sit down; I must do
something.  My mind is becoming too much for me, I fear.  Can you
expect me to be laughed at?  I shall take a little sail in the
boat; the wind suits, and I have a particular reason.  Expect me,
my dear, when you see me."

In half an hour the largest boat, which carried a brass swivel-gun
in her bows, was stretching gracefully across the bay, with her
three white sails flashing back the sunset.  The lieutenant
steered, and he had four men with him, of whom Cadman was not one,
that worthy being left at home to nurse his bruises and his
dudgeon.  These four men now were quite marvellously civil, having
heard of their comrade's plight, and being pleased alike with that
and with their commander's prowess.  For Cadman was by no means
popular among them, because, though his pay was the same as theirs,
he always tried to be looked up to; the while his manners were not
distinguished, and scarcely could be called polite, when a supper
required to be paid for.  In derision of this, and of his desire
for mastery, they had taken to call him "Boatswain Jack," or "John
Boatswain," and provoked him by a subscription to present him with
a pig-whistle.  For these were men who liked well enough to receive
hard words from their betters who were masters of their business,
but saw neither virtue nor value in submitting to superior airs
from their equals.

The Royal George, as this boat was called, passed through the fleet
of quiet vessels, some of which trembled for a second visitation;
but not deigning to molest them, she stood on, and rounding
Flamborough Head, passed by the pillar rocks called King and Queen,
and bore up for the North Landing cove.  Here sail was taken in,
and oars were manned; and Carroway ordered his men to pull in to
the entrance of each of the well-known caves.

To enter these, when any swell is running, requires great care and
experience; and the Royal George had too much beam to do it
comfortably, even in the best of weather.  And now what the sailors
call a "chopping sea" had set in with the turn of the tide,
although the wind was still off-shore; so that even to lie to at
the mouth made rather a ticklish job of it.  The men looked at one
another, and did not like it, for a badly handled oar would have
cast them on the rocks, which are villainously hard and jagged, and
would stave in the toughest boat, like biscuit china.  However,
they durst not say that they feared it; and by skill and steadiness
they examined all three caves quite enough to be certain that no
boat was in them.

The largest of the three, and perhaps the finest, was the one they
first came to, which already was beginning to be called the cave of
Robin Lyth.  The dome is very high, and sheds down light when the
gleam of the sea strikes inward.  From the gloomy mouth of it, as
far as they could venture, the lapping of the wavelets could be
heard all round it, without a boat, or even a balk of wood to break
it.  Then they tried echo, whose clear answer hesitates where any
soft material is; but the shout rang only of hard rock and glassy
water.  To make assurance doubly sure, they lit a blue-light, and
sent it floating through the depths, while they held their position
with two boat-hooks and a fender.  The cavern was lit up with a
very fine effect, but not a soul inside of it to animate the scene.
And to tell the truth, the bold invaders were by no means grieved
at this; for if there had been smugglers there, it would have been
hard to tackle them.

Hauling off safely, which was worse than running in, they pulled
across the narrow cove, and rounding the little headland, examined
the Church Cave and the Dovecote likewise, and with a like result.
Then heartily tired, and well content with having done all that man
could do, they set sail again in the dusk of the night, and forged
their way against a strong ebb-tide toward the softer waters of
Bridlington, and the warmer comfort of their humble homes.



CHAPTER XVII

DELICATE INQUIRIES


A genuine summer day pays a visit nearly once in the season to
Flamborough; and when it does come, it has a wonderful effect.
Often the sun shines brightly there, and often the air broods hot
with thunder; but the sun owes his brightness to sweep of the wind,
which sweeps away his warmth as well; while, on the other hand, the
thunder-clouds, like heavy smoke capping the headland, may oppress
the air with heat, but are not of sweet summer's beauty.

For once, however, the fine day came, and the natives made haste to
revile it.  Before it was three hours old they had found a hundred
and fifty faults with it.  Most of the men truly wanted a good
sleep, after being lively all the night upon the waves, and the
heat and the yellow light came in upon their eyes, and set the
flies buzzing all about them.  And even the women, who had slept
out their time, and talked quietly, like the clock ticking, were
vexed with the sun, which kept their kettles from good boiling, and
wrote upon their faces the years of their life.  But each made
allowance for her neighbor's appearance, on the strength of the
troubles she had been through.  For the matter of that, the sun
cared not the selvage of a shadow what was thought of him, but went
his bright way with a scattering of clouds and a tossing of vapors
anywhere.  Upon the few fishermen who gave up hope of sleep, and
came to stand dazed in their doorways, the glare of white walls and
chalky stones, and dusty roads, produced the same effect as if they
had put on their fathers' goggles.  Therefore they yawned their way
back to their room, and poked up the fire, without which, at
Flamborough, no hot weather would be half hot enough.

The children, however, were wide-awake, and so were the washer-
women, whose turn it had been to sleep last night for the labors of
the morning.  These were plying hand and tongue in a little field
by the three cross-roads, where gaffers and gammers of by-gone time
had set up troughs of proven wood, and the bilge of a long storm-
beaten boat, near a pool of softish water.  Stout brown arms were
roped with curd, and wedding rings looked slippery things, and
thumb-nails bordered with inveterate black, like broad beans ripe
for planting, shone through a hubbub of snowy froth; while sluicing
and wringing and rinsing went on over the bubbled and lathery turf;
and every handy bush or stub, and every tump of wiry grass, was
sheeted with white, like a ship in full sail, and shining in the
sun-glare.

From time to time these active women glanced back at their
cottages, to see that the hearth was still alive, or at their
little daughters squatting under the low wall which kept them from
the road, where they had got all the babies to nurse, and their
toes and other members to compare, and dandelion chains to make.
But from their washing ground the women could not see the hill that
brings to the bottom of the village the crooked road from Sewerby.
Down that hill came a horseman slowly, with nobody to notice him,
though himself on the watch for everybody; and there in the bottom
below the first cottage he allowed his horse to turn aside and cool
hot feet and leathery lips, in a brown pool spread by Providence
for the comfort of wayworn roadsters.

The horse looked as if he had labored far, while his rider was
calmly resting; for the cross-felled sutures of his flank were
crusted with gray perspiration, and the runnels of his shoulders
were dabbled; and now it behooved him to be careful how he sucked
the earthy-flavored water, so as to keep time with the heaving of
his barrel.  In a word, he was drinking as if he would burst--as
his hostler at home often told him--but the clever old roadster
knew better than that, and timing it well between snorts and
coughs, was tightening his girths with deep pleasure.

"Enough, my friend, is as good as a feast," said his rider to him,
gently, yet strongly pulling up the far-stretched head, "and too
much is worse than a famine."

The horse, though he did not belong to this gentleman, but was
hired by him only yesterday, had already discovered that, with him
on his back, his own judgment must lie dormant, so that he quietly
whisked his tail and glanced with regret at the waste of his drip,
and then, with a roundabout step, to prolong the pleasure of this
little wade, sadly but steadily out he walked, and, after the
necessary shake, began his first invasion of the village.  His
rider said nothing, but kept a sharp look-out.

Now this was Master Geoffrey Mordacks, of the ancient city of York,
a general factor and land agent.  What a "general factor" is, or is
not, none but himself can pretend to say, even in these days of
definition, and far less in times when thought was loose; and
perhaps Mr. Mordacks would rather have it so.  But any one who paid
him well could trust him, according to the ancient state of things.
To look at him, nobody would even dare to think that money could be
a consideration to him, or the name of it other than an insult.  So
lofty and steadfast his whole appearance was, and he put back his
shoulders so manfully.  Upright, stiff, and well appointed with a
Roman nose, he rode with the seat of a soldier and the decision of
a tax-collector.  From his long steel spurs to his hard coned hat
not a soft line was there, nor a feeble curve.  Stern honesty and
strict purpose stamped every open piece of him so strictly that a
man in a hedge-row fostering devious principles, and resolved to
try them, could do no more than run away, and be thankful for the
chance of it.

But in those rough and dangerous times, when thousands of people
were starving, the view of a pistol-butt went further than sternest
aspect of strong eyes.  Geoffrey Mordacks well knew this, and did
not neglect his knowledge.  The brown walnut stock of a heavy
pistol shone above either holster, and a cavalry sword in a
leathern scabbard hung within easy reach of hand.  Altogether this
gentleman seemed not one to be rashly attacked by daylight.

No man had ever dreamed as yet of coming to this outlandish place
for pleasure of the prospect.  So that when this lonely rider was
descried from the washing field over the low wall of the lane, the
women made up their minds at once that it must be a justice of the
peace, or some great rider of the Revenue, on his way to see Dr.
Upandown, or at the least a high constable concerned with some
great sheep-stealing.  Not that any such crime was known in the
village itself of Flamborough, which confined its operations to the
sea; but in the outer world of land that malady was rife just now,
and a Flamborough man, too fond of mutton, had farmed some sheep on
the downs, and lost them, which was considered a judgment on him
for willfully quitting ancestral ways.

But instead of turning at the corner where the rector was trying to
grow some trees, the stranger kept on along the rugged highway, and
between the straggling cottages, so that the women rinsed their
arms, and turned round to take a good look at him, over the
brambles and furze, and the wall of chalky flint and rubble.

"This is just what I wanted," thought Geoffrey Mordacks: "skill
makes luck, and I am always lucky.  Now, first of all, to recruit
the inner man."

At this time Mrs. Theophila Precious, generally called "Tapsy," the
widow of a man who had been lost at sea, kept the "Cod with a Hook
in his Gills," the only hostelry in Flamborough village, although
there was another toward the Landing.  The cod had been painted
from life--or death--by a clever old fisherman who understood him,
and he looked so firm, and stiff, and hard, that a healthy man,
with purse enough to tire of butcher's-meat, might grow in appetite
by gazing.  Mr. Mordacks pulled up, and fixed steadfast eyes upon
this noble fish, the while a score of sharp eyes from the green and
white meadow were fixed steadfastly on him.

"How he shines with salt-water!  How firm he looks, and his gills
as bright as a rose in June!  I have never yet tasted a cod at
first hand.  It is early in the day, but the air is hungry.  My
expenses are paid, and I mean to live well, for a strong mind will
be required.  I will have a cut out of that fish, to begin with."

Inditing of this, and of matters even better, the rider turned into
the yard of the inn, where an old boat (as usual) stood for a
horse-trough, and sea-tubs served as buckets.  Strong sunshine
glared upon the oversaling tiles, and white buckled walls, and
cracky lintels; but nothing showed life, except an old yellow cat,
and a pair of house-martins, who had scarcely time to breathe, such
a number of little heads flipped out with a white flap under the
beak of each, demanding momentous victualling.  At these the yellow
cat winked with dreamy joyfulness, well aware how fat they would be
when they came to tumble out.

"What a place of vile laziness!" grumbled Mr. Mordacks, as he got
off his horse, after vainly shouting "Hostler!" and led him to the
byre, which did duty for a stable.  "York is a lazy hole enough,
but the further you go from it, the lazier they get.  No energy, no
movement, no ambition, anywhere.  What a country! what a people!  I
shall have to go back and enlist the washer-women."

A Yorkshireman might have answered this complaint, if he thought it
deserving of an answer, by requesting Master Mordacks not to be so
overquick, but to bide a wee bit longer before he made so sure of
the vast superiority of his own wit, for the long heads might prove
better than the sharp ones in the end of it.  However, the general
factor thought that he could not have come to a better place to get
all that he wanted out of everybody.  He put away his saddle, and
the saddlebags and sword, in a rough old sea-chest with a padlock
to it, and having a sprinkle of chaff at the bottom.  Then he
calmly took the key, as if the place were his, gave his horse a
rackful of long-cut grass, and presented himself, with a lordly
aspect, at the front door of the silent inn.  Here he made noise
enough to stir the dead; and at the conclusion of a reasonable
time, during which she had finished a pleasant dream to the
simmering of the kitchen pot, the landlady showed herself in the
distance, feeling for her keys with one hand, and rubbing her eyes
with the other.  This was the head-woman of the village, but seldom
tyrannical, unless ill-treated, Widow Precious, tall and square,
and of no mean capacity.

"Young mon," with a deep voice she said, "what is tha' deein' wi'
aw that clatter?"

"Alas, my dear madam, I am not a young man; and therefore time is
more precious to me.  I have lived out half my allotted span, and
shall never complete it unless I get food."

"T' life o' mon is aw a hoory," replied Widow Precious, with slow
truth.  "Young mon, what 'll ye hev?"

"Dinner, madam; dinner at the earliest moment.  I have ridden far,
and my back is sore, and my substance is calling for renewal."

"Ate, ate, ate, that's t' waa of aw menkins.  Bud ye maa coom in,
and crack o' it."

"Madam, you are most hospitable; and the place altogether seems to
be of that description.  What a beautiful room!  May I sit down?  I
perceive a fine smell of most delicate soup.  Ah, you know how to
do things at Flamborough."

"Young mon, ye can ha' nune of yon potty.  Yon's for mesell and t'
childer."

"My excellent hostess, mistake me not.  I do not aspire to such
lofty pot-luck.  I simply referred to it as a proof of your
admirable culinary powers."

"Yon's beeg words.  What 'll ye hev te ate?"

"A fish like that upon your sign-post, madam, or at least the upper
half of him; and three dozen oysters just out of the sea, swimming
in their own juice, with lovely melted butter."

"Young mon, hast tha gotten t' brass?  Them 'at ates offens forgets
t' reck'nin'."

"Yes, madam, I have the needful in abundance.  Ecce signum!  Which
is Latin, madam, for the stamps of the king upon twenty guineas.
One to be deposited in your fair hand for a taste, for a sniff,
madam, such as I had of your pot."

"Na, na.  No tokkins till a' airned them.  What ood your Warship be
for ating when a' boileth?"

The general factor, perceiving his way, was steadfast to the
shoulder cut of a decent cod; and though the full season was
scarcely yet come, Mrs. Precious knew where to find one.  Oysters
there were none, but she gave him boiled limpets, and he thought it
the manner of the place that made them tough.  After these things
he had a duck of the noblest and best that live anywhere in
England.  Such ducks were then, and perhaps are still, the most
remarkable residents of Flamborough.  Not only because the air is
fine, and the puddles and the dabblings of extraordinary merit, and
the wind fluffs up their pretty feathers while alive, as the
eloquent poulterer by-and-by will do; but because they have really
distinguished birth, and adventurous, chivalrous, and bright blue
Norman blood.  To such purpose do the gay young Vikings of the
world of quack pour in (when the weather and the time of year
invite), equipped with red boots and plumes of purple velvet, to
enchant the coy lady ducks in soft water, and eclipse the familiar
and too legal drake.  For a while they revel in the change of
scene, the luxury of unsalted mud and scarcely rippled water, and
the sweetness and culture of tame dilly-ducks, to whom their
brilliant bravery, as well as an air of romance and billowy peril,
commends them too seductively.  The responsible sire of the pond is
grieved, sinks his unappreciated bill into his back, and vainly
reflects upon the vanity of love.

From a loftier point of view, however, this is a fine provision;
and Mr. Mordacks always took a lofty view of everything.

"A beautiful duck, ma'am; a very grand duck!" in his usual loud and
masterful tone, he exclaimed to Widow Precious.  "I understand your
question now as to my ability to pay for him.  Madam, he is worth a
man's last shilling.  A goose is a smaller and a coarser bird.  In
what manner do you get them?"

"They gets their own sells, wi' the will of the Lord.  What will
your Warship be for ating, come after?"

"None of your puddings and pies, if you please, nor your excellent
jellies and custards.  A red Dutch cheese, with a pat of fresh
butter, and another imperial pint of ale."

"Now yon is what I call a man," thought Mrs. Precious, having
neither pie nor pudding, as Master Mordacks was well aware; "aisy
to please, and a' knoweth what a' wants.  A' mought 'a been born i'
Flaambro.  A' maa baide for a week, if a' hath the tokkins."

Mr. Mordacks felt that he had made his footing; but he was not the
man to abide for a week where a day would suit his purpose.  His
rule was never to beat about the bush when he could break through
it, and he thought that he saw his way to do so now.  Having
finished his meal, he set down his knife with a bang, sat upright
in the oaken chair, and gazed in a bold yet pleasant manner at the
sturdy hostess.

"You are wondering what has brought me here.  That I will tell you
in a very few words.  Whatever I do is straightforward, madam; and
all the world may know it.  That has been my character throughout
life; and in that respect I differ from the great bulk of mankind.
You Flamborough folk, however, are much of the very same nature as
I am.  We ought to get on well together.  Times are very bad--very
bad indeed.  I could put a good trifle of money in your way; but
you tell the truth without it, which is very, very noble.  Yet
people with a family have duties to discharge to them, and must
sacrifice their feelings to affection.  Fifty guineas is a tidy
little figure, ma'am.  With the famine growing in the land, no
parent should turn his honest back upon fifty guineas.  And to get
the gold, and do good at the same time, is a very rare chance
indeed."

This speech was too much for Widow Precious to carry to her settled
judgment, and get verdict in a breath.  She liked it, on the whole,
but yet there might be many things upon the other side; so she did
what Flamborough generally does, when desirous to consider things,
as it generally is.  That is to say, she stood with her feet well
apart, and her arms akimbo, and her head thrown back to give the
hinder part a rest, and no sign of speculation in her eyes,
although they certainly were not dull.  When these good people are
in this frame of mind and body, it is hard to say whether they look
more wise or foolish.  Mr. Mordacks, impatient as he was, even
after so fine a dinner, was not far from catching the infection of
slow thought, which spreads itself as pleasantly as that of slow
discourse.

"You are heeding me, madam; you have quick wits," he said, without
any sarcasm, for she rescued the time from waste by affording a
study of the deepest wisdom; "you are wondering how the money is to
come, and whether it brings any risk with it.  No, Mistress
Precious, not a particle of risk.  A little honest speaking is the
one thing needed."

"The money cometh scores of times more freely fra wrong-doing."

"Your observation, madam, shows a deep acquaintance with the human
race.  Too often the money does come so; and thus it becomes mere
mammon.  On such occasions we should wash our hands, and not forget
the charities.  But the beauty of money, fairly come by, is that we
can keep it all.  To do good in getting it, and do good with it,
and to feel ourselves better in every way, and our dear children
happier--this is the true way of considering the question.  I saw
some pretty little dears peeping in, and wanted to give them a
token or two, for I do love superior children.  But you called them
away, madam.  You are too stern."

Widow Precious had plenty of sharp sense to tell her that her
children were by no means "pretty dears" to anybody but herself,
and to herself only when in a very soft state of mind; at other
times they were but three gew-mouthed lasses, and two looby loons
with teeth enough for crunching up the dripping-pan.

"Your Warship spaketh fair," she said; "a'most too fair, I'm
doubting.  Wad ye say what the maning is, and what name goeth
pledge for the fafty poon, Sir?"

"Mistress Precious, my meaning always is plainer than a pikestaff;
and as to pledges, the pledge is the hard cash down upon the nail,
ma'am."

"Bank-tokkins, mayhap, and I prummeese to paa, with the sign of the
Dragon, and a woman among sheeps."

"Madam, a bag of solid gold that can be weighed and counted.  Fifty
new guineas from the mint of King George, in a water-proof bag just
fit to be buried at the foot of a tree, or well under the thatch,
or sewn up in the sacking of your bedstead, ma'am.  Ah, pretty
dreams, what pretty dreams, with a virtuous knowledge of having
done the right!  Shall we say it is a bargain, ma'am, and wet it
with a glass, at my expense, of the crystal spring that comes under
the sea?"

"Naw, Sir, naw!--not till I knaw what.  I niver trafficks with the
divil, Sir.  There wur a chap of Flaambro deed--"

"My good madam, I can not stop all day.  I have far to ride before
night-fall.  All that I want is simply this, and having gone so
far, I must tell you all, or make an enemy of you.  I want to match
this; and I have reason to believe that it can be matched in
Flamborough.  Produce me the fellow, and I pay you fifty guineas."

With these words Mr. Mordacks took from an inner pocket a little
pill-box, and thence produced a globe, or rather an oblate
spheroid, of bright gold, rather larger than a musket-ball, but
fluted or crenelled like a poppy-head, and stamped or embossed with
marks like letters.  Widow Precious looked down at it, as if to
think what an extraordinary thing it was, but truly to hide from
the stranger her surprise at the sudden recognition.  For Robin
Lyth was a foremost favorite of hers, and most useful to her
vocation; and neither fifty guineas nor five hundred should lead
her to do him an injury.  At a glance she had known that this bead
must belong to the set from which Robin's ear-rings came; and
perhaps it was her conscience which helped her to suspect that a
trap was being laid for the free-trade hero.  To recover herself,
and have time to think, as well as for closer discretion, she
invited Master Mordacks to the choice guest-chamber.

"Set ye doon, Sir, hereaboot," she said, opening a solid door into
the inner room; "neaver gain no fear at aw o' crackin' o' the
setties; fairm, fairm anoo' they be, thoo sketterish o' their
lukes, Sir.  Set ye doon, your Warship; fafty poons desarveth a
good room, wi'oot ony lugs o' anemees."

"What a beautiful room!" exclaimed Mr. Mordacks; "and how it savors
of the place!  I never should have thought of finding art and taste
of such degree in a little place like Flamborough.  Why, madam, you
must have inherited it direct from the Danes themselves."

"Naw, Sir, naw.  I fetched it aw oop fra the breck of the say and
the cobbles.  Book-folk tooneth naw heed o' what we do."

"Well, it is worth a great deal of heed.  Lovely patterns of sea-
weed on the floor--no carpet can compare with them; shelves of--I
am sure I don't know what--fished up from the deep, no doubt; and
shells innumerable, and stones that glitter, and fish like glass,
and tufts like lace, and birds with most wonderful things in their
mouths: Mistress Precious, you are too bad.  The whole of it ought
to go to London, where they make collections!"

"Lor, Sir, how ye da be laffin' at me.  But purty maa be said of
'em wi'out ony lees."

The landlady smiled as she set for him a chair, toward which he
trod gingerly, and picking every step, for his own sake as well as
of the garniture.  For the black oak floor was so oiled and
polished, to set off the pattern of the sea-flowers on it (which
really were laid with no mean taste and no small sense of color),
that for slippery boots there was some peril.

"This is a sacred as well as beautiful place," said Mr. Mordacks.
"I may finish my words with safety here.  Madam, I commend your
prudence as well as your excellent skill and industry.  I should
like to bring my daughter Arabella here: what a lesson she would
gain for tapestry!  But now, again, for business.  What do you say?
Unless I am mistaken, you have some knowledge of the matter
depending on this bauble.  You must not suppose that I came to you
at random.  No, madam, no; I have heard far away of your great
intelligence, caution, and skill, and influence in this important
town.  'Mistress Precious is the Mayor of Flamborough,' was said to
me only last Saturday; 'if you would study the wise people there,
hang up your hat in her noble hostelry.'  Madam, I have taken that
advice, and heartily rejoice at doing so.  I am a man of few words,
very few words--as you must have seen already--but of the strictest
straightforwardness in deeds.  And now again, what do you say,
ma'am?"

"Your Warship hath left ma nowt to saa.  Your Warship hath had the
mooth aw to yosell."

"Now Mistress, Mistress Precious, truly that is a little too bad of
you.  It is out of my power to help admiring things which are
utterly beyond me to describe, and a dinner of such cooking may
enlarge the tongue, after all the fine things it has been rolling
in.  But business is my motto, in the fewest words that may be.
You know what I want; you will keep it to yourself, otherwise other
people might demand the money.  Through very simple channels you
will find out whether the fellow thing to this can be found here or
elsewhere; and if so, who has got it, and how it was come by, and
everything else that can be learned about it; and when you know
all, you just make a mark on this piece of paper, ready folded and
addressed; and then you will seal it, and give it to the man who
calls for the letters nearly twice a week.  And when I get that, I
come and eat another duck, and have oysters with my cod-fish, which
to-day we could not have, except in the form of mussels, ma'am."

"Naw, not a moosel--they was aw gude flithers."

"Well, ma'am, they may have been unknown animals; but good they
were, and as fresh as the day.  Now, you will remember that my
desire is to do good.  I have nothing to do with the revenue, nor
the magistrates, nor his Majesty.  I shall not even go to your
parson, who is the chief authority, I am told; for I wish this
matter to be kept quiet, and beside the law altogether.  The whole
credit of it shall belong to you, and a truly good action you will
have performed, and done a little good for your own good self.  As
for this trinket, I do not leave it with you, but I leave you this
model in wax, ma'am, made by my daughter, who is very clever.  From
this you can judge quite as well as from the other.  If there are
any more of these things in Flamborough, as I have strong reason to
believe, you will know best where to find them, and I need not tell
you that they are almost certain to be in the possession of a
woman.  You know all the women, and you skillfully inquire, without
even letting them suspect it.  Now I shall just stretch my legs a
little, and look at your noble prospect, and in three hours' time a
little more refreshment, and then, Mistress Precious, you see the
last of your obedient servant, until you demand from him fifty gold
guineas."

After seeing to his horse again, he set forth for a stroll, in the
course of which he met with Dr. Upround and his daughter.  The
rector looked hard at this distinguished stranger, as if he desired
to know his name, and expected to be accosted by him, while quick
Miss Janetta glanced with undisguised suspicion, and asked her
father, so that Mr. Mordacks overheard it, what business such a man
could have, and what could he come spying after, in their quiet
parish?  The general factor raised his hat, and passed on with a
tranquil smile, taking the crooked path which leads along and
around the cliffs, by way of the light-house, from the north to the
southern landing.  The present light-house was not yet built, but
an old round tower, which still exists, had long been used as a
signal station, for semaphore by day, and at night for beacon, in
the times of war and tumult; and most people called it the
"Monument."  This station was now of very small importance, and
sometimes did nothing for a year together; but still it was very
good and useful, because it enabled an ancient tar, whose feet had
been carried away by a cannon-ball, to draw a little money once a
month, and to think himself still a fine British bulwark.

In the summer-time this hero always slung his hammock here, with
plenty of wind to rock him off to sleep, but in winter King AEolus
himself could not have borne it.  "Monument Joe," as almost
everybody called him, was a queer old character of days gone by.
Sturdy and silent, but as honest as the sun, he made his rounds as
regularly as that great orb, and with equally beneficent object.
For twice a day he stumped to fetch his beer from Widow Precious,
and the third time to get his little pannikin of grog.  And now the
time was growing for that last important duty, when a stranger
stood before him with a crown piece in his hand.

"Now don't get up, captain, don't disturb yourself," said Mr.
Mordacks, graciously; "your country has claimed your activity, I
see, and I hope it makes amends to you.  At the same time I know
that it very seldom does.  Accept this little tribute from the
admiration of a friend."

Old Joe took the silver piece and rung it on his tin tobacco-box,
then stowed it inside, and said, "Gammon!  What d'ye want of me?"

"Your manners, my good Sir, are scarcely on a par with your merits.
I bribe no man; it is the last thing I would ever dream of doing.
But whenever a question of memory arises, I have often observed a
great failure of that power without--without, if you will excuse
the expression, the administration of a little grease."

"Smooggling?  Aught about smooggling?"  Old Joe shut his mouth
sternly; for he hated and scorned the coast-guards, whose wages
were shamefully above his own, and who had the impudence to order
him for signals; while, on the other hand, he found free trade a
policy liberal, enlightening, and inspiriting.

"No, captain, no; not a syllable of that.  You have been in this
place about sixteen years.  If you had only been here four years
more, your evidence would have settled all I want to know.  No
wreck can take place here, of course, without your knowledge?"

"Dunno that.  B'lieve one have.  There's a twist of the tide here--
but what good to tell landlubbers?"

"You are right.  I should never understand such things.  But I find
them wonderfully interesting.  You are not a native of this place,
and knew nothing of Flamborough before you came here?"

Monument Joe gave a grunt at this, and a long squirt of tobacco
juice.  "And don't want," he said.

"Of course, you are superior, in every way superior.  You find
these people rough, and far inferior in manners.  But either, my
good friend, you will re-open your tobacco-box, or else you will
answer me a few short questions, which trespass in no way upon your
duty to the king, or to his loyal smugglers."

Old Joe looked up, with weather-beaten eyes, and saw that he had no
fool to deal with, in spite of all soft palaver.  The intensity of
Mr. Mordacks's eyes made him blink, and mutter a bad word or two,
but remain pretty much at his service.  And the last intention he
could entertain was that of restoring this fine crown piece.
"Spake on, Sir," he said; "and I will spake accordin'."

"Very good.  I shall give you very little trouble.  I wish to know
whether there was any wreck here, kept quiet perhaps, but still
some ship lost, about three or four years before you came to this
station.  It does not matter what ship, any ship at all, which may
have gone down without any fuss at all.  You know of none such?
Very well.  You were not here; and the people of this place are
wonderfully close.  But a veteran of the Royal Navy should know how
to deal with them.  Make your inquiries without seeming to inquire.
The question is altogether private, and can not in any way bring
you into trouble.  Whereas, if you find out anything, you will be a
made man, and live like a gentleman.  You hate the lawyers?  All
the honest seamen do.  I am not a lawyer, and my object is to fire
a broadside into them.  Accept this guinea; and if it would suit
you to have one every week for the rest of your life, I will pledge
you my word for it, paid in advance, if you only find out for me
one little fact, of which I have no doubt whatever, that a merchant
ship was cast away near this Head just about nineteen years agone."

That ancient sailor was accustomed to surprises; but this, as he
said, when he came to think of it, made a clean sweep of him, fore
and aft.  Nevertheless, he had the presence of mind required for
pocketing the guinea, which was too good for his tobacco-box; and
as one thing at a time was quite enough upon his mind, he probed
away slowly, to be sure there was no hole.  Then he got up from his
squatting form, with the usual activity of those who are supposed
to have none left, and touched his brown hat, standing cleverly.
"What be I to do for all this?" he asked.

"Nothing more than what I have told you.  To find out slowly, and
without saying why, in the way you sailors know how to do, whether
such a thing came to pass, as I suppose.  You must not be stopped
by the lies of anybody.  Of course they will deny it, if they got
some of the wrecking; or it is just possible that no one even heard
of it; and yet there may be some traces.  Put two and two together,
my good friend, as you have the very best chance of doing; and soon
you may put two to that in your pocket, and twenty, and a hundred,
and as much as you can hold."

"When shall I see your good honor again, to score log-run, and come
to a reckoning?"

"Master Joseph, work a wary course.  Your rating for life will
depend upon that.  You may come to this address, if you have
anything important.  Otherwise you shall soon hear of me again.
Good-by."



CHAPTER XVIII

GOYLE BAY


While all the world was at cross-purposes thus--Mr. Jellicorse
uneasy at some rumors he had heard; Captain Carroway splitting his
poor heel with indignation at the craftiness of free-traders;
Farmer Anerley vexed at being put upon by people, without any
daughter to console him, or catch shrimps; Master Mordacks pursuing
a noble game, strictly above-board, as usual; Robin Lyth troubled
in his largest principles of revolt against revenue by a nasty
little pain that kept going to his heart, with an emptiness there,
as for another heart; and last, and perhaps of all most important,
the rector perpetually pining for his game of chess, and utterly
discontented with the frigid embraces of analysis--where was the
best, and most simple, and least selfish of the whole lot, Mary
Anerley?

Mary was in as good a place as even she was worthy of.  A place not
by any means so snug and favored by nature as Anerley Farm, but
pretty well sheltered by large trees of a strong and hardy order.
And the comfortable ways of good old folk, who needed no labor to
live by spread a happy leisure and a gentle ease upon everything
under their roof-tree.  Here was no necessity for getting up until
the sun encouraged it; and the time for going to bed depended upon
the time of sleepiness.  Old Johnny Popplewell, as everybody called
him, without any protest on his part, had made a good pocket by the
tanning business, and having no children to bring up to it, and
only his wife to depend upon him, had sold the good-will, the yard,
and the stock as soon as he had turned his sixtieth year.  "I have
worked hard all my life," he said, "and I mean to rest for the rest
of it."

At first he was heartily miserable, and wandered about with a
vacant look, having only himself to look after.  And he tried to
find a hole in his bargain with the man who enjoyed all the smells
he was accustomed to, and might even be heard through a gap in the
fence rating the men as old Johnny used to do, at the same time of
day, and for the same neglect, and almost in the self-same words
which the old owner used, but stronger.  Instead of being happy,
Master Popplewell lost more flesh in a month than he used to lay on
in the most prosperous year; and he owed it to his wife, no doubt,
as generally happens, that he was not speedily gathered to the
bosom of the hospitable Simon of Joppa.  For Mrs. Popplewell said,
"Go away; Johnny, go away from this village; smell new smells, and
never see a hide without a walking thing inside of it.  Sea-weed
smells almost as nice as tan; though of course it is not so
wholesome."  The tanner obeyed, and bought a snug little place
about ten miles from the old premises, which he called, at the
suggestion of the parson, "Byrsa Cottage."

Here was Mary, as blithe as a lark, and as petted as a robin-
redbreast, by no means pining, or even hankering, for any other
robin.  She was not the girl to give her heart before it was even
asked for; and hitherto she had regarded the smuggler with pity
more than admiration.  For in many points she was like her father,
whom she loved foremost of the world; and Master Anerley was a law-
abiding man, like every other true Englishman.  Her uncle
Popplewell was also such, but exerted his principles less strictly.
Moreover, he was greatly under influence of wife, which happens
more freely to a man without children, the which are a source of
contradiction.  And Mistress Popplewell was a most thorough and
conscientious free-trader.

Now Mary was from childhood so accustomed to the sea, and the
relish of salt breezes, and the racy dance of little waves that
crowd on one another, and the tidal delivery of delightful rubbish,
that to fail of seeing the many works and plays and constant
variance of her never wearying or weary friend was more than she
could long put up with.  She called upon Lord Keppel almost every
day, having brought him from home for the good of his health, to
gird up his loins, or rather get his belly girths on, and come
along the sands with her, and dig into new places.  But he, though
delighted for a while with Byrsa stable, and the social charms of
Master Popplewell's old cob, and a rick of fine tan-colored clover
hay and bean haulm, when the novelty of these delights was passed,
he pined for his home, and the split in his crib, and the knot of
hard wood he had polished with his neck, and even the little dog
that snapped at him.  He did not care for retired people--as he
said to the cob every evening--he liked to see farm-work going on,
or at any rate to hear all about it, and to listen to horses who
had worked hard, and could scarcely speak, for chewing, about the
great quantity they had turned of earth, and how they had answered
very bad words with a bow.  In short, to put it in the mildest
terms, Lord Keppel was giving himself great airs, unworthy of his
age, ungrateful to a degree, and ungraceful, as the cob said
repeatedly; considering how he was fed, and bedded, and not a thing
left undone for him.  But his arrogance soon had to pay its own
costs.

For, away to the right of Byrsa Cottage, as you look down the
hollow of the ground toward the sea, a ridge of high scrubby land
runs up to a forefront of bold cliff, indented with a dark and
narrow bay.  "Goyle Bay," as it is called, or sometimes "Basin
Bay," is a lonely and rugged place, and even dangerous for unwary
visitors.  For at low spring tides a deep hollow is left dry,
rather more than a quarter of a mile across, strewn with kelp and
oozy stones, among which may often be found pretty shells, weeds
richly tinted and of subtle workmanship, stars, and flowers, and
love-knots of the sea, and sometimes carnelians and crystals.  But
anybody making a collection here should be able to keep one eye
upward and one down, or else in his pocket to have two things--a
good watch and a trusty tide-table.

John and Deborah Popplewell were accustomed to water in small
supplies, such as that of a well, or a road-side pond, or their own
old noble tan-pits; but to understand the sea it was too late in
life, though it pleased them, and gave them fine appetites now to
go down when it was perfectly calm, and a sailor assured them that
the tide was mild.  But even at such seasons they preferred to keep
their distance, and called out frequently to one another.  They
looked upon their niece, from all she told them, as a creature
almost amphibious; but still they were often uneasy about her, and
would gladly have kept her well inland.  She, however, laughed at
any such idea; and their discipline was to let her have her own
way.  But now a thing happened which proved forever how much better
old heads are than young ones.

For Mary, being tired of the quiet places, and the strands where
she knew every pebble, resolved to explore Goyle Bay at last, and
she chose the worst possible time for it.  The weather had been
very fine and gentle, and the sea delightfully plausible, without a
wave--tide after tide--bigger than the furrow of a two-horse
plough; and the maid began to believe at last that there never were
any storms just here.  She had heard of the pretty things in Goyle
Bay, which was difficult of access from the land, but she resolved
to take opportunity of tide, and thus circumvent the position; she
would rather have done it afoot, but her uncle and aunt made a
point of her riding to the shore, regarding the pony as a safe
companion, and sure refuge from the waves.  And so, upon the
morning of St. Michael, she compelled Lord Keppel, with an adverse
mind, to turn a headland they had never turned before.

The tide was far out and ebbing still, but the wind had shifted,
and was blowing from the east rather stiffly, and with increasing
force.  Mary knew that the strong equinoctial tides were running at
their height; but she had timed her visit carefully, as she
thought, with no less than an hour and a half to spare.  And even
without any thought of tide, she was bound to be back in less time
than that, for her uncle had been most particular to warn her to be
home without fail at one o'clock, when the sacred goose, to which
he always paid his duties, would be on the table.  And if anything
marred his serenity of mind, it was to have dinner kept waiting.

Without any misgivings, she rode into Basin Bay, keeping within the
black barrier of rocks, outside of which wet sands were shining.
She saw that these rocks, like the bar of a river, crossed the
inlet of the cove; but she had not been told of their peculiar
frame and upshot, which made them so treacherous a rampart.  At the
mouth of the bay they formed a level crescent, as even as a set of
good teeth, against the sea, with a slope of sand running up to
their outer front, but a deep and long pit inside of them.  This
pit drained itself very nearly dry when the sea went away from it,
through some stony tubes which only worked one way, by the closure
of their mouths when the tide returned; so that the volume of the
deep sometimes, with tide and wind behind it, leaped over the brim
into the pit, with tenfold the roar, a thousandfold the power, and
scarcely less than the speed, of a lion.

Mary Anerley thought what a lovely place it was, so deep and
secluded from anybody's sight, and full of bright wet colors.  Her
pony refused, with his usual wisdom, to be dragged to the bottom of
the hole, but she made him come further down than he thought just,
and pegged him by the bridle there.  He looked at her sadly, and
with half a mind to expostulate more forcibly, but getting no
glimpse of the sea where he stood, he thought it as well to put up
with it; and presently he snorted out a tribe of little creatures,
which puzzled him and took up his attention.

Meanwhile Mary was not only puzzled, but delighted beyond
description.  She never yet had come upon such treasures of the
sea, and she scarcely knew what to lay hands upon first.  She
wanted the weeds of such wonderful forms, and colors yet more
exquisite, and she wanted the shells of such delicate fabric that
fairies must have made them, and a thousand other little things
that had no names; and then she seemed most of all to want the
pebbles.  For the light came through them in stripes and patterns,
and many of them looked like downright jewels.  She had brought a
great bag of strong canvas, luckily, and with both hands she set to
to fill it.

So busy was the girl with the vast delight of sanguine acquisition--
this for her father, and that for her mother, and so much for
everybody she could think of--that time had no time to be counted
at all, but flew by with feathers unheeded.  The mutter of the sea
became a roar, and the breeze waxed into a heavy gale, and spray
began to sputter through the air like suds; but Mary saw the
rampart of the rocks before her, and thought that she could easily
get back around the point.  And her taste began continually to grow
more choice, so that she spent as much time in discarding the
rubbish which at first she had prized so highly as she did in
collecting the real rarities, which she was learning to distinguish.
But unluckily the sea made no allowance for all this.

For just as Mary, with her bag quite full, was stooping with a long
stretch to get something more--a thing that perhaps was the very
best of all, and therefore had got into a corner--there fell upon
her back quite a solid lump of wave, as a horse gets the bottom of
the bucket cast at him.  This made her look up, not a minute too
soon; and even then she was not at all aware of danger, but took it
for a notice to be moving.  And she thought more of shaking that
saltwater from her dress than of running away from the rest of it.

But as soon as she began to look about in earnest, sweeping back
her salted hair, she saw enough of peril to turn pale the roses and
strike away the smile upon her very busy face.  She was standing
several yards below the level of the sea, and great surges were
hurrying to swallow her.  The hollow of the rocks received the
first billow with a thump and a slush, and a rush of pointed
hillocks in a fury to find their way back again, which failing,
they spread into a long white pool, taking Mary above her pretty
ankles.  "Don't you think to frighten me," said Mary; "I know all
your ways, and I mean to take my time."

But even before she had finished her words, a great black wall
(doubled over at the top with whiteness, that seemed to race along
it like a fringe) hung above the rampart, and leaped over, casting
at Mary such a volley that she fell.  This quenched her last
audacity, although she was not hurt; and jumping up nimbly, she
made all haste through the rising water toward her pony.  But as
she would not forsake her bag, and the rocks became more and more
slippery, towering higher and higher surges crashed in over the
barrier, and swelled the yeasty turmoil which began to fill the
basin; while a scurry of foam flew like pellets from the rampart,
blinding even the very best young eyes.

Mary began to lose some of her presence of mind and familiar
approval of the sea.  She could swim pretty well, from her frequent
bathing; but swimming would be of little service here, if once the
great rollers came over the bar, which they threatened to do every
moment.  And when at length she fought her way to the poor old
pony, her danger and distress were multiplied.  Lord Keppel was in
a state of abject fear; despair was knocking at his fine old heart;
he was up to his knees in the loathsome brine already, and being so
twisted up by his own exertions that to budge another inch was
beyond him, he did what a horse is apt to do in such condition--he
consoled himself with fatalism.  He meant to expire; but before he
did so he determined to make his mistress feel what she had done.
Therefore, with a sad nudge of white old nose, he drew her
attention to his last expression, sighed as plainly as a man could
sigh, and fixed upon her meek eyes, telling volumes.

"I know, I know that it is all my fault," cried Mary, with the
brine almost smothering her tears, as she flung her arms around his
neck; "but I never will do it again, my darling.  And I never will
run away and let you drown.  Oh, if I only had a knife!  I can not
even cast your bridle off; the tongue has stuck fast, and my hands
are cramped.  But, Keppel, I will stay, and be drowned with you."

This resolve was quite unworthy of Mary's common-sense; for how
could her being drowned with Keppel help him?  However, the mere
conception showed a spirit of lofty order; though the body might
object to be ordered under.  Without any thought of all that, she
stood, resolute, tearful, and thoroughly wet through, while she
hunted in her pocket for a penknife.

The nature of all knives is, not to be found; and Mary's knife was
loyal to its kind.  Then she tugged at her pony, and pulled out his
bit, and labored again at the obstinate strap; but nothing could be
done with it.  Keppel must be drowned, and he did not seem to care,
but to think that the object of his birth was that.  If the stupid
little fellow would have only stepped forward, the hands of his
mistress, though cramped and benumbed, might perhaps have unbuckled
his stiff and sodden reins, or even undone their tangle; on the
other hand, if he would have jerked with all his might, something
or other must have given way; but stir he would not from one
fatuous position, which kept all his head-gear on the strain, but
could not snap it.  Mary even struck him with her heavy bag of
stones, to make him do something; but he only looked reproachful.

"Was there ever such a stupid?" the poor girl cried, with the water
rising almost to her waist, and the inner waves beginning to dash
over her, while the outer billows threatened to rush in and crush
them both.  "But I will not abuse you any more, poor Keppel.  What
will dear father say?  Oh, what will he think of it?"

Then she burst into a fit of sobs, and leaned against the pony, to
support her from a rushing wave which took her breath away, and she
thought that she would never try to look up any more, but shut her
eyes to all the rest of it.  But suddenly she heard a loud shout
and a splash, and found herself caught up and carried like an
infant.

"Lie still.  Never mind the pony: what is he?  I will go for him
afterward.  You first, you first of all the world, my Mary."

She tried to speak, but not a word would come; and that was all the
better.  She was carried quick as might be through a whirl of
tossing waters, and gently laid upon a pile of kelp; and then Robin
Lyth said, "You are quite safe here, for at least another hour.  I
will go and get your pony."

"No, no; you will be knocked to pieces," she cried; for the pony,
in the drift and scud, could scarcely be seen but for his helpless
struggles.  But the young man was half way toward him while she
spoke, and she knelt upon the kelp, and clasped her hands.

Now Robin was at home in a matter such as this.  He had landed many
kegs in a sea as strong or stronger, and he knew how to deal with
the horses in a surf.  There still was a break of almost a fathom
in the level of the inner and the outer waves, for the basin was so
large that it could not fill at once; and so long as this lasted,
every roller must comb over at the entrance, and mainly spend
itself.  "At least five minutes to spare," he shouted back, "and
there is no such thing as any danger."  But the girl did not
believe him.

Rapidly and skillfully he made his way, meeting the larger waves
sideways, and rising at their onset; until he was obliged to swim
at last where the little horse was swimming desperately.  The
leather, still jammed in some crevice at the bottom, was jerking
his poor chin downward; his eyes were screwed up like a new-born
kitten's, and his dainty nose looked like a jelly-fish.  He thought
how sad it was that he should ever die like this, after all the
good works of his life--the people he had carried, and the chaise
that he had drawn, and all his kindness to mankind.  Then he turned
his head away to receive the stroke of grace, which the next wave
would administer.

No!  He was free.  He could turn his honest tail on the sea, which
he always had detested so; he could toss up his nose and blow the
filthy salt out, and sputter back his scorn, while he made off for
his life.  So intent was he on this that he never looked twice to
make out who his benefactor was, but gave him just a taste of his
hind-foot on the elbow, in the scuffle of his hurry to be round
about and off.  "Such is gratitude!" the smuggler cried; but a clot
of salt-water flipped into his mouth, and closed all cynical
outlet.  Bearing up against the waves, he stowed his long knife
away, and then struck off for the shore with might and main.

Here Mary ran into the water to meet him, shivering as she was with
fright and cold, and stretched out both hands to him as he waded
forth; and he took them and clasped them, quite as if he needed
help.  Lord Keppel stood afar off, recovering his breath, and
scarcely dared to look askance at the execrable sea.

"How cold you are!" Robin Lyth exclaimed.  "You must not stay a
moment.  No talking, if you please--though I love your voice so.
You are not safe yet.  You can not get back round the point.  See
the waves dashing up against it!  You must climb the cliff, and
that is no easy job for a lady, in the best of weather.  In a
couple of hours the tide will be over the whole of this beach a
fathom deep.  There is no boat nearer than Filey; and a boat could
scarcely live over that bar.  You must climb the cliff, and begin
at once, before you get any colder."

"Then is my poor pony to be drowned, after all?  If he is, he had
better have been drowned at once."

The smuggler looked at her with a smile, which meant, "Your
gratitude is about the same as his;" but he answered, to assure
her, though by no means sure himself:

"There is time enough for him; he shall not be drowned.  But you
must be got out of danger first.  When you are off my mind, I will
fetch up pony.  Now you must follow me step by step, carefully and
steadily.  I would carry you up if I could; but even a giant could
scarcely do that, in a stiff gale of wind, and with the crag so
wet."

Mary looked up with a shiver of dismay.  She was brave and nimble
generally, but now so wet and cold, and the steep cliff looked so
slippery, that she said:  "It is useless; I can never get up there.
Captain Lyth, save yourself, and leave me."

"That would be a pretty thing to do!" he replied; "and where should
I be afterward?  I am not at the end of my devices yet.  I have got
a very snug little crane up there.  It was here we ran our last
lot, and beat the brave lieutenant so.  But unluckily I have no
cave just here.  None of my lads are about here now, or we would
make short work of it.  But I could hoist you very well, if you
would let me."

"I would never think of such a thing.  To come up like a keg!
Captain Lyth, you must know that I never would be so disgraced."

"Well, I was afraid that you might take it so, though I can not see
why it should be any harm.  We often hoist the last man so."

"It is different with me," said Mary.  "It may be no harm; but I
could not have it."

The free-trader looked at her bright eyes and color, and admired
her spirit, which his words had roused.

"I pray your forgiveness, Miss Anerley," he said; "I meant no harm.
I was thinking of your life.  But you look now as if you could do
anything almost."

"Yes, I am warm again.  I have no fear.  I will not go up like a
keg, but like myself.  I can do it without help from anybody."

"Only please to take care not to cut your little hands," said
Robin, as he began the climb; for he saw that her spirit was up to
do it.

"My hands are not little; and I will cut them if I choose.  Please
not even to look back at me.  I am not in the least afraid of
anything."

The cliff was not of the soft and friable stuff to be found at
Bridlington, but of hard and slippery sandstone, with bulky ribs
oversaling here and there, and threatening to cast the climber
back.  At such spots nicks for the feet had been cut, or broken
with a hammer, but scarcely wider than a stirrup-iron, and far less
inviting.  To surmount these was quite impossible except by a
process of crawling; and Mary, with her heart in her mouth,
repented of her rash contempt for the crane sling.  Luckily the
height was not very great, or, tired as she was, she must have
given way; for her bodily warmth had waned again in the strong wind
buffeting the cliff.  Otherwise the wind had helped her greatly by
keeping her from swaying outward; but her courage began to fail at
last, and very near the top she called for help.  A short piece of
lanyard was thrown to her at once, and Robin Lyth landed her on the
bluff, panting, breathless, and blushing again.

"Well done!" he cried, gazing as she turned her face away.  "Young
ladies may teach even sailors to climb.  Not every sailor could get
up this cliff.  Now back to Master Popplewell's as fast as you can
run, and your aunt will know what to do with you."

"You seem well acquainted with my family affairs," said Mary, who
could not help smiling.  "Pray how did you even know where I am
staying?"

"Little birds tell me everything, especially about the best, and
most gentle, and beautiful of all birds."

The maiden was inclined to be vexed; but remembering how much he
had done, and how little gratitude she had shown, she forgave him,
and asked him to come to the cottage.

"I will bring up the little horse.  Have no fear," he replied.  "I
will not come up at all unless I bring him.  But it may take two or
three hours."

With no more than a wave of his hat, he set off, as if the coast-
riders were after him, by the path along the cliffs toward Filey,
for he knew that Lord Keppel must be hoisted by the crane, and he
could not manage it without another man, and the tide would wait
for none of them.  Upon the next headland he found one of his men,
for the smugglers maintained a much sharper look-out than did the
forces of his Majesty, because they were paid much better; and
returning, they managed to strap Lord Keppel, and hoist him like a
big bale of contraband goods.  For their crane had been left in a
brambled hole, and they very soon rigged it out again.  The little
horse kicked pretty freely in the air, not perceiving his own
welfare; but a cross-beam and pulley kept him well out from the
cliff, and they swung him in over handsomely, and landed him well
up on the sward within the brink.  Then they gave him three cheers
for his great adventure, which he scarcely seemed to appreciate.



CHAPTER XIX

A FARM TO LET


That storm on the festival of St. Michael broke up the short summer
weather of the north.  A wet and tempestuous month set in, and the
harvest, in all but the very best places, lay flat on the ground,
without scythe or sickle.  The men of the Riding were not disturbed
by this, as farmers would have been in Suffolk; for these were
quite used to walk over their crops, without much occasion to lift
their feet.  They always expected their corn to be laid, and would
have been afraid of it if it stood upright.  Even at Anerley Farm
this salam of the wheat was expected in bad seasons; and it suited
the reapers of the neighborhood, who scarcely knew what to make of
knees unbent, and upright discipline of stiff-cravated ranks.

In the northwest corner of the county, where the rocky land was
mantled so frequently with cloud, and the prevalence of western
winds bore sway, an upright harvest was a thing to talk of, as the
legend of a century, credible because it scarcely could have been
imagined.  And this year it would have been hard to imagine any
more prostrate and lowly position than that of every kind of crop.
The bright weather of August and attentions of the sun, and gentle
surprise of rich dews in the morning, together with abundance of
moisture underneath, had made things look as they scarcely ever
looked--clean, and straight, and elegant.  But none of them had
found time to form the dry and solid substance, without which
neither man nor his staff of life can stand against adversity.

"My Lady Philippa," as the tenants called her, came out one day to
see how things looked, and whether the tenants were likely to pay
their Michaelmas rents at Christmas.  Her sister, Mrs. Carnaby,
felt like interest in the question, but hated long walks, being
weaker and less active, and therefore rode a quiet pony.  Very
little wheat was grown on their estates, both soil and climate
declining it; but the barley crop was of more importance, and
flourished pretty well upon the southern slopes.  The land, as a
rule, was poor and shallow, and nourished more grouse than
partridges; but here and there valleys of soft shelter and fair
soil relieved the eye and comforted the pocket of the owner.  These
little bits of Goshen formed the heart of every farm; though
oftentimes the homestead was, as if by some perversity, set up in
bleak and barren spots, outside of comfort's elbow.

The ladies marched on, without much heed of any other point than
one--would the barley crop do well?  They had many tenants who
trusted chiefly to that, and to the rough hill oats, and wool, to
make up in coin what part of their rent they were not allowed to
pay in kind.  For as yet machinery and reeking factories had not
besmirched the country-side.

"How much further do you mean to go, Philippa?" asked Mrs. Carnaby,
although she was not travelling by virtue of her own legs.  "For my
part, I think we have gone too far already."

"Your ambition is always to turn back.  You may turn back now if
you like.  I shall go on."  Miss Yordas knew that her sister would
fail of the courage to ride home all alone.

Mrs. Carnaby never would ride without Jordas or some other serving-
man behind her, as was right and usual for a lady of her position;
but "Lady Philippa" was of bolder strain, and cared for nobody's
thoughts, words, or deeds.  And she had ordered her sister's
servant back for certain reasons of her own.

"Very well, very well.  You always will go on, and always on the
road you choose yourself.  Although it requires a vast deal of
knowledge to know that there is any road here at all."

The widow, who looked very comely for her age, and sat her pony
prettily, gave way (as usual) to the stronger will; though she
always liked to enter protest, which the elder scarcely ever
deigned to notice.  But hearing that Eliza had a little cough at
night, and knowing that her appetite had not been as it ought to
be, Philippa (who really was wrapped up in her sister, but never or
seldom let her dream of such a fact) turned round graciously and
said:

"I have ordered the carriage here for half past three o'clock.  We
will go back by the Scarbend road, and Heartsease can trot behind
us."

"Heartsease, uneasy you have kept my heart by your shufflings and
trippings perpetual.  Philippa, I want a better-stepping pony.  Pet
has ruined Heartsease."

"Pet ruins everything and everybody; and you are ruining him,
Eliza.  I am the only one who has the smallest power over him.  And
he is beginning to cast off that.  If it comes to open war between
us, I shall be sorry for Lancelot."

"And I shall be sorry for you, Philippa.  In a few years Pet will
be a man.  And a man is always stronger than a woman; at any rate
in our family."

"Stronger than such as you, Eliza.  But let him only rebel against
me, and he will find himself an outcast.  And to prove that, I have
brought you here."

Mistress Yordas turned round, and looked in a well-known manner at
her sister, whose beautiful eyes filled with tears, and fell.

"Philippa," she said, with a breath like a sob, "sometimes you look
harder than poor dear papa, in his very worst moments, used to
look.  I am sure that I do not at all deserve it.  All that I pray
for is peace and comfort; and little do I get of either."

"And you will get less, as long as you pray for them, instead of
doing something better.  The only way to get such things is to make
them."

"Then I think that you might make enough for us both, if you had
any regard for them, or for me, Philippa."

Mistress Yordas smiled, as she often did, at her sister's style of
reasoning.  And she cared not a jot for the last word, so long as
the will and the way were left to her.  And in this frame of mind
she turned a corner from the open moor track into a little lane, or
rather the expiring delivery of a lane, which was leading a better
existence further on.

Mrs. Carnaby followed dutifully, and Heartsease began to pick up
his feet, which he scorned to do upon the negligence of sward.  And
following this good lane, they came to a gate, corded to an ancient
tree, and showing up its foot, as a dog does when he has a thorn in
it.  This gate seemed to stand for an ornament, or perhaps a
landmark; for the lane, instead of submitting to it, passed by upon
either side, and plunged into a dingle, where a gray old house was
sheltering.  The lonely moorside farm--if such a wild and desolate
spot could be a farm--was known as "Wallhead," from the relics of
some ancient wall; and the folk who lived there, or tried to live,
although they possessed a surname--which is not a necessary
consequence of life--very seldom used it, and more rarely still had
it used for them.  For the ancient fashion still held ground of
attaching the idea of a man to that of things more extensive and
substantial.  So the head of the house was "Will o' the Wallhead;"
his son was "Tommy o' Will o' the Wallhead;" and his grandson,
"Willy o' Tommy o' Will o' the Wallhead."  But the one their great
lady desired to see was the unmarried daughter of the house, "Sally
o' Will o' the Wallhead."

Mistress Yordas knew that the men of the house would be out upon
the land at this time of day, while Sally would be full of
household work, and preparing their homely supper.  So she walked
in bravely at the open door, while her sister waited with the pony
in the yard.  Sally was clumping about in clog-shoes, with a child
or two sprawling after her (for Tommy's wife was away with him at
work), and if the place was not as clean as could be, it seemed as
clean as need be.

The natives of this part are rough in manner, and apt to regard
civility as the same thing with servility.  Their bluntness does
not proceed from thickness, as in the south of England, but from a
surety of their own worth, and inferiority to no one.  And to deal
with them rightly, this must be entered into.

Sally o' Will o' the Wallhead bobbed her solid and black curly
head, with a clout like a jelly on the poll of it, to the owner of
their land, and a lady of high birth; but she vouchsafed no
courtesy, neither did Mistress Yordas expect one.  But the active
and self-contained woman set a chair in the low dark room, which
was their best, and stood waiting to be spoken to.

"Sally," said the lady, who also possessed the Yorkshire gift of
going to the point, "you had a man ten years ago; you behaved badly
to him, and he went into the Indian Company."

"A' deed," replied the maiden, without any blush, because she had
been in the right throughout; "and noo a' hath coom in a better
moind."

"And you have come to know your own mind about him.  You have been
steadfast to him for ten years.  He has saved up some money, and is
come back to marry you."

"I heed nane o' the brass.  But my Jack is back again."

"His father held under us for many years.  He was a thoroughly
honest man, and paid his rent as often as he could.  Would Jack
like to have his father's farm?  It has been let to his cousin, as
you know; but they have been going from bad to worse; and
everything must be sold off, unless I stop it."

Sally was of dark Lancastrian race, with handsome features and fine
brown eyes.  She had been a beauty ten years ago, and could still
look comely, when her heart was up.

"My lady," she said, with her heart up now, at the hope of soon
having a home of her own, and something to work for that she might
keep, "such words should not pass the mouth wi'out bin meant."

What she said was very different in sound, and not to be rendered
in echo by any one born far away from that country, where three
dialects meet and find it hard to guess what each of the others is
up to.  Enough that this is what Sally meant to say, and that
Mistress Yordas understood it.

"It is not my custom to say a thing without meaning it," she
answered; "but unless it is taken up at once, it is likely to come
to nothing.  Where is your man Jack?"

"Jack is awaa to the minister to tell of us cooming tegither."
Sally made no blush over this, as she might have done ten years
ago.

"He must be an excellent and faithful man.  He shall have the farm
if he wishes it, and can give some security at going in.  Let him
come and see Jordas tomorrow."

After a few more words, the lady left Sally full of gratitude, very
little of which was expressed aloud, and therefore the whole was
more likely to work, as Mistress Yordas knew right well.

The farm was a better one than Wallhead, having some good barley
land upon it; and Jack did not fail to present himself at Scargate
upon the following morning.  But the lady of the house did not
think fit herself to hold discourse with him.  Jordas was bidden to
entertain him, and find out how he stood in cash, and whether his
character was solid; and then to leave him with a jug of ale, and
come and report proceedings.  The dogman discharged this duty well,
being as faithful as the dogs he kept, and as keen a judge of human
nature.

"The man hath no harm in him," he said, touching his hair to the
ladies, as he entered the audit-room.  "A' hath been knocked aboot
a bit in them wars i' Injury, and hath only one hand left; but a'
can lay it upon fifty poon, and get surety for anither fifty."

"Then tell him, Jordas, that he may go to Mr. Jellicorse to-morrow,
to see about the writings, which he must pay for.  I will write
full instructions for Mr. Jellicorse, and you go and get your
dinner; and then take my letter, that he may have time to consider
it.  Wait a moment.  There are other things to be done in
Middleton, and it would be late for you to come back to-night, the
days are drawing in so.  Sleep at our tea-grocer's; he will put you
up.  Give your letter at once into the hands of Mr. Jellicorse, and
he will get forward with the writings.  Tell this man Jack that he
must be there before twelve o'clock to-morrow, and then you can
call about two o'clock, and bring back what there may be for
signature; and be careful of it.  Eliza, I think I have set forth
your wishes."

"But, my lady, lawyers do take such a time; and who will look after
Master Lancelot?  I fear to have my feet two moiles off here--"

"Obey your orders, without reasoning; that is for those who give
them.  Eliza, I am sure that you agree with me.  Jordas, make this
man clearly understand, as you can do when you take the trouble.
But you first must clearly understand the whole yourself.  I will
repeat it for you."

Philippa Yordas went through the whole of her orders again most
clearly, and at every one of them the dogman nodded his large head
distinctly, and counted the nods on his fingers to make sure; for
this part is gifted with high mathematics.  And the numbers stick
fast like pegs driven into clay.

"Poor Jordas!  Philippa, you are working him too hard.  You have
made great wrinkles in his forehead.  Jordas, you must have no
wrinkles until you are married."

While Mrs. Carnaby spoke so kindly, the dogman took his fingers off
their numeral scale, and looked at her.  By nature the two were
first cousins, of half blood; by law and custom, and education, and
vital institution, they were sundered more widely than black and
white.  But, for all that, the dogman loved the lady, at a faithful
distance.

"You seem to me now to have it clearly, Jordas," said the elder
sister, looking at him sternly, because Eliza was so soft; "you
will see that no mischief can be done with the dogs or horses while
you are away; and Mr. Jellicorse will give you a letter for me, to
say that everything is right.  My desire is to have things settled
promptly, because your friend Jack has been to set the banns up;
and the Church is more speedy in such matters than the law.  Now
the sooner you are off, the better."

Jordas, in his steady but by no means stupid way, considered at his
leisure what such things could mean.  He knew all the property, and
the many little holdings, as well as, and perhaps a great deal
better than, if they had happened to be his own.  But he never had
known such a hurry made before, or such a special interest shown
about the letting of any tenement, of perhaps tenfold the value.
However, he said, like a sensible man (and therefore to himself
only), that the ways of women are beyond compute, and must be
suitably carried out, without any contradiction.



CHAPTER XX

AN OLD SOLDIER


Now Mr. Jellicorse had been taking a careful view of everything.
He wished to be certain of placing himself both on the righteous
side and the right one; and in such a case this was not to be done
without much circumspection.  He felt himself bound to his present
clients, and could not even dream of deserting them; but still
there are many things that may be done to conciliate the adversary
of one's friend, without being false to the friend himself.  And
some of these already were occurring to the lawyer.

It was true that no adversary had as yet appeared, nor even shown
token of existence; but some little sign of complication had
arisen, and one serious fact was come to light.  The solicitors of
Sir Ulphus de Roos (the grandson of Sir Fursan, whose daughter had
married Richard Yordas) had pretty strong evidence, in some old
letters, that a deed of appointment had been made by the said
Richard, and Eleanor his wife, under the powers of their
settlement.  Luckily they had not been employed in the matter, and
possessed not so much as a draft or a letter of instructions; and
now it was no concern of theirs to make, or meddle, or even move.
Neither did they know that any question could arise about it; for
they were a highly antiquated firm, of most rigid respectability,
being legal advisers to the Chapter of York, and clerks of the
Prerogative Court, and able to charge twice as much as almost any
other firm, and nearly three times as much as poor Jellicorse.

Mr. Jellicorse had been most skillful and wary in sounding these
deep and silent people; for he wanted to find out how much they
knew, without letting them suspect that there was anything to know.
And he proved an old woman's will gratis, or at least put it down
to those who could afford it--because nobody meant to have it
proved--simply for the sake of getting golden contact with Messrs.
Akeborum, Micklegate, and Brigant.  Right craftily then did he
fetch a young member of the firm, who delighted in angling, to take
his holiday at Middleton, and fish the goodly Tees; and by gentle
and casual discourse of gossip, in hours of hospitality, out of him
he hooked and landed all that his firm knew of the Yordas race.
Young Brigant thought it natural enough that his host, as the
lawyer of that family, and their trusted adviser for five-and-
twenty years, should like to talk over things of an elder date,
which now could be little more than trifles of genealogical
history.  He got some fine fishing and good dinners, and found
himself pleased with the river and the town, and his very kind host
and hostess; and it came into his head that if Miss Emily grew up
as pretty and lively as she promised to be, he might do worse than
marry her, and open a connection with such a fishing station.  At
any rate he left her as a "chose in action," which might be reduced
into possession some fine day.

Such was the state of affairs when Jordas, after a long and muddy
ride, sent word that he would like to see the master, for a minute
or two, if convenient.  The days were grown short, and the candles
lit, and Mr. Jellicorse was fast asleep, having had a good deal to
get through that day, including an excellent supper.  The lawyer's
wife said:  "Let him call in the morning.  Business is over, and
the office is closed.  Susanna, your master must not be disturbed."
But the master awoke, and declared that he would see him.

Candles were set in the study, while Jordas was having a trifle of
refreshment; and when he came in, Mr. Jellicorse was there, with
his spectacles on, and full of business.

"Asking of your pardon.  Sir, for disturbing of you now," said the
dogman, with the rain upon his tarred coat shining, in a little
course of drainage from his great brown beard, "my orders wur to
lay this in your own hand, and seek answer to-morrow by dinner-
time, if may be."

"Master Jordas, you shall have it, if it can be.  Do you know
anybody who can promise more than that?"

"Plenty, Sir, to promise it, as you must know by this time; but
never a body to perform so much as half.  But craving of your
pardon again, and separate, I wud foin spake a word or two of
myself."

"Certainly, Jordas, I shall listen with great pleasure.  A fine-
looking fellow like you must have affairs.  And the lady ought to
make some settlement.  It shall all be done for you at half price."

"No, Sir, it is none o' that kind of thing," the dogman answered,
with a smile, as if he might have had such opportunities, but would
trouble no lawyer about them; "and I get too much of half price at
home.  It is about my ladies I desire to make speech.  They keep
their business too tight, master."

"Jordas, you have been well taught and trained; and you are a man
of sagacity.  Tell me faithfully what you mean.  It shall go no
further.  And it may be of great service to your ladies."

"It is not much, Master Jellicoose; and you may make less than that
of it.  But a lie shud be met and knocked doon, Sir, according to
my opinion."

"Certainly, Jordas, when an action will not lie; and sometimes even
where it does, it is wise to commit a defensible assault, and so to
become the defendant.  Jordas, you are big enough to do that."

"Master Jellicoose, you are a pleasant man; but you twist my
maning, as a lawyer must.  They all does it, to keep their hand in.
I am speaking of the stories, Sir, that is so much about.  And I
think that my ladies should be told of them right out, and come
forward, and lay their hands on them.  The Yordases always did
wrong, of old time; but they never was afraid to jump on it."

"My friend, you speak in parables.  What stories have arisen to be
jumped upon?"

"Well, Sir, for one thing, they do tell that the proper owner of
the property is Sir Duncan, now away in India.  A man hath come
home who knows him well, and sayeth that he is like a prince out
there, with command of a country twice as big as Great Britain, and
they up and made 'Sir Duncan' of him, by his duty to the king.  And
if he cometh home, all must fall before him."

"Even the law of the land, I suppose, and the will of his own
father.  Pretty well, so far, Jordas.  And what next?"

"Nought, Sir, nought.  But I thought I wur duty-bound to tell you
that.  What is women before a man Yordas?"

"My good friend, we will not despair.  But you are keeping back
something; I know it by your feet.  You are duty-bound to tell me
every word now, Jordas."

"The lawyers is the devil," said the dogman to himself; and being
quite used to this reflection, Mr. Jellicorse smiled and nodded;
"but if you must have it all, Sir, it is no more than this.  Jack
o' the Smithies, as is to marry Sally o' Will o' the Wallhead, is
to have the lease of Shipboro' farm, and he is the man as hath told
it all."

"Very well.  We will wish him good luck with his farm," Mr.
Jellicorse answered, cheerfully; "and what is even rarer nowadays,
I fear, good luck of his wife, Master Jordas."

But as soon as the sturdy retainer was gone, and the sound of his
heavy boots had died away, Mr. Jellicorse shook his head very
gravely, and said, as he opened and looked through his packet,
which confirmed the words of Jordas, "Sad indiscretion--want of
legal knowledge--headstrong women--the very way to spoil it all!
My troubles are beginning, and I had better go to bed."

His good wife seconded this wise resolve; and without further
parley it was put into effect, and proclaimed to be successful by a
symphony of snores.  For this is the excellence of having other
people's cares to carry (with the carriage well paid), that they
sit very lightly on the springs of sleep.  That well-balanced
vehicle rolls on smoothly, without jerk, or jar, or kick, so long
as it travels over alien land.

In the morning Mr. Jellicorse was up to anything, legitimate,
legal, and likely to be paid for.  Not that he would stir half the
breadth of one wheat corn, even for the sake of his daily bread,
from the straight and strict line of integrity.  He had made up his
mind about that long ago, not only from natural virtue, strong and
dominant as that was, but also by dwelling on his high repute, and
the solid foundations of character.  He scarcely knew anybody, when
he came to think of it, capable of taking such a lofty course; but
that simply confirmed him in his stern resolve to do what was right
and expedient.

It was quite one o'clock before Jack o' the Smithies rang the bell
to see about his lease.  He ought to have done it two hours sooner,
if he meant to become a humble tenant; and the lawyer, although he
had plenty to do of other people's business, looked upon this as a
very bad sign.  Then he read his letter of instructions once more,
and could not but admire the nice brevity of these, and the
skillful style of hinting much and declaring very little.

For after giving full particulars about the farm, and the rent, and
the covenants required, Mistress Yordas proceeded thus:

"The new tenant is the son of a former occupant, who proved to be a
remarkably honest man, in a case of strong temptation.  As happens
too often with men of probity, he was misled and made bankrupt, and
died about twelve years ago, I think.  Please to verify this by
reference.  The late tenant was his nephew, and has never perceived
the necessity of paying rent.  We have been obliged to distrain, as
you know; and I wish John Smithies to buy in what he pleases.  He
has saved some capital in India, where I am told that he fought
most gallantly.  Singular to say, he has met with, and perhaps
served under, our lamented and lost brother Duncan, of whom and his
family he may give us interesting particulars.  You know how this
neighborhood excels in idle talk, and if John Smithies becomes our
tenant, his discourse must be confined to his own business.  But he
must not hesitate to impart to you any facts you may think it right
to ask about.  Jordas will bring us your answer, under seal."

"Skillfully put, up to that last word, which savors too much of
teaching me my own business.  Aberthaw, are you quite ready with
that lease?  It is wanted rather in a hurry."

As Mr. Jellicorse thought the former, and uttered the latter part
of these words, it was plain to see that he was fidgety.  He had
put on superior clothes to get up with; and the clerks had
whispered to one another that it must be his wedding day, and ought
to end in a half-holiday all round, and be chalked thenceforth on
the calendar; but instead of being joyful and jocular, like a man
who feels a saving Providence over him, the lawyer was as dismal,
and unsettled and splenetic, as a prophet on the brink of wedlock.
But the very last thing that he ever dreamed of doubting was his
power to turn this old soldier inside out.

Jack o' the Smithies was announced at last; and the lawyer, being
vexed with him for taking such a time, resolved to let him take a
little longer, and kept him waiting, without any bread and cheese,
for nearly half an hour.  The wisdom of doing this depended on the
character of the man, and the state of his finances.  And both of
these being strong enough to stand, to keep him so long on his legs
was unwise.  At last he came in, a very sturdy sort of fellow,
thinking no atom the less of himself because some of his anatomy
was honorably gone.

"Servant, Sir," he said, making a salute; "I had orders to come to
you about a little lease."

"Right, my man, I remember now.  You are thinking of taking to your
father's farm, after knocking about for some years in foreign
parts.  Ah, nothing like old England after all.  And to tread the
ancestral soil, and cherish the old associations, and to nurture a
virtuous family in the fear of the Lord, and to be ready with the
rent--"

"Rent is too high, Sir; I must have five pounds off.  It ought to
be ten, by right.  Cousin Joe has taken all out, and put nought
in."

"John o' the Smithies, you astonish me.  I have strong reason for
believing that the rent is far too low.  I have no instructions to
reduce it."

"Then I must try for another farm, Sir.  I can have one of better
land, under Sir Walter; only I seemed to hold on to the old place;
and my Sally likes to be under the old ladies."

"Old ladies!  Jack, what are you come to?  Beautiful ladies in the
prime of life--but perhaps they would be old in India.  I fear that
you have not learned much behavior.  But at any rate you ought to
know your own mind.  Is it your intention to refuse so kind an
offer (which was only made for your father's sake, and to please
your faithful Sally) simply because another of your family has not
been honest in his farming?"

"I never have took it in that way before," the steady old soldier
answered, showing that rare phenomenon, the dawn of a new opinion
upon a stubborn face.  "Give me a bit to turn it over in my mind,
Sir.  Lawyers be so quick, and so nimble, and all-cornered."

"Turn it over fifty times, Master Smithies.  We have no wish to
force the farm upon you.  Take a pinch of snuff, to help your sense
of justice.  Or if you would like a pipe, go and have it in my
kitchen.  And if you are hungry, cook will give you eggs and
bacon."

"No, Sir; I am very much obliged to you.  I never make much o' my
thinking.  I go by what the Lord sends right inside o' me, whenever
I have decent folk to deal with.  And spite of your cloth, Sir, you
have a honest look."

"You deserve another pinch of snuff for that.  Master Smithies, you
have a gift of putting hard things softly.  But this is not
business.  Is your mind made up?"

"Yes, Sir.  I will take the farm, at full rent, if the covenants
are to my liking.  They must be on both sides--both sides, mind
you."

Mr. Jellicorse smiled as he began to read the draft prepared from a
very ancient form which was firmly established on the Scargate Hall
estates.  The covenants, as usual, were all upon one side, the
lessee being bound to a multitude of things, and the lessor to
little more than acceptance of the rent.  But such a result is in
the nature of the case.  Yet Jack o' the Smithies was not well
content.  In him true Yorkshire stubbornness was multiplied by the
dogged tenacity of a British soldier, and the aggregate raised to
an unknown power by the efforts of shrewd ignorance; and at last
the lawyer took occasion to say,

"Master John Smithies, you are worthy to serve under the colors of
a Yordas."

"That I have, Sir, that I have," cried the veteran, taken unawares,
and shaking the stump of his arm in proof; "I have served under Sir
Duncan Yordas, who will come home some day and claim his own; and
he won't want no covenants of me."

"You can not have served under Duncan Yordas," Mr. Jellicorse
answered, with a smile of disbelief, craftily rousing the pugnacity
of the man; "because he was not even in the army of the Company, or
any other army.  I mean, of course, unless there was some other
Duncan Yordas."

"Tell me!" Jack o' Smithies almost shouted--"tell me about Duncan
Yordas, indeed!  Who he was, and what he wasn't!  And what do
lawyers know of such things?  Why, you might have to command a
regiment, and read covenants to them out there!  Sir Duncan was not
our colonel, nor our captain; but we was under his orders all the
more; and well he knew how to give them.  Not one in fifty of us
was white; but he made us all as good as white men; and the enemy
never saw the color of our backs.  I wish I was out there again, I
do, and would have staid, but for being hoarse of combat; though
the fault was never in my throat, but in my arm."

"There is no fault in your throat, John Smithies, except that it is
a great deal too loud.  I am sorry for Sally, with a temper such as
yours."

"That shows how much you know about it.  I never lose my temper,
without I hearken lies.  And for you to go and say that I never saw
Sir Duncan--"

"I said nothing of the kind, my friend.  But you did not come here
to talk about Duncan, or Captain, or Colonel, or Nabob, or Rajah,
or whatever potentate he may be--of him we desire to know nothing
more--a man who ran away, and disgraced his family, and killed his
poor father, knows better than ever to set his foot on Scargate
land again.  You talk about having a lease from him, a man with
fifty wives, I dare say, and a hundred children!  We all know what
they are out there."

There are very few tricks of the human face divine more forcibly
expressive of contempt than the lowering of the eyelids so that
only a narrow streak of eye is exposed to the fellow-mortal, and
that streak fixed upon him steadfastly; and the contumely is
intensified when (as in the present instance) the man who does it
is gifted with yellow lashes on the under lid.  Jack o' the
Smithies treated Mr. Jellicorse to a gaze of this sort; and the
lawyer, whose wrath had been feigned, to rouse the other's, and so
extract full information, began to feel his own temper rise.  And
if Jack had known when to hold his tongue, he must have had the
best of it.  But the lawyer knew this, and the soldier did not.

"Master Jellicorse," said the latter, with his forehead deeply
wrinkled, and his eyes now opened to their widest, "in saying of
that you make a liar of yourself.  Lease or no lease--that you do.
Leasing stands for lying in the Bible, and a' seemeth to do the
same thing in Yorkshire.  Fifty wives, and a hundred children!  Sir
Duncan hath had one wife, and lost her, through the Neljan fever
and her worry; and a Yorkshire lady, as you might know--and never
hath he cared to look at any woman since.  There now, what you make
of that--you lawyers that make out every man a rake, and every
woman a light o' love?  Get along!  I hate the lot o' you."

"What a strange character you are!  You must have had jungle fever,
I should think.  No, Diana, there is no danger"--for Jack o' the
Smithies had made such a noise that Mrs. Jellicorse got frightened
and ran in:  "this poor man has only one arm; and if he had two, he
could not hurt me, even if he wished it.  Be pleased to withdraw,
Diana.  John Smithies, you have simply made a fool of yourself.  I
have not said a word against Sir Duncan Yordas, or his wife, or his
son--"

"He hath no son, I tell you; and that was partly how he lost his
wife."

"Well, then, his daughters, I have said no harm of them."

"And very good reason--because he hath none.  You lawyers think you
are so clever; and you never know anything rightly.  Sir Duncan
hath himself alone to see to, and hundreds of thousands of darkies
to manage, with a score of British bayonets.  But he never heedeth
of the bayonets, not he."

"I have read of such men, but I never saw them," Mr. Jellicorse
said, as if thinking to himself; "I always feel doubt about the
possibility of them."

"He hath ten elephants," continued Soldier Smithies, resolved to
crown the pillar of his wonders while about it--"ten great
elephants that come and kneel before him, and a thousand men ready
to run to his thumb; and his word is law--better law than is in
England--for scores and scores of miles on the top of hundreds."

"Why did you come away, John Smithies?  Why did you leave such a
great prince, and come home?"

"Because it was home, Sir.  And for sake of Sally."

"There is some sense in that, my friend.  And now if you wish to
make a happy life for Sally, you will do as I advise you.  Will you
take my advice?  My time is of value; and I am not accustomed to
waste my words."

"Well, Sir, I will hearken to you.  No man that meaneth it can say
more than that."

"Jack o' the Smithies, you are acute.  You have not been all over
the world for nothing.  But if you have made up your mind to
settle, and be happy in your native parts, one thing must be
attended to.  It is a maxim of law, time-honored and of the highest
authority, that the tenant must never call in question the title of
his landlord.  Before attorning, you may do so; after that you are
estopped.  Now is it or is it not your wish to become the tenant of
the Smithies farm, which your father held so honorably?  Farm
produce is fetching great prices now; and if you refuse this offer,
we can have a man, the day after to-morrow, who will give my ladies
10 pounds more, and who has not been a soldier, but a farmer all his
life."

"Lawyer Jellicorse, I will take it; for Sally hath set her heart on
it; and I know every crumple of the ground better than the wisest
farmer doth.  Sir, I will sign the articles."

"The lease will be engrossed by next market day; and the sale will
be stopped until you have taken whatever you wish at a valuation.
But remember what I said--you are not to go prating about this
wonderful Sir Duncan, who is never likely to come home, if he lives
in such grand state out there, and who is forbidden by his father's
will from taking an acre of the property.  And as he has no heirs,
and is so wealthy, it can not matter much to him."

"That is true," said the soldier; "but he might love to come home,
as all our folk in India do; and if he doth, I will not deny him.
I tell you fairly, Master Jellicorse."

"I like you for being an outspoken man, and true to those who have
used you well.  You could do him no good, and you might do harm to
others, and unsettle simple minds, by going on about him among the
tenants."

"His name hath never crossed my lips till now, and shall not again
without good cause.  Here is my hand upon it, Master Lawyer."

The lawyer shook hands with him heartily, for he could not but
respect the man for his sturdiness and sincerity.  And when Jack
was gone, Mr. Jellicorse played with his spectacles and his snuff-
box for several minutes before he could make up his mind how to
deal with the matter.  Then hearing the solid knock of Jordas, who
was bound to take horse for Scargate House pretty early at this
time of year (with the weakening of the day among the mountains),
he lost a few moments in confusion.  The dogman could not go
without any answer; and how was any good answer to be given in half
an hour, at the utmost?  A time had been when the lawyer studied
curtness and precision under minds of abridgment in London.  But
the more he had labored to introduce rash brevity into Yorkshire,
and to cut away nine words out of ten, when all the ten meant one
thing only, the more of contempt for his ignorance he won, and the
less money he made out of it.  And no sooner did he marry than he
was forced to give up that, and, like a respectable butcher, put in
every pennyweight of fat that could be charged for.  Thus had he
thriven and grown like a goodly deed of fine amplification; and if
he had made Squire Philip's will now, it would scarcely have gone
into any breast pocket.  Unluckily it is an easier thing to make a
man's will than to carry it out, even though fortune be favorable.

In the present case obstacles seemed to be arising which might at
any moment require great skill and tact to surmount them; and the
lawyer, hearing Jordas striding to and fro impatiently in the
waiting-room, was fain to win time for consideration by writing a
short note to say that he proposed to wait upon the ladies the very
next day.  For he had important news which seemed expedient to
discuss with them.  In the mean time he begged them not to be at
all uneasy, for his news upon the whole was propitious.



CHAPTER XXI

JACK AND JILL GO DOWN THE GILL


Upon a little beck that runs away into the Lune, which is a
tributary of the Tees, there stood at this time a small square
house of gray stone, partly greened with moss, or patched with
drip, and opening to the sun with small dark windows.  It looked as
if it never could be warm inside, by sunshine or by fire-glow, and
cared not, although it was the only house for miles, whether it
were peopled or stood empty.  But this cold, hard-looking place
just now was the home of some hot and passionate hearts.

The people were poor; and how they made their living would have
been a mystery to their neighbors, if there had been any.  They
rented no land, and they followed no trade, and they took no alms
by land or post; for the begging-letter system was not yet
invented.  For the house itself they paid a small rent, which
Jordas received on behalf of his ladies, and always found it ready;
and that being so, he had nothing more to ask, and never meddled
with them.  They had been there before he came into office, and it
was not his place to seek into their history; and if it had been,
he would not have done it.  For his sympathies were (as was natural
and native to a man so placed) with all outsiders, and the people
who compress into one or two generations that ignorance of lineage
which some few families strive to defer for centuries, showing
thereby unwise insistence, if latter-day theories are correct.

But if Master Jordas knew little of these people, somebody else
knew more about them, and perhaps too much about one of them.
Lancelot Carnaby, still called "Pet," in one of those rushes after
random change which the wildness of his nature drove upon him, had
ridden his pony to a stand-still on the moor one sultry day of that
August.  No pity or care for the pony had he, but plenty of both
for his own dear self.  The pony might be left for the crows to
pick his bones, so far as mattered to Pet Carnaby; but it mattered
very greatly to a boy like him to have to go home upon his own
legs.  Long exertion was hateful to him, though he loved quick
difficulty; for he was one of the many who combine activity with
laziness.  And while he was wondering what he should do, and
worrying the fine little animal, a wave of the wind carried into
his ear the brawling of a beck, like the humming of a hive.  The
boy had forgotten that the moor just here was broken by a narrow
glen, engrooved with sliding water.

Now with all his strength, which was not much, he tugged the
panting and limping little horse to the flat breach, and then down
the steep of the gill, and let him walk into the water and begin to
slake off a little of the crust of thirst.  But no sooner did he
see him preparing to rejoice in large crystal draughts (which his
sobs had first forbidden) than he jerked him with the bit, and made
a bad kick at him, because he could bear to see nothing happy.  The
pony had sense enough to reply, weary as he was, with a stronger
kick, which took Master Lancelot in the knee, and discouraged him
for any further contest.  Bully as he was, the boy had too much of
ancient Yordas pith in him to howl, or cry, or even whimper, but
sat down on a little ridge to nurse his poor knee, and meditate
revenge against the animal with hoofs.  Presently pain and wrath
combined became too much for the weakness of his frame, and he fell
back and lay upon the hard ground in a fainting fit.

At such times, as everybody said (especially those whom he knocked
about in his lively moments), this boy looked wonderfully lovely.
His features were almost perfect; and he had long eyelashes like an
Andalusian girl, and cheeks more exquisite than almost any doll's,
a mouth of fine curve, and a chin of pert roundness, a neck of the
mould that once was called "Byronic," and curly dark hair flying
all around, as fine as the very best peruke.  In a word, he was
just what a boy ought not to be, who means to become an Englishman.

Such, however, was not the opinion of a creature even more
beautiful than he, in the truer points of beauty.  Coming with a
pitcher for some water from the beck, Insie of the Gill (the
daughter of Bat and Zilpie of the Gill) was quite amazed as she
chanced round a niche of the bank upon this image.  An image fallen
from the sun, she thought it, or at any rate from some part of
heaven, until she saw the pony, who was testing the geology of the
district by the flavor of its herbage.  Then Insie knew that here
was a mortal boy, not dead, but sadly wounded; and she drew her
short striped kirtle down, because her shapely legs were bare.

Lancelot Carnaby, coming to himself (which was a poor return for
him), opened his large brown eyes, and saw a beautiful girl looking
at him.  As their eyes met, his insolent languor fell--for he
generally awoke from these weak lapses into a slow persistent rage--
and wonder and unknown admiration moved something in his nature
that had never moved before.  His words, however, were scarcely up
to the high mark of the moment.  "Who are you?" was all he said.

"I am called 'Insie of the Gill.'  My father is Bat of the Gill,
and my mother Zilpie of the Gill.  You must be a stranger, not to
know us."

"I never heard of you in all my life; although you seem to be
living on my land.  All the land about here belongs to me; though
my mother has it for a little time."

"I did not know," she answered, softly, and scarcely thinking what
she said, "that the land belonged to anybody, besides the birds and
animals.  And is the water yours as well?"

"Yes; every drop of it, of course.  But you are quite welcome to a
pitcherful."  This was the rarest affability of Pet; and he
expected extraordinary thanks.

But Insie looked at him with surprise.  "I am very much obliged to
you," she said; "but I never asked any one to give it me, unless it
is the beck itself; and the beck never seems to grudge it."

"You are not like anybody I ever saw.  You speak very different
from the people about here; and you look very different ten times
over."

Insie reddened at his steadfast gaze, and turned her sweet soft
face away.  And yet she wanted to know more.  "Different means a
great many things.  Do you mean that I look better, or worse?"

"Better, of course; fifty thousand times better!  Why, you look
like a beautiful lady.  I tell you, I have seen hundreds of ladies;
perhaps you haven't, but I have.  And you look better than all of
them."

"You say a great deal that you do not think," Insie answered,
quietly, yet turning round to show her face again.  "I have heard
that gentlemen always do; and I suppose that you are a young
gentleman."

"I should hope so indeed.  Don't you know who I am?  I am Lancelot
Yordas Carnaby."

"Why, you look quite as if you could stop the river," she answered,
with a laugh, though she felt his grandeur.  "I suppose you
consider me nobody at all.  But I must get my water."

"You shall not carry water.  You are much too pretty.  I will carry
it for you."

Pet was not "introspective;" otherwise he must have been astonished
at himself.  His mother and aunt would have doubted their own eyes
if they had beheld this most dainty of the dainty, and mischievous
of the mischievous (with pain and passion for the moment
vanquished), carefully carrying an old brown pitcher.  Yet this he
did, and wonderfully well, as he believed; though Insie only
laughed to see him.  For he had on the loveliest gaiters in the
world, of thin white buckskin with agate buttons, and breeches of
silk, and a long brocaded waistcoat, and a short coat of rich
purple velvet, also a riding hat with a gray ostrich plume.  And
though he had very little calf inside his gaiters, and not much
chest to fill out his waistcoat, and narrower shoulders than a
velvet coat deserved, it would have been manifest, even to a
tailor, that the boy had lineal, if not lateral, right to his rich
habiliments.

Insie of the Gill (who seemed not to be of peasant birth, though so
plainly dressed), came gently down the steep brook-side to see what
was going to be done for her.

She admired Lancelot, both for bravery of apparel and of action;
and she longed to know how he would get a good pitcher of water
without any splash upon his clothes.  So she stood behind a little
bush, pretending not to be at all concerned, but amused at having
her work done for her.  But Pet was too sharp to play cat's-paw for
nothing.

"Smile, and say 'thank you,'" he cried, "or I won't do it.  I am
not going up to my middle for nothing; I know that you want to
laugh at me."

"You must have a very low middle," said Insie; "why, it never comes
half way to my knees."

"You have got no stockings, and no new gaiters," Lancelot answered,
reasonably; and then, like two children, they set to and laughed,
till the gill almost echoed with them.

"Why, you're holding the mouth of the pitcher down stream!"  Insie
could hardly speak for laughing.  "Is that how you go to fill a
pitcher?"

"Yes, and the right way too," he answered; "the best water always
comes up the eddies.  You ought to be old enough to know that."

"I don't know anything at all--except that you are ruining your
best clothes."

"I don't care twopence for such rubbish.  You ought to see me on a
Sunday, Insie, if you want to know what is good.  There, you never
drew such a pitcher as that.  And I believe there is a fish in the
bottom of it."

"Oh, if there is a fish, let me have him in my hands.  I can nurse
a fish on dry land, until he gets quite used to it.  Are you sure
that there is a little fish?"

"No, there is no fish; and I am soaking wet.  But I never care what
anybody thinks of me.  If they say what I don't like, I kick them."

"Ah, you are accustomed to have your own way.  That any one might
know by looking at you.  But I have got a quantity of work to do.
You can see that by my fingers."

The girl made a courtesy, and took the pitcher from him, because he
was knocking it against his legs; but he could not be angry when he
looked into her eyes, though the habit of his temper made him try
to fume.

"Do you know what I think?" she said, fixing bright hazel eyes upon
him; "I think that you are very passionate sometimes."

"Well, if I am, it is my own business.  Who told you anything about
it?  Whoever it was shall pay out for it."

"Nobody told me, Sir.  You must remember that I never even heard of
your name before."

"Oh, come, I can't quite take down that.  Everybody knows me for
fifty miles or more; and I don't care what they think of me."

"You may please yourself about believing me," she answered, without
concern about it.  "No one who knows me doubts my word, though I am
not known for even five miles away."

"What an extraordinary girl you are!  You say things on purpose to
provoke me.  Nobody ever does that; they are only too glad to keep
me in a good temper."

"If you are like that, Sir, I had better run away.  My father will
be home in about an hour, and he might think that you had no
business here."

"I!  No business upon my own land!  This place must be bewitched, I
think.  There is a witch upon the moors, I know, who can take
almost any shape; but--but they say she is three hundred years of
age, or more."

"Perhaps, then, I am bewitched," said Insie; "or why should I stop
to talk with you, who are only a rude boy, after all, even
according to your own account?"

"Well, you can go if you like.  I suppose you live in that queer
little place down there?"

"The house is quite good enough for me and my father and mother and
brother Maunder.  Good-by; and please never to come here again."

"You don't understand me.  I have made you cry.  Oh, Insie, let me
have hold of your hand.  I would rather make anybody cry than you.
I never liked anybody so before."

"Cry, indeed!  Who ever heard me cry?  It is the way you splashed
the water up.  I am not in the habit of crying for a stranger.
Good-by, now; and go to your great people.  You say that you are
bad; and I fear it is too true."

"I am not bad at all.  It is only what everybody says, because I
never want to please them.  But I want to please you.  I would give
anything to do it; if you would only tell me how."

The girl having cleverly dried her eyes, poured all their bright
beauty upon him, and the heart of the youth was enlarged with a
new, very sweet, and most timorous feeling.  Then his dark eyes
dropped, and he touched her gently, and only said, "Don't go away."

"But I must go away," Insie answered, with a blush, and a look as
of more tears lurking in her eyes.  "I have stopped too long; I
must go away at once."

"But when may I come again?  I will hold you, and fight for you
with everybody in the world, unless you tell me when to come
again."

"Hush!  I am quite ashamed to hear you talk so.  I am a poor girl,
and you a great young gentleman."

"Never mind that.  That has nothing to do with it.  Would you like
to make me miserable, and a great deal more wicked than I ever was
before?  Do you hate me so much as all that, Insie?"

"No.  You have been very kind to me.  Only my father would be
angry, I am sure; and my brother Maunder is dreadful.  They all go
away every other Friday, and that is the only free time I have."

"Every other Friday!  What a long time, to be sure!  Won't you come
again for water this day fortnight?"

"Yes; I come for water three or four times every day.  But if they
were to see you, they would kill you first, and then lock me up
forever.  The only wise plan is for you to come no more."

"You can not be thinking for a moment what you say.  I will tell
you what; if you don't come, I will march up to the house, and beat
the door in.  The landlord can do that, according to law."

"If you care at all for me," said Insie, looking as if she had
known him for ten years, "you will do exactly what I tell you.  You
will think no more about me for a fortnight; and then if you fancy
that I can do you good by advice about your bad temper, or by
teaching you how to plait reeds for a bat, and how to fill a
pitcher--perhaps I might be able to come down the gill again."

"I wish it was to-morrow.  I shall count the days.  But be sure to
come early, if they go away all day.  I shall bring my dinner with
me; and you shall have the first help, and I will carve.  But I
should like one thing before I go; and it is the first time I ever
asked anybody, though they ask me often enough, I can tell you."

"What would you like?  You seem to me to be always wanting
something."

"I should like very much--very much indeed--just to give you one
kiss, Insie."

"It can not be thought of for a moment," she replied; "and the
first time of my ever seeing you, Sir!"

Before he could reason in favor of a privilege which goes
proverbially by favor, the young maid was gone upon the winding
path, with the pitcher truly balanced on her well-tressed head.
Then Pet sat down and watched her; and she turned round in the
distance, and waved him a kiss at decorous interval.

Not more than three days after this, Mrs. Carnaby came into the
drawing-room with a hasty step, and a web of wrinkles upon her
generally smooth, white forehead.

"Eliza," asked her sister, "what has put you out so?  That chair is
not very strong, and you are rather heavy.  Do you call that
gracefully sinking on a seat, as we used to learn the way to do at
school?"

"No, I do not call it anything of the kind.  And if I am heavy, I
only keep my heart in countenance, Philippa.  You know not the
anxieties of a mother."

"I am thankful to say that I do not.  I have plenty of larger cares
to attend to, as well as the anxieties of an aunt and sister.  But
what is this new maternal care?"

"Poor Pet's illness--his serious illness.  I am surprised that you
have not noticed it, Philippa; it seems so unkind of you."

"There can not be anything much amiss with him.  I never saw any
one eat a better breakfast.  What makes you fancy that the boy must
be unwell?"

"It is no fancy.  He must be very ill.  Poor dear!  I can not bear
to think of it.  He has done no mischief for quite three days."

"Then he must indeed be at the point of death.  Oh, if we could
only keep him always so, Eliza!"

"My dear sister, you will never understand him.  He must have his
little playful ways.  Would you like him to be a milksop?"

"Certainly not.  But I should like him first to be a manly boy, and
then a boyish man.  The Yordases always have been manly boys;
instead of puling, and puking, and picking this, that, and the
other."

"The poor child can not help his health, Philippa.  He never had
the Yordas constitution.  He inherits his delicate system from his
poor dear gallant father."

Mrs. Carnaby wiped away a tear; and her sister (who never was hard
to her) spoke gently, and said there were many worse boys than he,
and she liked him for many good and brave points of character, and
especially for hating medicine.

"Philippa, you are right; he does hate medicine," the good mother
answered, with a soft, sad sigh; "and he kicked the last apothecary
in the stomach, when he made certain of its going down.  But such
things are trifles, dear, in comparison with now.  If he would only
kick Jordas, or Welldrum, or almost any one who would take it
nicely, I should have some hope that he was coming to himself.  But
to see him sit quiet is so truly sad.  He gets up a tree with his
vast activity, and there he sits moping by the hour, and gazing in
one fixed direction.  I am almost sure that he has knocked his leg;
but he flew into a fury when I wanted to examine it; and when I
made a poultice, there was Saracen devouring it; and the nasty dog
swallowed one of my lace handkerchiefs."

"Then surely you are unjust, Eliza, in lamenting all lack of
mischief.  But I have noticed things as well as you.  And yesterday
I saw something more portentous than anything you have told me.  I
came upon Lancelot suddenly, in the last place where I should have
looked for him.  He was positively in the library, and reading--
reading a real book."

"A book, Phillppa!  Oh, that settles everything.  He must have gone
altogether out of his sane mind."

"Not only was it a book, but even a book of what people call
poetry.  You have heard of that bold young man over the mountains,
who is trying to turn poetry upside down, by making it out of every
single thing he sees; and who despises all the pieces that we used
to learn at school.  I can not remember his name; but never mind.
I thought that we ought to encourage him, because he might know
some people in this neighborhood; and so I ordered a book of his.
Perhaps I told you; and that is the very book your learned boy was
reading."

"Philippa, it seems to me impossible almost.  He must have been
looking at the pictures.  I do hope he was only looking at the
pictures."

"There is not a picture in the hook of any sort.  He was reading
it, and saying it quite softly to himself; and I felt that if you
saw him, you would send for Dr. Spraggs."

"Ring the bell at once, dear, if you will be kind enough.  I hope
there is a fresh horse in the stable.  Or the best way would be to
send the jumping-car; then he would be certain to come back at
once."

"Do as you like.  I begin to think that we ought to take proper
precautions.  But when that is done, I will tell you what I think
he may be up the tree for."

A man with the jumping-car was soon dispatched, by urgency of
Jordas, for Dr. Spraggs, who lived several miles away, in a hamlet
to the westward, inaccessible to anything that could not jump right
nimbly.  But the ladies made a slight mistake: they caught the
doctor, but no patient.

For Pet being well up in his favorite tree--poring with great
wonder over Lyrical Ballads, which took his fancy somehow--thence
descried the hateful form of Dr. Spraggs, too surely approaching in
the seat of honor of the jumping-car.  Was ever any poesy of such
power as to elevate the soul above the smell of physic?  The lofty
poet of the lakes and fells fell into Pet's pocket anyhow, and down
the off side of the tree came he, with even his bad leg ready to be
foremost in giving leg-bail to the medical man.  The driver of the
jumping-car espied this action; but knowing that he would have done
the like, grinned softly, and said nothing.  And long after Dr.
Spraggs was gone, leaving behind him sage advice, and a vast
benevolence of bottles, Pet returned, very dirty and hungry, and
cross, and most unpoetical.



CHAPTER XXII

YOUNG GILLY FLOWERS


"Drum," said Pet, in his free and easy style, about ten days after
that escape, to a highly respected individual, Mr. Welldrum, the
butler--"Drum, you have heard perhaps about my being poorly."

"Ay, that I have, and too much of it," replied the portly butler,
busy in his office with inferior work, which he never should have
had to do, if rightly estimated.  "What you wants, Master Lancelot,
is a little more of this here sort of thing--sleeves up--elbow
grease--scrub away at hold ancient plate, and be blowed up if you
puts a scratch on it; and the more you sweats, the less thanks you
gets."

"Drum, when you come to be my butler, you shall have all the keys
allowed you, and walk about with them on a great gold ring, with a
gold chain down to your breeches pocket.  You shall dine when you
like, and have it cooked on purpose, and order it directly after
breakfast; and you shall have the very best hot-water plates;
because you hate grease, don't you, Drum?"

"That I do; especial from young chaps as wants to get something out
of me."

"I am always as good as my word; come, now."

"That you are, Sir; and nothing very grand to say, considering the
hepithets you applies to me sometimes.  But you han't insulted me
for three days now; and that proves to my mind that you can't be
quite right."

"But you would like to see me better.  I am sure you would.  There
is nobody so good to you as I am, Drum; and you are very crusty at
times, you know.  Your daughter shall be the head cook; and then
everything must be to your liking."

"Master Lancelot, you speaks fair.  What can I have the honor of
doing for you, Sir, to set you up again in your poor dear 'ealth?"

"Well, you hate physic, don't you, Drum?  And you make a strict
point of never taking it."

"I never knew no good to come out of no bottle, without it were a
bottle of old crusted port-wine.  Ah! you likes that, Master
Lancelot."

"I'll tell you what it is, Drum; I am obliged to be very careful.
The reason why I don't get on is from taking my meals too much in-
doors.  There is no fresh air in these old rooms.  I have got a man
who says--I could read it to you; but perhaps you don't care to
hear poetry, Drum?"  The butler made a face, and put the leather to
his ears.  "Very well, then; I am only just beginning; and it's
like claret, you must learn to come to it.  But from what he says,
and from my own stomach, I intend to go and dine out-of-doors to-
day."

"Lord!  Master Lancelot, you must be gone clean daft.  How ever
could you have hot gravy, Sir?  And all the Yordases hales cold
meat.  Your poor dear grandfather--ah! he was a man."

"So am I.  And I have got half a guinea.  Now, Drum, you do just
what I tell you; and mind, not a word to any one.  It will be the
last coin you ever see of mine, either now or in all my life,
remember, if you let my mamma ever hear of it.  You slip down to
the larder and get me a cold grouse, and a cold partridge, and two
of the hearth-stone cakes, and a pat of butter, and a pinch of
salt, and put them in my army knapsack Aunt Philippa gave me; also
a knife and fork and plate; and--let me see--what had I better have
to drink?"

"Well, Sir, if I might offer an opinion, a pint bottle of dry port,
or your grandfather's Madeira."

"Young ladies--young gentlemen I mean, of course--never take strong
wines in the middle of the day.  Bucellas, Drum--Bucellas is the
proper thing.  And when you have got it all together, turn the old
cat into the larder, and get away cleverly by your little door, and
put my knapsack in the old oak-tree, the one that was struck by
lightning.  Now do you understand all about it?  It must all be
ready in half an hour.  And if I make a good dinner out on the
moor, why, you might get another half guinea before long."  And
with these words away strode Pet.

"Well, well," the butler began muttering to himself; "what
wickedness are you up to next?  A lassie in his head, and his dear
mammy thought he was sickening over his wisdom-teeth!  He is
beginning airly, and no mistake.  But the gals are a coarse ugly
lot about here"--Master Welldrum was not a Yorkshireman--"and the
lad hath good taste in the matter of wine; although he is that
contrairy, Solomon's self could not be upsides with him.  Fall
fair, fall foul, I must humor the boy, or out of this place I go,
neck and crop."

Accordingly, Pet found all that he had ordered, and several little
things which he had not thought of, especially a corkscrew and a
glass; and forgetting half his laziness, he set off briskly,
keeping through the trees where no window could espy him, and down
a little side glen, all afoot; for it seemed to him safer to forego
his pony.

The gill (or "ghyll," as the poet writes it), from which the lonely
family that dwelt there took their name, was not upon the bridle-
road from Scargate Hall toward Middleton, nor even within eye or
reach of any road at all; but overlooked by kites alone, and
tracked with thoroughfare of nothing but the mountain streamlet.
The four who lived there--"Bat and Zilpic, Maunder and Insie, of
the Gill"--had nothing to do with, and little to say to, any of the
scatterling folk about them, across the blue distance of the moor.
They ploughed no land, they kept no cattle, they scarcely put spade
in the ground, except for about a fortnight in April, when they
broke up a strip of alluvial soil new every season, and abutting on
the brook; and there sowed or planted their vegetable crop, and
left it to the clemency of heaven.  Yet twice every year they were
ready with their rent when it suited Master Jordas to come for it,
since audits at the hall, and tenants' dinners, were not to their
liking.  The rent was a trifle; but Jordas respected them highly
for handing it done up in white paper, without even making him
leave the saddle.  How many paid less, or paid nothing at all, yet
came to the dinners under rent reservation of perhaps one mark,
then strictly reserved their rent, but failed not to make the most
punctual and liberal marks upon roast beef and plum-pudding!

But while the worthy dogman got his little bit of money, sealed up
and so correct that (careful as he was) he never stopped now to
count it, even his keen eyes could make nothing of these people,
except that they stood upon their dignity.  To him they appeared to
be of gypsy race; or partly of wild and partly perhaps of
Lancastrian origin; for they rather "featured" the Lancashire than
the Yorkshire type of countenance, yet without any rustic
coarseness, whether of aspect, voice, or manners.  The story of
their settlement in this glen had flagged out of memory of gossip
by reason of their calm obscurity, and all that survived was the
belief that they were queer, and the certainty that they would not
be meddled with.

Lancelot Yordas Carnaby was brave, both in the outward and the
inward boy, when he struck into the gill from a trackless spread of
moor, not far from the source of the beck that had shaped or been
shaped by this fissure.  He had made up his mind to learn all about
the water that filled sweet Insie's pitcher; and although the great
poet of nature as yet was only in early utterance, some of his
words had already touched Pet as he had never been touched before;
but perhaps that fine effect was due to the sapping power of first
love.

Yet first love, however it may soften and enlarge a petulant and
wayward nature, instead of increasing, cuts short and crisp the
patience of the patient.  When Lancelot was as near as manners and
prudence allowed to that lonesome house, he sat down quietly for a
little while in a little niche of scrubby bush whence he could spy
the door.  For a short time this was very well; also it was well to
be furnishing his mind with a form for the beautiful expressions in
it, and prepare it for the order of their coming out.  And when he
was sure that these were well arranged, and could not fail at any
crisis, he found a further pastime in considering his boots, then
his gaiters and small-clothes (which were of lofty type), and his
waistcoat, elegant for anybody's bosom.  But after a bit even this
began to pall; and when one of his feet went fast asleep, in spite
of its beautiful surroundings, he jumped up and stamped, and was
not so very far from hot words as he should have been.  For his
habit was not so much to want a thing as to get it before he wanted
it, which is very poor training for the trials of the love-time.

But just as he was beginning to resolve to be wise, and eat his
victuals, now or never, and be sorry for any one who came too late--
there came somebody by another track, whose step made the heart
rise, and the stomach fall.  Lancelot's mind began to fail him all
at once; and the spirit that was ready with a host of words
fluttered away into a quaking depth of silence.  Yet Insie tripped
along as if the world held no one to cast a pretty shadow from the
sun beside her own.

Even the youngest girls are full of little tricks far beyond the
oldest boy's comprehension.  But the wonder of all wonders is, they
have so pure a conscience as never to be thinking of themselves at
all, far less of any one who thinks too much of them.  "I declare,
she has forgotten that she ever saw me!" Lancelot muttered to the
bush in which he trembled.  "It would serve her right, if I walked
straight away."  But he looked again, and could not help looking
more than many times again, so piercing (as an ancient poet puts
it) is the shaft from the eyes of the female women.  And Insie was
especially a female girl--which has now ceased to be tautology--so
feminine were her walk, and way, and sudden variety of unreasonable
charm.

"Dear me!  I never thought to see you any more, Sir;" said she,
with a bright blush, perhaps at such a story, as Pet jumped out
eagerly, with hands stretched forth.  "It is the most surprising
thing.  And we might have done very well with rain-water."

"Oh, Insie! don't be so cold-hearted.  Who can drink rain-water?  I
have got something very good for you indeed.  I have carried it all
the way myself; and only a strong man could have done it.  Why, you
have got stockings on, I declare; but I like you much better
without them."

"Then, Master Lancelot Yordas Carnaby, you had better go home with
all your good things."

"You are totally mistaken about that.  I could never get these
things into the house again, without being caught out to a
certainty.  It shows how little girls know of anything."

"A girl can not be expected," she answered, looking most innocently
at him, "to understand anything sly or cunning.  Why should
anything of that sort be?"

"Well, if it comes to that," cried Pet, who (like all unreasonable
people) had large rudiments of reasoning, "why should not I come up
to your door, and knock, and say, 'I want to see Miss Insie; I am
fond of Miss Insie, and have got something good for her'?  That is
what I shall do next time."

"If you do, my brother Maunder will beat you dreadfully--so
dreadfully that you will never walk home.  But don't let us talk of
such terrible things.  You must never come here, if you think of
such things.  I would not have you hurt for all the world; for
sometimes I think that I like you very much."

The lovely girl looked at the handsome boy, as if they were at
school together, learning something difficult, which must be
repeated to the other's eyes, with a nod, or a shake of the head,
as may be.  A kind, and pure, and soft gaze she gave him, as if she
would love his thoughts, if he could explain them.  And Pet turned
away, because he could not do so.

"I'll tell you what it is," he said, bravely, while his heart was
thrilling with desire to speak well; "we will set to at once, and
have a jolly good spread.  I told my man to put up something very
good, because I was certain that you would be very hungry."

"Surely you were not so foolish as to speak of me?"

"No, no, no; I know a trick worth two of that.  I was not such a
fool as to speak of you, of course.  But--"

"But I would never condescend to touch one bit.  You were ashamed
to say a word about me, then, were you?"

"Insie, now, Insie, too bad of you it is.  You can have no idea
what those butlers and footmen are, if ever you tell them anything.
They are worse than the maids; they go down stairs, and they get
all the tidbits out of the cook, and sit by the girl they like
best, on the strength of having a secret about their master."

"Well, you are cunning!" cried the maiden, with a sigh.  "I thought
that your nature was loftier than that.  No, I do not know anything
of butlers and footmen; and I think that the less I know of you the
better."

"Oh, Insie, darling Insie, if you run away like that--I have got
both your hands, and you shall not run away.  Do you want to kill
me, Insie?  They have had the doctor for me."

"Oh, how very dreadful! that does sound dreadful.  I am not at all
crying, and you need not look.  But what did he say?  Please to
tell me what he said."

"He said, 'Salts and senna.'  But I got up a high tree.  Let us
think of nicer things.  It is enough to spoil one's dinner.  Oh,
Insie, what is anything to eat or drink, compared with looking at
you, when you are good?  If I could only tell you the things that I
have felt, all day and all night, since this day fortnight, how
sorry you would be for having evil thoughts of me!"

"I have no evil thoughts; I have no thoughts at all.  But it
puzzles me to think what on earth you have been thinking.  There, I
will sit down, and listen for a moment."

"And I may hold one of your hands?  I must, or you would never
understand me.  Why, your hands are much smaller than mine, I
declare!  And mine are very small; because of thinking about you.
Now you need not laugh--it does spoil everything to laugh so.  It
is more than a fortnight since I laughed at all.  You make me feel
so miserable.  But would you like to know how I felt?  Mind, I
would rather cut my head off than tell it to any one in the world
but you."

"Now I call that very kind of you.  If you please, I should like to
know how you have been feeling."  With these words Insie came quite
close up to his side, and looked at him so that he could hardly
speak.  "You may say it in a whisper, if you like," she said;
"there is nobody coming for at least three hours, and so you may
say it in a whisper."

"Then I will tell you; it was just like this.  You know that I
began to think how beautiful you were at the very first time I
looked at you.  But you could not expect me so to love you all at
once as I love you now, dear Insie."

"I can not understand any meaning in such things."  But she took a
little distance, quite as if she did.

"Well, I went away without thinking very much, because I had a bad
place in my knee--a blue place bigger than the new half crown,
where you saw that the pony kicked me.  I had him up, and thrashed
him, when I got home; but that has got nothing to do with it--only
that I made him know who was his master.  And then I tried to go on
with a lot of things as usual; but somehow I did not care at all.
There was a great rat hunt that I had been thinking of more than
three weeks, when they got the straddles down, to be ready for the
new ricks to come instead.  But I could not go near it; and it made
them think that the whole of my inside was out of order.  And it
must have been.  I can see by looking back; it must have been so,
without my knowing it.  I hit several people with my holly on their
shins, because they knew more than I did.  But that was no good;
nor was anything else.  I only got more and more out of sorts, and
could not stay quiet anywhere; and yet it was no good to me to try
to make a noise.  All day I went about as if I did not care whether
people contradicted me or not, or where I was, or what time I
should get back, or whether there would be any dinner.  And I
tucked up my feet in my nightgown every night; but instead of
stopping there, as they always used to do, they were down in cold
places immediately; and instead of any sleep, I bit holes by the
hundred in the sheets, with thinking.  I hated to be spoken to, and
I hated everybody; and so I do now, whenever I come to think about
them!"

"Including even poor me, I suppose?"  Insie had wonderfully pretty
eyebrows, and a pretty way of raising them, and letting more light
into her bright hazel eyes.

"No, I never seemed to hate you; though I often was put out,
because I could never make your face come well.  I was thinking of
you always, but I could not see you.  Now tell me whether you have
been like that."

"Not at all; but I have thought of you once or twice, and wondered
what could make you want to come and see me.  If I were a boy,
perhaps I could understand it."

"I hate boys; I am a man all over now.  I am old enough to have a
wife; and I mean to have you.  How much do you suppose my waistcoat
cost?  Well, never mind, because you are not rich.  But I have got
money enough for both of us to live well, and nobody can keep me
out of it.  You know what a road is, I suppose--a good road leading
to a town?  Have you ever seen one?  A brown place, with hedges on
each side, made hard and smooth for horses to go upon, and wheels
that make a rumble.  Well, if you will have me, and behave well to
me, you shall sit up by yourself in a velvet dress, with a man
before you and a man behind, and believe that you are flying."

"But what would become of my father, and my mother, and my brother
Maunder?"

"Oh, they must stop here, of course.  We shouldn't want them.  But
I would give them all their house rent-free, and a fat pig every
Christmas.  Now you sit there and spread your lap, that I may help
you properly.  I want to see you eat; you must learn to eat like a
lady of the highest quality; for that you are going to be, I can
tell you."

The beautiful maid of the gill smiled sweetly, sitting on the low
bank with the grace of simple nature and the playfulness of
girlhood.  She looked up at Lancelot, the self-appointed man, with
a bright glance of curious contemplation; and contemplation (of any
other subject than self) is dangerously near contempt.  She thought
very little of his large, free brag, of his patronizing manner, and
fine self-content, reference of everything to his own standard,
beauty too feminine, and instead of female gentleness, highly
cultivated waywardness.  But in spite of all that, she could not
help liking, and sometimes admiring him, when he looked away.  And
now he was very busy with the high feast he had brought.

"To begin with," he said, when his good things were displayed, "you
must remember that nothing is more vulgar than to be hungry.  A
gentleman may have a tremendous appetite, but a lady never."

"But why? but why?  That does seem foolish.  I have read that the
ladies are always helped first.  That must be because of their
appetites."

"Insie, I tell you things, not the reasons of them.  Things are
learned by seeing other people, and not by arguing about them."

"Then you had better eat your dinner first, and let me sit and
watch you.  And then I can eat mine by imitation; that is to say,
if there is any left."

"You are one of the oddest people I have ever seen.  You go round
the corner of all that I say, instead of following properly.  When
we are married, you will always make me laugh.  At one time they
kept a boy to make me laugh; but I got tired of him.  Now I help
you first, although I am myself so hungry.  I do it from a lofty
feeling, which my aunt Philippa calls 'chivalry.'  Ladies talk
about it when they want to get the best of us.  I have given you
all the best part, you see; and I only keep the worst of it for
myself."

If Pet had any hope that his self-denial would promptly be denied
to him, he made a great mistake; for the damsel of the gill had a
healthy moorland appetite, and did justice to all that was put
before her; and presently he began, for the first time in his life,
to find pleasure in seeing another person pleased.  But the wine
she would not even taste, in spite of persuasion and example; the
water from the brook was all she drank, and she drank as prettily
as a pigeon.  Whatever she did was done gracefully and well.

"I am very particular," he said at last; "but you are fit to dine
with anybody.  How have you managed to learn it all?  You take the
best of everything, without a word about it, as gently as great
ladies do.  I thought that you would want me to eat the nicest
pieces; but instead of that, you have left me bones and
drumsticks."

He gave such a melancholy look at these that Insie laughed quite
merrily.  "I wanted to see you practice chivalry," she said.

"Well, never mind; I shall know another time.  Instead of two
birds, I shall order four, and other things in proportion.  But now
I want to know about your father and your mother.  They must be
respectable people, to judge by you.  What is their proper name,
and how much have they got to live upon?"

"More than you--a great deal more than you," she answered, with
such a roguish smile that he forgot his grievances, or began to
lose them in the mist of beauty.

"More than me!  And they live in such a hole, where only the crows
come near them?"

"Yes, more than you, Sir.  They have their wits to live upon, and
industry, and honesty."

Pet was not old enough yet in the world to say, "What is the use of
all those?  All their income is starvation."  He was young enough
to think that those who owned them had advantage of him, for he
knew that he was very lazy.  Moreover, he had heard of such people
getting on--through the striking power of exception, so much more
brilliant than the rule--when all the blind virtues found luck to
lead them.  Industry, honesty, and ability always get on in story-
books, and nothing is nicer than to hear a pretty story.  But in
some ways Pet was sharp enough.

"Then they never will want that house rent-free, nor the fat pig,
nor any other presents.  Oh, Insie, how very much better that will
be!  I find it so much nicer always to get thing's than to give
them.  And people are so good-natured, when they have done it, and
can talk of it.  Insie, they shall give me something when I marry
you, and as often as they like afterward."

"They will give you something you will not like," she answered,
with a laugh, and a look along the moor, "if you stay here too long
chattering with me.  Do you know what o'clock it is?  I know
always, whether the sun is out or in.  You need show no gold watch
to me."

"Oh, that comes of living in a draught all day.  The out-door
people grow too wise.  What do you see about ten miles off?  It
must be ten miles to that hill."

"That hill is scarcely five miles off, and what I see is not half
of that.  I brought you up here to be quite safe.  Maunder's eyes
are better than mine.  But he will not see us, for another mile, if
you cover your grand waistcoat, because we are in the shadows.
Slip down into the gill again, and keep below the edge of it, and
go home as fast as possible."

Lancelot felt inclined to do as he was told, and keep to safe
obscurity.  The long uncomfortable loneliness of prospect, and dim
airy distance of the sinking sun, and deeply silent emptiness of
hollows, where great shadows began to crawl--in the waning of the
day, and so far away from home--all these united to impress upon
the boy a spiritual influence, whose bodily expression would be the
appearance of a clean pair of heels.  But, to meet this sensible
impulse, there arose the stubborn nature of his race, which hated
to be told to do anything, and the dignity of his new-born love--
such as it was--and the thought of looking small.

"Why should I go?" he said.  "I will meet them, and tell them that
I am their landlord, and have a right to know all about them.  My
grandfather never ran away from anybody.  And they have got a
donkey with them."

"They will have two, if you stop," cried Insie, although she
admired his spirit.  "My father is a very quiet man.  But Maunder
would take you by the throat and cast you down into the beck."

"I should like to see him try to do it.  I am not so very strong,
but I am active as a cat.  I have no idea of being threatened."

"Then will you be coaxed?  I do implore you, for my sake, to go, or
it will be too late.  Never, never, will you see me again, unless
you do what I beseech of you."

"I will not stir one peg, unless you put your arms round my neck
and kiss me, and say that you will never have anybody else."

Insie blushed deeply, and her bright eyes flashed with passion not
of loving kind.  But it went to her heart that he was brave, and
that he loved her truly.  She flung her comely arms round his neck,
and touched her rosy lips with his; and before he could clasp her
she was gone, with no more comfort than these words:

"Now if you are a gentleman, you must go, and never come near this
place again."

Not a moment too soon he plunged into the gill, and hurried up its
winding course; but turning back at the corner, saw a sweet smile
in the distance, and a wave of the hand, that warmed his heart.



CHAPTER XXIII

LOVE MILITANT


So far so good.  But that noble and exalted condition of the
youthful mind which is to itself pure wisdom's zenith, but to folk
of coarse maturity and tough experience "calf-love," superior as it
is to words and reason, must be left to its own course.  The
settled resolve of a middle-aged man, with seven large-appetited
children, and an eighth approaching the shores of light, while
baby-linen too often transmitted betrays a transient texture, and
hose has ripened into holes, and breeches verify their name, and a
knock at the door knocks at the heart--the fixed resolution of such
a man to strike a bold stroke, for the sake of his home, is
worthier of attention than the flitting fancy of boy and girl, who
pop upon one another, and skip through zigzag vernal ecstasy, like
the weathery dalliance of gnats.

Lieutenant Carroway had dealt and done with amorous grace and
attitude, soaring rapture, and profundity of sigh, suspense (more
agonizing than suspension), despair, prostration, grinding of the
teeth, the hollow and spectral laugh of a heart forever broken, and
all the other symptoms of an annual bill of vitality; and every new
pledge of his affections sped him toward the pledge-shop.  But
never had he crossed that fatal threshold; the thought of his
uniform and dignity prevailed; and he was not so mean as to send a
child to do what the father was ashamed of.

So it was scarcely to be expected that even as a man he should
sympathize deeply with the tender passion, and far less, as a
coast-guardsman, with the wooing of a smuggler.  Master Robin Lyth,
by this time, was in the contraband condition known to the
authorities as love; Carroway had found out this fact; but instead
of indulging in generous emotion, he made up his mind to nab him
through it.  For he reasoned as follows; and granting that reason
has any business on such premises, the process does not seem amiss.

A man in love has only got one-eighth part of his wits at home to
govern the doings of his arms, legs, and tongue.  A large half is
occupied with his fancy, in all the wanderings of that creature,
dreamy, flimsy, anchoring with gossamer, climbing the sky with
steps of fog, cast into abysms (as great writers call it) by
imaginary demons, and even at its best in a queer condition,
pitiful, yet exceeding proud.  A quarter of the mental power is
employed in wanting to know what the other people think; an eighth
part ought to be dwelling upon the fair distracting object; and
only a small eighth can remain to attend to the business of the
solid day.  But in spite of all this, such lads get on about as
well as usual.  If Bacchus has a protective power, Venus has no
less of it, and possibly is more active, as behooves a female.

And surely it was a cold-blooded scheme, which even the Revenue
should have excised from an honest scale of duties, to catch a poor
fellow in the meshes of love, because he was too sharp otherwise.
This, however, was the large idea ripening in the breast of
Carroway.

"To-night I shall have him," he said to his wife, who was inditing
of softer things, her eighth confinement, and the shilling she had
laid that it would be a boy this time.  "The weather is stormy, yet
the fellow makes love between the showers in a barefaced way.  That
old fool of a tanner knows it, and has no more right feeling than
if he were a boy.  Aha, my Robin, fine robin as you are, I shall
catch you piping with your Jenny Wren tonight!"  The lieutenant
shared the popular ignorance of simplest natural history.

"Charles, you never should have told me of it.  Where is your
feeling for the days gone by?  And as for his coming between the
showers, what should I have thought of you if you had made a point
of bringing your umbrella?  My dear, it is wrong.  And I beg you,
for my sake, not to catch him with his true love, but only with his
tubs."

"Matilda, your mind is weakened by the coming trial of your nerves.
I would rather have him with his tubs, of course; they would set us
up for several years, and his silks would come in for your
churching.  But everything can not be as we desire.  And he carries
large pistols when he is not courting.  Do you wish me to be shot,
Matilda?"

"Captain Carroway, how little thought you have, to speak to me in
that way!  And I felt before dinner that I never should get over
it.  Oh, who would have the smugglers on her mind, at such a time?"

"My dear, I beg your pardon.  Pray exert your strength of mind, and
cast such thoughts away from you--or perhaps it will be a smuggler.
And yet if it were, how much better it would pay!"

"Then I hope it will, Charles; I heartily hope it will be.  It
would serve you quite right to be snaring your own son, after
snaring a poor youth through his sweetheart."

"Well, well, time will show.  Put me up the flat bottle, Tilly, and
the knuckle of pork that was left last night.  Goodness knows when
I shall be back; and I never like to rack my mind upon an empty
stomach."

The revenue officer had far to go, and was wise in providing
provender.  And the weather being on the fall toward the equinox,
and the tides running strong and uncertain, he had made up his mind
to fare inland, instead of attempting the watery ways.  He felt
that he could ride, as every sailor always feels; and he had a fine
horse upon hire from his butcher, which the king himself would pay
for.  The inferior men had been sent ahead on foot, with orders to
march along and hold their tongues.  And one of these men was John
Cadman, the self-same man who had descended the cliff without any
footpath.  They were all to be ready, with hanger and pistol, in a
hole toward Byrsa Cottage.

Lieutenant Carroway enjoyed his ride.  There are men to whom
excitement is an elevation of the sad and slow mind, which
otherwise seems to have nothing to do.  And what finer excitement
can a good mind have than in balancing the chances of its body
tumbling out of the saddle, and evicting its poor self?

The mind of Charles Carroway was wide awake to this, and tenderly
anxious about the bad foot in which its owner ended--because of the
importance of the stirrups--and all the sanguine vigor of the heart
(which seemed to like some thumping) conveyed to the seat of reason
little more than a wish to be well out of it.  The brave lieutenant
holding place, and sticking to it through a sense of duty, and of
the difficulty of getting off, remembered to have heard, when quite
a little boy, that a man who gazes steadily between his horse's
ears can not possibly tumble off the back.  The saying in its
wisdom is akin to that which describes the potency of salt upon a
sparrow's tail.

While Carroway gloomily pounded the road, with reflection a
dangerous luxury, things of even deeper interest took their course
at the goal of his endeavors.  Mary Anerley, still an exile in the
house of the tanner, by reason of her mother's strict coast-guard,
had long been thinking that more injustice is done in the world
than ought to be; and especially in the matter of free trade she
had imbibed lax opinions, which may not be abhorrent to a tanner's
nature, but were most unbecoming to the daughter of a farmer
orthodox upon his own land, and an officer of King's Fencibles.
But how did Mary make this change, and upon questions of public
policy chop sides, as quickly as a clever journal does?  She did it
in the way in which all women think, whose thoughts are of any
value, by allowing the heart to go to work, being the more active
organ, and create large scenery, into which the tempted mind must
follow.  To anybody whose life has been saved by anybody else,
there should arise not only a fine image of the preserver, but a
high sense of the service done to the universe, which must have
gone into deepest mourning if deprived of No. One.  And then,
almost of necessity, succeeds the investment of this benefactor to
the world at large with all the great qualities needed for an
exploit so stupendous.  He has done a great deed, he has proved
himself to be gallant, generous, magnanimous; shall I, who exist
through his grand nobility, listen to his very low enemies?
Therefore Robin was an angel now, and his persecutors must be
demons.

Captain Lyth had not been slow to enter into his good luck.  He
knew that Master Popplewell had a cultivated taste for rare old
schnapps, while the partner of his life, and labor, and repose,
possessed a desire for the finer kinds of lace.  Attending to these
points, he was always welcome; and the excellent couple encouraged
his affection and liberal goodwill toward them.  But Mary would
accept no presents from him, and behaved for a long time very
strangely, and as if she would rather keep out of his way.  Yet he
managed to keep on running after her, as much as she managed to run
away; for he had been down now into the hold of his heart,
searching it with a dark lantern, and there he had discovered
"Mary," "Mary," not only branded on the hullage of all things, but
the pith and pack of everything; and without any fraud upon
charter-party, the cargo entire was "Mary."

Who can tell what a young maid feels, when she herself is doubtful?
Somehow she has very large ideas, which only come up when she
begins to think; and too often, after some very little thing, she
exclaims that all is rubbish.  The key-note of her heart is high,
and a lot of things fall below harmony, and notably (if she is not
a stupe), some of her own dear love's expressions before she has
made up her soul to love him.  This is a hard time for almost any
man, who feels his random mind dipped into with a spirit-gauge and
a saccharometer.  But in spite of all these indications, Robin Lyth
stuck to himself, which is the right way to get credit for
sticking.

"Johnny, my dear," said Deborah Popplewell to her valued husband,
just about the time when bold Carroway was getting hot and sore
upon the Filey Road, yet steadily enlarging all the penance of
return, "things ought to be coming to a point, I think.  We ought
not to let them so be going on forever.  Young people like to be
married in the spring; the birds are singing, and the price of coal
goes down.  And they ought to be engaged six months at least.  We
were married in the spring, my dear, the Tuesday but one that comes
next from Easter-day.  There was no lilac out, but there ought to
have been, because it was not sunny.  And we have never repented
it, you know."

"Never as long as I live shall I forget that day," said Popplewell;
"they sent me home a suit of clothes as were made for kidney-bean
sticks.  I did want to look nice at church, and crack, crack, crack
they went, and out came all the lining.  Debby, I had good legs in
those days, and could crunch down bark like brewers' grains."

"And so you could now, my dear, every bit as well.  Scarcely any of
the young men have your legs.  How thankful we ought to be for
them--and teeth!  But everything seems to be different now, and
nobody has any dignity of mind.  We sowed broad beans, like a
pigeon's foot-tread, out and in, all the way to church."

"The folk can never do such things now; we must not expect it of
such times, my dear.  Five-and-forty years ago was ninety times
better than these days, Debby, except that you and I was steadfast,
and mean to be so to the end, God willing.  Lord! what are the
lasses that He makes now?"

"Johnny, they try to look their best; and we must not be hard upon
them.  Our Mary looks well enow, when she hath a color, though my
eyes might 'a been a brighter blue if I never hadn't took to
spectacles.  Johnny, I am sure a'most that she is in her love-time.
She crieth at night, which is nobody's business; the strings of her
night-cap run out of their starch; and there looks like a channel
on the pillow, though the sharp young hussy turns it upside down.
I shall be upsides with her, if you won't."

"Certainly it shall be left to you; you are the one to do it best.
You push her on, and I will stir him up.  I will smuggle some
schnapps into his tea to-night, to make him look up bolder; as mild
as any milk it is.  When I was taken with your cheeks, Debby, and
your bit of money, I was never that long in telling you."

"That's true enow, Johnny; you was sarcy.  But I'm thinking of the
trouble we may get into over at Anerley about it."

"I'll carry that, lass.  My back's as broad as Stephen's.  What
more can they want for her than a fine young fellow, a credit to
his business and the country?  Lord! how I hate them rough coast-
riders! it wouldn't be good for them to come here."

"Then they are here, I tell you, and much they care.  You seem to
me to have shut your eyes since ever you left off tanning.  How
many times have I told you, John, that a sneaking fellow hath got
in with Sue?  I saw him with my own eyes last night skulking past
the wicket-gate; and the girl's addle-pate is completely turned.
You think her such a wonder, that you won't hearken.  But I know
the women best, I do."

"Out of this house she goes, neck and crop, if what you say is
true, Deb.  Don't say it again, that's a kind, good soul; it spoils
my pipe to think of it."

Toward sundown Robin Lyth appeared, according to invitation.  Dandy
as he generally was, he looked unusually smart this time, with
snow-white ducks and a velvet waistcoat, pumps like a dressing-
glass, lace to his shirt, and a blue coat with gold buttons.  His
keen eyes glanced about for Mary, and sparkled as soon as she came
down; and when he took her hand she blushed, and was half afraid to
look at him; for she felt in her heart that he meant to say
something, if he could find occasion; but her heart did not tell
her what answer she would make, because of her father's grief and
wrath; so she tried to hope that nothing would be said, and she
kept very near her good aunt's apron-string.  Such tactics,
however, were doomed to defeat.  The host and hostess of Byrsa
Cottage were very proud of the tea they gave to any distinguished
visitor.  Tea was a luxury, being very dear, and although large
quantities were smuggled, the quality was not, like that of other
goods so imported, equal or superior to the fair legitimate staple.
And Robin, who never was shy of his profession, confessed that he
could not supply a cup so good.

"You shall come and have another out-of-doors, my friend," said his
entertainer, graciously.  "Mary, take the captain's cup to the
bower; the rain has cleared off, and the evening will be fine.  I
will smoke my pipe, and we will talk adventures.  Things have
happened to me that would make you stare, if I could bring myself
to tell them.  Ah yes, I have lived in stirring times.  Fifty years
ago men and women knew their minds; and a dog could eat his dinner
without a damask napkin."

Master Popplewell, who was of a good round form, and tucked his
heels over one another as he walked (which indicates a pleasant
self-esteem), now lit his long pipe and marched ahead, carefully
gazing to the front and far away; so that the young folk might have
free boot and free hand behind him.  That they should have flutters
of loving-kindness, and crafty little breaths of whispering, and
extraordinary gifts of just looking at each other in time not to be
looked at again, as well as a strange sort of in and out of
feeling, as if they were patterned with the same zigzag--as the
famous Herefordshire graft is made--and above all the rest, that
they should desire to have no one in the world to look at them, was
to be expected by a clever old codger, a tanner who had realized a
competence, and eaten many "tanner's pies."  The which is a good
thing; and so much the better because it costs nothing save the
crust and the coal.  But instead of any pretty little goings on
such as this worthy man made room for, to tell the stupid truth,
this lad and lass came down the long walk as far apart and as
independent of one another as two stakes of an espalier.  There had
not been a word gone amiss between them, nor even a thought the
wrong way of the grain; but the pressure of fear and of prickly
expectation was upon them both, and kept them mute.  The lad was
afraid that he would get "nay," and the lass was afraid that she
could not give it.

The bower was quite at the end of the garden, through and beyond
the pot-herb part, and upon a little bank which overhung a little
lane.  Here in this corner a good woman had contrived what women
nearly always understand the best, a little nook of pleasure and of
perfume, after the rank ranks of the kitchen-stuff.  Not that these
are to be disdained; far otherwise; they indeed are the real
business; and herein lies true test of skill.  But still the
flowers may declare that they do smell better.  And not only were
there flowers here, and little shrubs planted sprucely, but also
good grass, which is always softness, and soothes the impatient
eyes of men.  And on this grass there stood, or hung, or flowered,
or did whatever it was meant to do, a beautiful weeping-ash, the
only one anywhere in that neighborhood.

"I can't look at skies, and that--have seen too many of them.  You
young folk, go and chirp under the tree.  What I want is a little
rum and water."

With these words the tanner went into his bower, where he kept a
good store of materials in moss; and the plaited ivy of the narrow
entrance shook with his voice, and steps, and the decision of his
thoughts.  For he wanted to see things come to a point, and his
only way to do it was to get quite out of sight.  Such fools the
young people of the age were now!

While his thoughts were such, or scarcely any better, his partner
in life came down the walk, with a heap of little things which she
thought needful for the preservation of the tanner, and she waddled
a little and turned her toes out, for she as well was roundish.

"Ah, you ought to have Sue.  Where is Sue?" said Master Popplewell.
"Now come you in out of the way of the wind, Debby; you know how
your back-sinew ached with the darning before last wash."

Mrs. Popplewell grumbled, but obeyed; for she saw that her lord had
his reasons.  So Mary and Robin were left outside, quite as if they
were nothing to any but themselves.  Mary was aware of all this
manoeuvring, and it brought a little frown upon her pretty
forehead, as if she were cast before the feet of Robin Lyth; but
her gentleness prevailed, because they meant her well.  Under the
weeping-ash there was a little seat, and the beauty of it was that
it would not hold two people.  She sat down upon it, and became
absorbed in the clouds that were busy with the sunset.

These were very beautiful, as they so often are in the broken
weather of the autumn; but sailors would rather see fair sky, and
Robin's fair heaven was in Mary's eyes.  At these he gazed with a
natural desire to learn what the symptoms of the weather were; but
it seemed as if little could be made out there, because everything
seemed so lofty: perhaps Mary had forgotten his existence.

Could any lad of wax put up with this, least of all a daring
mariner?  He resolved to run the cargo of his heart right in, at
the risk of all breakers and drawn cutlasses; and to make a good
beginning he came up and took her hand.  The tanner in the bower
gave approval with a cough, like Cupid with a sneeze; then he
turned it to a snore.

"Mary, why do you carry on like this?" the smuggler inquired, in a
very gentle voice.  "I have done nothing to offend you, have I?
That would be the last thing I would ever do."

"Captain Lyth, you are always very good; you never should think
such things of me.  I am just looking at a particular cloud.  And
who ever said that you might call me 'Mary'?"

"Perhaps the particular cloud said so; but you must have been the
cloud yourself, for you told me only yesterday."

"Then I will never say another word about it; but people should not
take advantage."

"Who are people?  How you talk! quite as if I were somebody you
never saw before.  I should like you just to look round now, and
let me see why you are so different from yourself."

Mary Anerley looked round; for she always did what people liked,
without good reason otherwise; and if her mind was full of clouds,
her eyes had little sign of them.

"You look as lovely as you always do," said the smuggler, growing
bolder as she looked at something else.  "You know long ago what my
opinion of you is, and yet you seem to take no notice.  Now I must
be off, as you know, to-night; not for any reason of my own, as I
told you yesterday, but to carry out a contract.  I may not see you
for many months again; and you may fall in love with a Preventive
man."

"I never fall in love with anybody.  Why should I go from one
extreme to the other?  Captain Carroway has seven children, as well
as a very active wife."

"I am not afraid of Carroway, in love or in war.  He is an honest
fellow, with no more brains than this ash-tree over us.  I mean the
dashing captains who come in with their cutters, and would carry
you off as soon as look."

"Captain Lyth, you are not at all considering what you say: those
officers do not want me--they want you."

"Then they shall get neither; they may trust me for that.  But,
Mary, do tell me how your heart is; you know well how mine has been
for ever such a time.  I tell you downright that I have thought of
girls before--"

"Oh, I was not at all aware of that; surely you had better go on
with thinking of them."

"You have not heard me out.  I have only thought of them; nothing
more than thinking, in a foolish sort of way.  But of you I do not
think; I seem to feel you all through me."

"What sort of a sensation do I seem to be?  A foolish one, I
suppose, like all those many others."

"No, not at all.  A very wise one; a regular knowledge that I can
not live without you; a certainty that I could only mope about a
little--"

"And not run any more cargoes on the coast?"

"Not a single tub, nor a quarter bale of silk; except, of course,
what is under contract now; and, if you should tell me that you can
not care about me--"

"Hush!  I am almost sure that I hear footsteps.  Listen, just a
moment."

"No, I will not listen to any one in the world but you.  I beg you
not to try to put me off.  Think of the winter, and the long time
coming; say if you will think of me.  I must allow that I am not,
like you, of a respectable old family.  The Lord alone knows where
I came from, or where I may go to.  My business is a random and up-
and-down one, but no one can call it disreputable; and if you went
against it, I would throw it up.  There are plenty of trades that I
can turn my hand to; and I will turn it to anything you please, if
you will only put yours inside it.  Mary, only let me have your
hand; and you need not say anything unless you like."

"But I always do like to say something, when things are brought
before me so.  I have to consider my father, and my mother, and
others belonging to me.  It is not as if I were all alone, and
could do exactly as I pleased.  My father bears an ill-will toward
free trade; and my mother has made bad bargains, when she felt sure
of very good ones."

"I know that there are rogues about," Robin answered, with a
judicial frown; "but foul play never should hurt fair play; and we
haul them through the water when we catch them.  Your father is
terribly particular, I know, and that is the worst thing there can
be; but I do not care a groat for all objections, Mary, unless the
objection begins with you.  I am sure by your eyes, and your pretty
lips and forehead, that you are not the one to change.  If once any
lucky fellow wins your heart, he will have it--unless he is a fool--
forever.  I can do most things, but not that, or you never would
be thinking about the other people.  What would anybody be to me in
comparison with you, if I only had the chance?  I would kick them
all to Jericho.  Can you see it in that way? can you get hot every
time you think of me?"

"Really," said Mary, looking very gently at him, because of his
serious excitement, "you are very good, and very brave, and have
done wonders for me; but why should I get hot?"

"No, I suppose it is not to be expected.  When I am in great peril
I grow hot, and tingle, and am alive all over.  Men of a loftier
courage grow cold; it depends upon the constitution; but I enjoy it
more than they do, and I can see things ten times quicker.  Oh, how
I wish I was Nelson! how he must enjoy himself!"

"But if you have love of continual danger, and eagerness to be
always at it," said Mary, with wide Yorkshire sense, much as she
admired this heroic type, "the proper thing for you to do is to
lead a single life.  You might be enjoying all the danger very
much; but what would your wife at home be doing?  Only to knit, and
sigh, and lie awake."

Mary made a bad hit here.  This picture was not at all deterrent;
so daring are young men, and so selfish.

"Nothing of that sort should ever come to pass," cried Robin, with
the gaze of the head of a household, "supposing only that my wife
was you.  I would be home regularly every night before the kitchen
clock struck eight.  I would always come home with an appetite, and
kiss you, and do both my feet upon the scraper.  I would ask how
the baby was, and carry him about, and go 'one, two, three,' as the
nurses do, I would quite leave the government to put on taxes, and
pay them--if I could--without a word of grumble.  I would keep
every rope about the house in order, as only a sailor knows how to
do, and fettle my own mending, and carry out my orders, and never
meddle with the kitchen, at least unless my opinion was sought for
concerning any little thing that might happen to be meant for me."

"Well," exclaimed Mary, "you quite take my breath away.  I had no
idea that you were so clever.  In return for all these wonders,
what should poor I have to do?"

"Poor I would only have to say just once, 'Robin, I will have you,
and begin to try to love you.'"

"I am afraid that it has been done long ago; and the thing that I
ought to do is to try and help it."

What happened upon this it would be needless to report, and not
only needless, but a vast deal worse--shabby, interloping,
meddlesome and mean, undignified, unmanly, and disreputably low;
for even the tanner and his wife (who must have had right to come
forward, if anybody had) felt that their right was a shadow, and
kept back as if they were a hundred miles away, and took one
another by the hand and nodded, as much as to say:  "You remember
how we did it; better than that, my dear.  Here is your good
health."

This being so, and the time so sacred to the higher emotions, even
the boldest intruder should endeavor to check his ardor for
intrusion.  Without any inkling of Preventive Force, Robin and
Mary, having once done away with all that stood between them, found
it very difficult to be too near together; because of all the many
things that each had for to say.  They seemed to get into an unwise
condition of longing to know matters that surely could not matter.
When did each of them first feel sure of being meant only for the
other nobler one?  At first sight, of course, and with a perfect
gift of seeing how much loftier each was than the other; and what
an extraordinary fact it was that in everything imaginable they
were quite alike, except in the palpable certainty possessed by
each of the betterness of the other.  What an age it seemed since
first they met, positively without thinking, and in the very middle
of a skirmish, yet with a remarkable drawing out of perceptions one
anotherward!  Did Mary feel this, when she acted so cleverly, and
led away those vile pursuers? and did Robin, when his breath came
back, discover why his heart was glowing in the rabbit-hole?
Questions of such depth can not be fathomed in a moment; and even
to attempt to do any justice to them, heads must be very long laid
together.  Not only so, but also it is of prime necessity to make
sure that every whisper goes into the proper ear, and abides there
only, and every subtlety of glance, and every nicety of touch, gets
warm with exclusive reciprocity.  It is not too much to say that in
so sad a gladness the faculties of self-preservation are weak, when
they ought to be most active; therefore it should surprise nobody
(except those who are so far above all surprise) to become aware
that every word they said, and everything (even doubly sacred) that
they did, was well entered into, and thoroughly enjoyed, by a
liberal audience of family-minded men, who had been through pretty
scenes like this, and quietly enjoyed dry memory.

Cadman, Ellis, and Dick Hackerbody were in comfortable places of
retirement, just under the combing of the hedge; all waiting for a
whistle, yet at leisure to enjoy the whisper, the murmur, or even
the sigh, of a genuine piece of "sweet-hearting."  Unjust as it may
be, and hard, and truly narrow, there does exist in the human mind,
or at least in the masculine half of it, a strong conviction that a
man in love is a man in a scrape, in a hole, in a pitfall, in a
pitiful condition, untrue for the moment to the brotherhood of man,
and cast down among the inferior vessels.  And instead of being
sorry for him, those who are all right look down, and glory over
him, with very ancient gibes.  So these three men, instead of being
touched at heart by soft confessions, laid hard hands to wrinkled
noses.

"Mary, I vow to you, as I stand here," said Robin, for the fiftieth
time, leading her nearer to the treacherous hedge, as he pressed
her trembling hand, and gazed with deep ecstasy into her truthful
eyes, "I will live only to deserve you, darling.  I will give up
everything and everybody in the world, and start afresh.  I will
pay king's duty upon every single tub; and set up in the tea and
spirit line, with his Majesty's arms upon the lintel.  I will take
a large contract for the royal navy, who never get anything
genuine, and not one of them ever knows good from bad--"

"That's a dirty lie, Sir.  In the king's name I arrest you."

Lieutenant Carroway leaped before them, flourishing a long sword,
and dancing with excitement, in this the supreme moment of his
life.  At the same instant three men came bursting through the
hedge, drew hangers, and waited for orders.  Robin Lyth, in the
midst of his love, was so amazed, that he stood like a boy under
orders to be caned.

"Surrender, Sir!  Down with your arms; you are my prisoner.  Strike
to his Majesty.  Hands to your side! or I run you through like Jack
Robinson!  Keep back, men.  He belongs to me."

But Carroway counted his chicks too soon; or at any rate he
overlooked a little chick.  For while he was making fine passes
(having learned the rudiments of swordsmanship beyond other British
officers), and just as he was executing a splendid flourish, upon
his bony breast lay Mary.  She flung her arms round him, so that
move he could not without grievously tearing her; and she managed,
in a very wicked way, to throw the whole weight of two bodies on
his wounded heel.  A flash of pain shot up to his very sword; and
down he went, with Mary to protect him, or at any rate to cover
him.  His three men, like true Britons, stood in position, and
waited for their officer to get up and give orders.

These three men showed such perfect discipline that Robin was
invited to knock them down, as if they had simply been three
skittles in a row; he recovered his presence of mind and did it;
and looking back at Mary, received signal to be off.  Perceiving
that his brave love would take no harm--for the tanner was come
forth blustering loudly, and Mrs. Popplewell with shrieks and
screams enough to prevent the whole Preventive Service--the free-
trader kissed his hand to Mary, and was lost through the bushes,
and away into the dark.



CHAPTER XXIV

LOVE PENITENT


"I tell you, Captain Anerley, that she knocked me down.  Your
daughter there, who looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth,
knocked down Commander Carroway of his Majesty's coastguard, like a
royal Bengal tiger, Sir.  I am not come to complain; such an action
I would scorn; and I admire the young lady for her spirit, Sir.
My sword was drawn; no man could have come near me; but before
I could think, Sir, I was lying on my back.  Do you call that
constitutional?"

"Mary, lof, however could you think it--to knock down Captain
Carroway?"

"Father, I never did.  He went down of himself, because he was
flourishing about so.  I never thought what I was doing of at all.
And with all my heart I beg his pardon.  What right had you, Sir,
to come spying after me?"

This interview was not of the common sort.  Lieutenant Carroway, in
full uniform, was come to Anerley Farm that afternoon; not for a
moment to complain of Mary, but to do his duty, and to put things
straight; while Mary had insisted upon going home at once from the
hospitable house of Uncle Popplewell, who had also insisted upon
going with her, and taking his wife to help the situation.

A council had been called immediately, with Mistress Anerley
presiding; and before it had got beyond the crying stage, in
marched the brave lieutenant.

Stephen Anerley was reserving his opinion--which generally means
that there is none yet to reserve--but in his case there would be a
great deal by-and-by.  Master Popplewell had made up his mind and
his wife's, long ago, and confirmed it in the one-horse shay, while
Mary was riding Lord Keppel in the rear; and the mind of the tanner
was as tough as good oak bark.  His premises had been intruded
upon--the property which he had bought with his own money saved by
years of honest trade, his private garden, his ornamental bower,
his wife's own pleasure-plot, at a sacred moment invaded, trampled,
and outraged by a scurvy preventive-man and his low crew.  The
first thing he had done to the prostrate Carroway was to lay hold
of him by the collar, and shake his fist at him and demand his
warrant--a magistrate's warrant, or from the crown itself.  The
poor lieutenant having none to show, "Then I will have the law of
you, Sir," the tanner shouted; "if it costs me two hundred and
fifty pounds.  I am known for a man, Sir, who sticks to his word;
and my attorney is a genuine bulldog."

This had frightened Carroway more than fifty broadsides.  Truly he
loved fighting; but the boldest sailor bears away at prospect of an
action at law.  Popplewell saw this, and stuck to his advantage,
and vowed, until bed-time, satisfaction he would have; and never
lost the sight of it until he fell asleep.

Even now it was in his mind, as Carroway could see; his eyebrows
meant it, and his very surly nod, and the way in which he put his
hands far down into his pockets.  The poor lieutenant, being well
aware that zeal had exceeded duty (without the golden amnesty of
success), and finding out that Popplewell was rich and had no
children, did his very best to look with real pleasure at him, and
try to raise a loftier feeling in his breast than damages.  But the
tanner only frowned, and squared his elbows, and stuck his knuckles
sharply out of both his breeches pockets.  And Mrs. Popplewell,
like a fat and most kind-hearted lady, stared at the officer as if
she longed to choke him.

"I tell you again, Captain Anerley," cried the lieutenant, with his
temper kindling, "that no consideration moved me, Sir, except that
of duty.  As for my spying after any pretty girls, my wife, who is
now down with her eighth baby, would get up sooner than hear of it.
If I intruded upon your daughter, so as to justify her in knocking
me down, Captain Anerley, it was because--well I won't say, Mary, I
won't say; we have all been young; and our place is to know
better."

"Sir, you are a gentleman," cried Popplewell with heat; "here is my
hand, and you may trespass on my premises, without bringing any
attorney."

"Did you say her eighth baby?  Oh, Commander Carroway," Mrs.
Popplewell began to whisper; "what a most interesting situation!
Oh, I see why you have such high color, Sir."

"Madam, it is enough to make me pale.  At the same time I do like
sympathy; and my dear wife loves the smell of tan."

"We have retired, Sir, many years ago, and purchased a property
near the seaside; and from the front gate you must have seen--But
oh, I forgot, captain, you came through the hedge, or at any rate
down the row of kidney-beans."

"I want to know the truth," shouted Stephen Anerley, who had been
ploughing through his brow into his brain, while he kept his eyes
fixed upon his daughter's, and there found abashment, but no
abasement; "naught have I to do with any little goings on, or
whether an action was a gentleman's or not.  That question belongs
to the regulars, I wand, or to the folk who have retired.  Nobbut a
farmer am I, in little business; but concerning of my children I
will have my say.  All of you tell me what is this about my Mary."

As if he would drag their thoughts out of them, he went from one to
another with a hard quick glance, which they all tried to shun; for
they did not want to tell until he should get into a better frame
of mind.  And they looked at Mistress Anerley, to come forth and
take his edge off; but she knew that when his eyes were so, to
interfere was mischief.  But Carroway did not understand the man.

"Come, now, Anerley," the bold lieutenant said; "what are you
getting into such a way about?  I would sooner have lost the
hundred pounds twice over, and a hundred of my own--if so be I ever
had it--than get little Mary into such a row as this.  Why, Lord
bless my heart, one would think that there was murder in a little
bit of sweethearting.  All pretty girls do it; and the plain ones
too.  Come and smoke a pipe, my good fellow, and don't terrify
her."

For Mary was sobbing in a corner by herself, without even her
mother to come up and say a word.

"My daughter never does it," answered Stephen Anerley; "my daughter
is not like the foolish girls and women.  My daughter knows her
mind; and what she does she means to do.  Mary, lof, come to your
father, and tell him that every one is lying of you.  Sooner would
I trust a single quiet word of yours, than a pile, as big as
Flambro Head, sworn by all the world together against my little
Mary."

The rest of them, though much aggrieved by such a bitter calumny,
held their peace, and let him go with open arms toward his Mary.
The farmer smiled, that his daughter might not have any terror of
his public talk; and because he was heartily expecting her to come
and tell him some trifle, and be comforted, and then go for a good
happy cry, while he shut off all her enemies.

But instead of any nice work of that nature, Mary Anerley arose and
looked at the people in the room--which was their very best, and by
no means badly furnished--and after trying to make out, as a very
trifling matter, what their unsettled minds might be, her eyes came
home to her father's, and did not flinch, although they were so
wet.

Master Anerley, once and forever, knew that his daughter was gone
from him.  That a stronger love than one generation can have for
the one before it--pure and devoted and ennobling as that love is--
now had arisen, and would force its way.  He did not think it out
like that, for his mind was not strictly analytic--however his
ideas were to that effect, which is all that need be said about
them.

"Every word of it is true," the girl said, gently; "father, I have
done every word of what they say, except about knocking down
Captain Carroway.  I have promised to marry Robin Lyth, by-and-by,
when you agree to it."

Stephen Anerley's ruddy cheeks grew pale, and his blue eyes
glittered with amazement.  He stared at his daughter till her gaze
gave way; and then he turned to his wife, to see whether she had
heard of it.  "I told you so," was all she said; and that tended
little to comfort him.  But he broke forth into no passion, as he
might have done with justice and some benefit, but turned back
quietly and looked at his Mary, as if he were saying, once for all,
"good-by."

"Oh, don't, father, don't," the girl answered with a sob; "revile
me, or beat me, or do anything but that.  That is more than I can
bear."

"Have I ever reviled you?  Have I ever beaten you?"

"Never--never once in all my life.  But I beg you--I implore of you
to do it now.  Oh, father, perhaps I have deserved it."

"You know best what you deserve.  But no bad word shall you have of
me.  Only you must be careful for the future never to call me
'father.'"

The farmer forgot all his visitors, and walked, without looking at
anybody, toward the porch.  Then that hospitable spot re-awakened
his good manners, and he turned and smiled as if he saw them all
sitting down to something juicy.

"My good friends, make yourselves at home," he said; "the mistress
will see to you while I look round.  I shall be back directly, and
we will have an early supper."

But when he got outside, and was alone with earth and sky, big
tears arose into his brave blue eyes, and he looked at his ricks,
and his workmen in the distance, and even at the favorite old horse
that whinnied and came to have his white nose rubbed, as if none of
them belonged to him ever any more.  "A' would sooner have heard of
broken bank," he muttered to himself and to the ancient horse,
"fifty times sooner, and begin the world anew, only to have Mary
for a little child again."

As the sound of his footsteps died away, the girl hurried out of
the room, as if she were going to run after him; but suddenly
stopped in the porch, as she saw that he scarcely even cared to
feel the cheek of Lightfoot, who made a point of rubbing up his
master's whiskers with it, "Better wait, and let him come round,"
thought Mary; "I never did see him so put out."  Then she ran up
the stairs to the window on the landing, and watched her dear
father grow dimmer and dimmer up the distance of the hill, with a
bright young tear for every sad old step.



CHAPTER XXV

DOWN AMONG THE DEAD WEEDS


Can it be supposed that all this time Master Geoffrey Mordacks, of
the city of York, land agent, surveyor, and general factor, and
maker and doer of everything whether general or particular, was
spending his days in doing nothing, and his nights in dreaming?  If
so, he must have had a sunstroke on that very bright day of the
year when he stirred up the minds of the washer-women, and the
tongue of Widow Precious.  But Flamborough is not at all the place
for sunstroke, although it reflects so much in whitewash; neither
had Mordacks the head to be sunstruck, but a hard, impenetrable,
wiry poll, as weather-proof as felt asphalted.  At first sight
almost everybody said that he must have been a soldier, at a time
when soldiers were made of iron, whalebone, whip-cord, and ramrods.
Such opinions he rewarded with a grin, and shook his straight
shoulders straighter.  If pride of any sort was not beneath him, as
a matter of strict business, it was the pride which he allowed his
friends to take in his military figure and aspect.

This gentleman's place of business was scarcely equal to the
expectations which might have been formed from a view of the owner.
The old King's Staith, on the right hand after crossing Ouse Bridge
from the Micklegate, is a passageway scarcely to be called a
street, but combining the features of an alley, a lane, a jetty, a
quay, and a barge-walk, and ending ignominiously.  Nevertheless, it
is a lively place sometimes, and in moments of excitement.  Also it
is a good place for business, and for brogue of the broadest; and a
man who is unable to be happy there, must have something on his
mind unusual.  Geoffrey Mordacks had nothing on his mind except
other people's business; which (as in the case of Lawyer
Jellicorse) is a very favorable state of the human constitution for
happiness.

But though Mr. Mordacks attended so to other people's business, he
would not have anybody to attend to his.  No partner, no clerk, no
pupil, had a hand in the inner breast pockets of his business;
there was nothing mysterious about his work, but he liked to follow
it out alone.  Things that were honest and wise came to him to be
carried out with judgment; and he knew that the best way to carry
them out is to act with discreet candor.  For the slug shall be
known by his slime; and the spider who shams death shall receive
it.

Now here, upon a very sad November afternoon, when the Northern day
was narrowing in; and the Ouse, which is usually of a ginger-color,
was nearly as dark as a nutmeg; and the bridge, and the staith, and
the houses, and the people, resembled one another in tint and tone;
while between the Minster and the Clifford Tower there was not much
difference of outline--here and now Master Geoffrey Mordacks was
sitting in the little room where strangers were received.  The live
part of his household consisted of his daughter, and a very young
Geoffrey, who did more harm than good, and a thoroughly hard-
working country maid, whose slowness was gradually giving way to
pressure.

The weather was enough to make anybody dull, and the sap of every
human thing insipid; and the time of day suggested tea, hot cakes,
and the crossing of comfortable legs.  Mordacks could well afford
all these good things, and he never was hard upon his family; but
every day he liked to feel that he had earned the bread of it, and
this day he had labored without seeming to earn anything.  For
after all the ordinary business of the morning, he had been
devoting several hours to the diligent revisal of his premises and
data, in a matter which he was resolved to carry through, both for
his credit and his interest.  And this was the matter which had
cost him two days' ride, from York to Flamborough, and three days
on the road home, as was natural after such a dinner as he made in
little Denmark.  But all that trouble he would not have minded,
especially after his enjoyment of the place, if it had only borne
good fruit.  He had felt quite certain that it must do this, and
that he would have to pay another visit to the Head, and eat
another duck, and have a flirt with Widow Precious.

But up to the present time nothing had come of it, and so far as he
could see he might just as well have spared himself that long rough
ride.  Three months had passed, and that surely was enough for even
Flamborough folk to do something, if they ever meant to do it.  It
was plain that he had been misled for once, that what he suspected
had not come to pass, and that he must seek elsewhere the light
which had gleamed upon him vainly from the Danish town.  To this
end he went through all his case again, while hope (being very hard
to beat, as usual) kept on rambling over everything unsettled, with
a very sage conviction that there must be something there, and
doubly sure, because there was no sign of it.

Men at the time of life which he had reached, conducting their
bodies with less suppleness of joint, and administering food to
them with greater care, begin to have doubts about their intellect
as well, whether it can work as briskly as it used to do.  And the
mind, falling under this discouragement of doubt, asserts itself
amiss, in making futile strokes, even as a gardener can never work
his best while conscious of suspicious glances through the window-
blinds.  Geoffrey Mordacks told himself that it could not be the
self it used to be, in the days when no mistakes were made, but
everything was evident at half a glance, and carried out
successfully with only half a hand.  In this Flamborough matter he
had felt no doubt of running triumphantly through, and being
crowned with five hundred pounds in one issue of the case, and five
thousand in the other.  But lo! here was nothing.  And he must
reply, by the next mail, that he had made a sad mistake.

Suddenly, while he was rubbing his wiry head with irritation, and
poring over his letters for some clew, like a dunce going back
through his pot-hooks, suddenly a great knock sounded through the
house--one, two, three--like the thumping of a mallet on a cask, to
learn whether any beer may still be hoped for.

"This must be a Flamborough man," cried Master Mordacks, jumping
up; "that is how I heard them do it; they knock the doors, instead
of knocking at them.  It would be a very strange thing just now if
news were to come from Flamborough; but the stranger a thing is,
the more it can be trusted, as often is the case with human beings.
Whoever it is, show them up at once," he shouted down the narrow
stairs; for no small noise was arising in the passage.

"A' canna coom oop.  I wand a' canna," was the answer in Kitty's
well-known brogue; "how can a', when a' hanna got naa legs?"

"Oh ho!  I see," said Mr. Mordacks to himself; "my veteran friend
from the watch-tower, doubtless.  A man with no legs would not have
come so far for nothing.  Show the gentleman into the parlor,
Kitty; and Miss Arabella may bring her work up here."

The general factor, though eager for the news, knew better than to
show any haste about it; so he kept the old mariner just long
enough in waiting to damp a too covetous ardor, and then he
complacently locked Arabella in her bedroom, and bolted off Kitty
in the basement; because they both were sadly inquisitive, and this
strange arrival had excited them,

"Ah, mine ancient friend of the tower!  Veteran Joseph, if my
memory is right," Mr. Mordacks exclaimed, in his lively way, as he
went up and offered the old tar both hands, to seat him in state
upon the sofa; but the legless sailor condemned "them swabs," and
crutched himself into a hard-bottomed chair.  Then he pulled off
his hat, and wiped his white head with a shred of old flag, and
began hunting for his pipe.

"First time I ever was in York city; and don't think much of it, if
this here is a sample."

"Joseph, you must not be supercilious," his host replied, with an
amiable smile; "you will see things better through a glass of grog;
and the state of the weather points to something dark.  You have
had a long journey, and the scenery is new.  Rum shall it be, my
friend?  Your countenance says 'yes.'  Rum, like a ruby of the
finest water, have I; and no water shall you have with it.  Said I
well?  A man without legs must keep himself well above water."

"First time I ever was in York city," the ancient watchman
answered, "and grog must be done as they does it here.  A berth on
them old walls would suit me well; and no need to travel such a
distance for my beer."

"And you would be the man of all the world for such a berth," said
Master Mordacks, gravely, as he poured the sparkling liquor into a
glass that was really a tumbler; "for such a post we want a man who
is himself a post; a man who will not quit his duty, just because
he can not, which is the only way of making sure.  Joseph, your
idea is a very good one, and your beer could be brought to you at
the middle of each watch.  I have interest; you shall be
appointed."

"Sir, I am obligated to you," said the watchman; "but never could I
live a month without a wink of sea-stuff.  The coming of the
clouds, and the dipping of the land, and the waiting of the
distance for what may come to be in it; let alone how they goes
changing of their color, and making of a noise that is always out
of sight: it is the very same as my beer is to me.  Master, I never
could get on without it."

"Well, I can understand a thing like that," Mordacks answered,
graciously; "my water-butt leaked for three weeks, pat, pat, all
night long upon a piece of slate, and when a man came and caulked
it up, I put all the blame upon the pillow; but the pillow was as
good as ever.  Not a wink could I sleep till it began to leak
again; and you may trust a York workman that it wasn't very long.
But, Joseph, I have interest at Scarborough also.  The castle needs
a watchman for fear of tumbling down; and that is not the soldiers'
business, because they are inside.  There you could have quantities
of sea-stuff, my good friend; and the tap at the Hooked Cod is
nothing to it there.  Cheer up, Joseph, we will land you yet.  How
the devil did you manage, now, to come so far?"

"Well, now, your honor, I had rare luck for it, as I must say, ever
since I set eyes on you.  There comes a son of mine as I thought
were lost at sea; but not he, blow me! nearly all of him come back,
with a handful of guineas, and the memory of his father.  Lord! I
could have cried; and he up and blubbered fairly, a trick as he
learned from ten Frenchmen he had killed.  Ah! he have done his
work well, and aimed a good conduck--fourpence-halfpenny a day, so
long as ever he shall live hereafter."

"In this world you mean, I suppose, my friend; but be not overcome;
such things will happen.  But what did you do with all that money,
Joseph?"

"We never wasted none of it, not half a groat, Sir.  We finished
out the cellar at the Hooked Cod first; and when Mother Precious
made a grumble of it, we gave her the money for to fill it up
again, upon the understanding to come back when it was ready; and
then we went to Burlington, and spent the rest in poshays like two
gentlemen; and when we was down upon our stumps at last, for only
one leg there is between us both, your honor, my boy he ups and
makes a rummage in his traps; which the Lord he put it into his
mind to do so, when he were gone a few good sheets in the wind; and
there sure enough he finds five good guineas in the tail of an old
hankercher he had clean forgotten; and he says, 'Now, father, you
take care of them.  Let us go and see the capital, and that good
gentleman, as you have picked up a bit of news for.'  So we shaped
a course for York, on board the schooner Mary Anne, and from Goole
in a barge as far as this here bridge; and here we are, high and
dry, your honor.  I was half a mind to bring in my boy Bob; but he
saith, 'Not without the old chap axes;' and being such a noisy one,
I took him at his word; though he hath found out what there was to
find--not me."

"How noble a thing is parental love!" cried the general factor, in
his hard, short way, which made many people trust him, because it
was unpleasant; "and filial duty of unfathomable grog!  Worthy
Joseph, let your narrative proceed."

"They big words is beyond me, Sir.  What use is any man to talk
over a chap's head?"

"Then, dash your eyes, go on, Joe.  Can you understand that, now?"

"Yes, Sir, I can, and I likes a thing put sensible.  If the
gentlemen would always speak like that, there need be no difference
atween us.  Well, it was all along of all that money-bag of Bob's
that he and I found out anything.  What good were your guinea?  Who
could stand treat on that more than a night or two, and the right
man never near you?  But when you keep a good shop open for a
month, as Bob and me did with Widow Tapsy, it standeth to reason
that you must have everybody, to be called at all respectable, for
miles and miles around.  For the first few nights or so some on 'em
holds off--for an old chalk against them, or for doubt of what is
forrard, or for cowardliness of their wives, or things they may
have sworn to stop, or other bad manners.  But only go on a little
longer, and let them see that you don't care, and send everybody
home a-singing through the lanes as merry as a voting-time for
Parliament, and the outer ones begins to shake their heads, and to
say that they are bound to go, and stop the racket of it.  And so
you get them all, your honor, saints as well as sinners, if you
only keeps the tap turned long enough."

"Your reasoning is ingenious, Joseph, and shows a deep knowledge of
human nature.  But who was this tardy saint that came at last for
grog?"

"Your honor, he were as big a sinner as ever you clap eyes on.  Me
and my son was among the sawdust, spite of our three crutches, and
he spreading hands at us, sober as a judge, for lumps of ungenerous
iniquity.  Mother Tapsy told us of it, the very next day, for it
was not in our power to be ackirate when he done it, and we see
everybody laffing at us round the corner.  But we took the wind out
of his sails the next night, captain, you may warrant us.  Here's
to your good health, Sir, afore I beats to win'ard."

"Why, Joseph, you seem to be making up lost way for years of
taciturnity in the tower.  They say there is a balance in all
things."

"We had the balance of him next night, and no mistake, your honor.
He was one of them 'longshore beggars as turns up here, there, and
everywhere, galley-raking, like a stinking ray-fish when the tide
goes out; thundering scoundrels that make a living of it, pushing
out for roguery with their legs tucked up; no courage for
smuggling, nor honest enough, they goes on anyhow with their
children paid for.  We found out what he were, and made us more
ashamed, for such a sneaking rat to preach upon us, like a regular
hordinated chaplain, as might say a word or two and mean no harm,
with the license of the Lord to do it.  So my son Bob and me called
a court-martial in the old tower, so soon as we come round; and we
had a red herring, because we was thirsty, and we chawed a bit of
pigtail to keep it down.  At first we was glum; but we got our
peckers up, as a family is bound to do when they comes together.
My son Bob was a sharp lad in his time, and could read in Holy
Scripter afore he chewed a quid; and I see'd a good deal of it in
his mind now, remembering of King Solomon.  'Dad,' he says, 'fetch
out that bottle as was left of French white brandy, and rouse up a
bit of fire in the old port-hole.  We ain't got many toes to warm
between us'--only five, you see, your worship--'but,' says he,
'we'll warm up the currents where they used to be.'

"According to what my son said, I done; for he leadeth me now,
being younger of the two, and still using half of a shoemaker.
However, I says to him, 'Warm yourself; it don't lay in my power to
do that for you.'  He never said nothing; for he taketh after me,
in tongue and other likings; but he up with the kettle on the fire,
and put in about a fathom and a half of pigtail.  'So?' says I; and
he says, 'So!' and we both of us began to laugh, as long and as
gentle as a pair of cockles, with their tongues inside their
shells.

"Well, your honor understands; I never spake so much before since
ever I pass my coorting-time.  We boiled down the pigtail to a pint
of tidy soup, and strained it as bright as sturgeon juice; then we
got a bottle with 'Navy Supply' on a bull's-eye in the belly of it;
and we filled it with the French white brandy, and the pigtail
soup, and a noggin of molasses, and shook it all up well together;
and a better contract-rum, your honor, never come into high
admiral's stores."

"But, Joseph, good Joseph," cried Mr. Mordacks, "do forge ahead a
little faster.  Your private feelings, and the manufacture of them,
are highly interesting to you; but I only want to know what came of
it."

"Your honor is like a child hearing of a story; you wants the end
first, and the middle of it after; but I bowls along with a hitch
and a squirt, from habit of fo'castle: and the more you crosses
hawse, the wider I shall head about, or down helm and bear off,
mayhap.  I can hear my Bob a-singing: what a voice he hath!  They
tell me it cometh from the timber of his leg; the same as a old
Cremony.  He tuned up a many times in yonder old barge, and shook
the brown water, like a frigate's wake.  He would just make our
fortin in the Minister, they said, with Black-eyed Susan and Tom
Bowline."

"Truly, he has a magnificent voice: what power, what compass, what
a rich clear tone!  In spite of the fog I will have the window up."

Geoffrey Mordacks loved good singing, the grandest of all melody,
and, impatient as he was, he forgot all hurry; while the river, and
the buildings, and the arches of the bridge, were ringing, and
echoing, and sweetly embosoming the mellow delivery of the one-
legged tar.  And old Joe was highly pleased, although he would not
show it, at such an effect upon a man so hard and dry.

"Now, your honor, it is overbad of you," he continued, with a
softening grin, "to hasten me so, and then to hear me out o'
window, because Bob hath a sweeter pipe.  Ah, he can whistle like a
blackbird, too, and gain a lot of money; but there, what good?  He
sacrifices it all to the honor of his heart, first maggot that
cometh into it; and he done the very same with Rickon Goold, the
Methody galley-raker.  We never was so softy when I were afloat.
But your honor shall hear, and give judgment for yourself.

"Mother Precious was ready in her mind to run out a double-shotted
gun at Rickon, who liveth down upon the rabbit-warren, to the other
side of Bempton, because he scarcely ever doth come nigh her; and
when he do come, he putteth up both bands, to bless her for
hospitality, but neither of them into his breeches pocket.  And
being a lone woman, she doth feel it.  Bob and me gave her sailing
orders--'twould amaze you, captain; all was carried out as ship-
shape as the battle of the Nile.  There was Rickon Goold at anchor,
with a spring upon his cable, having been converted; and he up and
hailed that he would slip, at the very first bad word we used.  My
son hath such knowledge of good words that he, answered, 'Amen, so
be it.'

"Well, your honor, we goes on decorous, as our old quartermaster
used to give the word; and we tried him first with the usual
tipple, and several other hands dropped in.  But my son and me
never took a blessed drop, except from a gin-bottle full of cold
water, till we see all the others with their scuppers well awash.
Then Bob he findeth fault--Lor' how beautiful he done it!--with the
scantling of the stuff; and he shouteth out, 'Mother, I'm blest if
I won't stand that old guinea bottle of best Jamaica, the one as
you put by, with the cobwebs on it, for Lord Admiral.  No Lord
Admiral won't come now.  Just you send away, and hoist it up.'

"Rickon Goold pricked up his ugly ears at this; and Mother Tapsy
did it bootiful.  And to cut a long yarn short, we spliced him,
captain, with never a thought of what would come of it; only to
have our revenge, your honor.  He showed himself that greedy of our
patent rum, that he never let the bottle out of his own elbow, and
the more he stowed away, the more his derrick chains was creaking;
but if anybody reasoned, there he stood upon his rights, and defied
every way of seeing different, until we was compelled to take and
spread him down, in the little room with sea-weeds over it.

"With all this, Bob and me was as sober as two judges, though your
honor would hardly believe it, perhaps; but we left him in the
dark, to come round upon the weeds, as a galley-raker ought to do.
And now we began to have a little drop ourselves, after towing the
prize into port, and recovering the honor of the British navy; and
we stood all round to every quarter of the compass, with the bottom
of the locker still not come to shallow soundings.  But sudden our
harmony was spoiled by a scream, like a whistle from the very
bottom of the sea.

"We all of us jumped up, as if a gun had broke its lashings; and
the last day of judgment was the thoughts of many bodies; but Bob
he down at once with his button-stump gun-metal, and takes the
command of the whole of us.  'Bear a hand, all on you,' he saith,
quite steadfast; 'Rickon Goold is preaching to his own text to-
night.'  And so a' was, sure enough; so a' was, your honor.

"We thought he must have died, although he managed to claw off of
it, with confessing of his wickedness, and striking to his Maker.
All of us was frightened so, there was no laugh among us, till we
come to talk over it afterward.  There the thundering rascal lay in
the middle of that there mangerie of sea-stuff, as Mother Precious
is so proud of, that the village calleth it the 'Widow's Weeds.'
Blest if he didn't think that he were a-lying at the bottom of the
sea, among the stars and cuttles, waiting for the day of judgment!

"'Oh, Captain McNabbins, and Mate Govery,' he cries, 'the hand of
the Lord hath sent me down to keep you company down here.  I never
would 'a done it, captain, hard as you was on me, if only I had
knowed how dark and cold and shivery it would be down here.  I cut
the plank out; I'll not lie; no lies is any good down here, with
the fingers of the deep things pointing to me, and the black
devil's wings coming over me--but a score of years agone it were,
and never no one dreamed of it--oh, pull away, pull! for God's
sake, pull!--the wet woman and the three innocent babbies crawling
over me like congers!'

"This was the shadows of our legs, your honor, from good Mother
Tapsy's candle; for she was in a dreadful way by this time about
her reputation and her weeds, and come down with her tongue upon
the lot of us.  'Enter all them names upon the log,' says I to Bob,
for he writeth like a scholar.  But Bob says, 'Hold hard, dad; now
or never.'  And with that, down he goeth on the deck himself, and
wriggleth up to Rickon through the weeds, with a hiss like a great
sea-snake, and grippeth him.  'Name of ship, you sinner!' cried
Bob, in his deep voice, like Old Nick a-hailing from a sepulchre.
'Golconda, of Calcutta,' says the fellow, with a groan as seemed to
come out of the whites of his eyes; and down goes his head again,
enough to split a cat-head.  And that was the last of him we heard
that night.

"Well, now, captain, you scarcely would believe, but although my
nob is so much older of the pair, and white where his is as black
as any coal, Bob's it was as first throwed the painter up, for a-
hitching of this drifty to the starn of your consarns.  And it
never come across him till the locker was run out, and the two of
us pulling longer faces than our legs is.  Then Bob, by the mercy
of the Lord, like Peter, found them guineas in the corner of his
swab--some puts it round their necks, and some into their pockets;
I never heard of such a thing till chaps run soft and watery--and
so we come to this here place to change the air and the breeding,
and spin this yarn to your honor's honor, as hath a liberal twist
in it; and then to take orders, and draw rations, and any 'rears of
pay fallen due, after all dibs gone in your service; and for Bob to
tip a stave in the Minister."

"You have done wisely and well in coming here," said Mr, Mordacks,
cheerfully; but we must have further particulars, my friend.  You
seem to have hit upon the clew I wanted, but it must be followed
very cautiously.  You know where to lay your hand upon this
villain?  You have had the sense not to scare him off?"

"Sarten, your honor.  I could clap the irons on him any hour you
gives that signal."

"Capital!  Take your son to see the sights, and both of you come to
me at ten to-morrow morning.  Stop: you may as well take this half
guinea.  But when you get drunk, drink inwards."



CHAPTER XXVI

MEN OF SOLID TIMBER


Mr. Mordacks was one of those vivacious men who have strong faith
in their good luck, and yet attribute to their merits whatever
turns out well.  In the present matter he had done as yet nothing
at all ingenious, or even to be called sagacious.  The discovery of
"Monument Joe," or "Peg-leg Joe," as he was called at Flamborough,
was not the result of any skill whatever, either his own or the
factor's, but a piece of as pure luck as could be.  For all that,
however, Mr. Mordacks intended to have the whole credit as his sole
and righteous due.

"Whenever I am at all down-hearted, samples of my skill turn up,"
he said to himself as soon as Joe was gone; "and happy results come
home, on purpose to rebuke my diffidence.  Would any other man have
got so far as I have got by simple, straightforward, yet truly
skillful action, without a suspicion being started?  Old Jellicorse
lies on his bed of roses, snoring folios of long words, without a
dream of the gathering cloud.  Those insolent ladies are revelling
in the land from which they have ousted their only brother; they
are granting leases not worth a straw; they are riding the high
horse; they are bringing up that cub (who set the big dog at me) in
every wanton luxury.  But wait a bit--wait a bit, my ladies; as
sure as I live I shall have you.

"In the first place, it is clear that my conclusion was correct
concerning that poor Golconda; and why not also in the other issue?
The Indiaman was scuttled--I had never thought of that, but only of
a wreck.  It comes to the same thing, only she went down more
quietly; and that explains a lot of things.  She was bound for
Leith, with the boy to be delivered into the hands of his Scotch
relatives.  She was spoken last off Yarmouth Roads, all well, and
under easy sail.  Very good so far.  I have solved her fate, which
for twenty years has been a mystery.  We shall have all particulars
in proper time, by steering on one side of the law, which always
huddles up everything.  A keen eye must be kept upon that
scoundrel, but he must never dream that he is watched at all; he
has committed a capital offense.  But as yet there is nothing but
his own raving to convict him of barratry.  The truth must be got
at by gentle means.  I must not claim the 500 pounds as yet, but
I am sure of getting it.  And I have excellent hopes of the 5000
pounds."

Geoffrey Mordacks never took three nights to sleep upon his
thoughts (as the lawyer of Middleton loved to do), but rather was
apt to overdrive his purport, with the goad of hasty action.  But
now he was quite resolved to be most careful; for the high hand
would never do in such a ticklish matter, and the fewer the hands
introduced at all into it, the better the chance of coming out
clear and clean.  The general factor had never done anything which,
in his opinion, was not thoroughly upright; and now, with his
reputation made, and his conscience stiffened to the shape of it,
even a large sum of money must be clean, and cleanly got at, to
make it pay for handling.

This made him counsel with himself just now.  For he was a superior
man upon the whole, and particular always in feeling sure that the
right word in anything would be upon his side.  Not that he cared a
groat for anybody's gossip; only that he kept a lofty tenor of good
opinion.  And sailors who made other sailors tipsy, and went
rolling about on the floor all together, whether with natural legs
or artificial, would do no credit to his stairs of office on a fine
market-day in the morning.  On the other hand, while memory held
sway, no instance could be cited of two jolly sailors coming to see
the wonders of this venerable town, and failing to be wholly
intoxicated with them, before the Minster bell struck one.

This was to be avoided, or rather forestalled, as a thing
inevitable should be.  Even in York city, teeming as it is with
most delightful queerities, the approach of two sailors with three
wooden legs might be anticipated at a distant offing, so abundant
are boys there, and everywhere.  Therefore it was well provided, on
the part of Master Mordacks, that Kitty, or Koity, the maid-of-all-
work, a damsel of muscular power and hard wit, should hold tryst
with these mariners in the time of early bucket, and appoint a
little meeting with her master by-and-by.  This she did cleverly,
and they were not put out; because they were to dine at his expense
at a snug little chop-house in Parliament Street, and there to
remain until he came to pay the score.

All this happened to the utmost of desires; and before they had
time to get thick-witted, Mordacks stood before them.  His sharp
eyes took in Sailor Bob before the poor fellow looked twice at him,
and the general factor saw that he might be trusted not to think
much for himself.  This was quite as Mr. Mordacks hoped; he wanted
a man who could hold his tongue, and do what he was told to do.

After a few words about their dinner, and how they got on, and so
forth, the principal came to the point by saying:  "Now both of you
must start to-morrow morning; such clever fellows can not be spared
to go to sleep.  You shall come and see York again, with free
billet, and lashings of money in your pockets, as soon as you have
carried out your sailing orders.  To-night you may jollify; but
after that you are under strict discipline, for a month at least.
What do you say to that, my men?"

Watchman Joe looked rather glum; he had hoped for a fortnight of
stumping about, with a tail of admiring boys after him, and of
hailing every public-house the cut of whose jib was inviting;
however, he put his knife into his mouth, with a bit of fat, saved
for a soft adieu to dinner, and nodded for his son to launch true
wisdom into the vasty deep of words.

Now Bob, the son of Joe, had striven to keep himself up to the
paternal mark.  He cited his father as the miracle of the age, when
he was a long way off; and when he was nigh at hand, he showed his
sense of duty, nearly always, by letting him get tipsy first.
Still, they were very sober fellows in the main, and most
respectable, when they had no money.

"Sir," began Bob, after jerking up his chin, as a sailor always
does when he begins to think (perhaps for hereditary counsel with
the sky), "my father and I have been hauling of it over, to do
whatever is laid down by duty, without going any way again'
ourselves.  And this is the sense we be come to, that we should
like to have something handsome down, to lay by again' chances;
also a dokkyment in black and white, to bear us harmless of the
law, and enter the prize-money."

"What a fine councillor a' would have made!" old Joe exclaimed,
with ecstasy.  "He hath been round the world three times--excuseth
of him for only one leg left."

"My friend, how you condemn yourself!  You have not been round the
world at all, and yet you have no leg at all."  So spake Mr.
Mordacks, wishing to confuse ideas; for the speech of Bob misliked
him.

"The corners of the body is the Lord's good-will," old Joe
answered, with his feelings hurt; "He calleth home a piece to let
the rest bide on, and giveth longer time to it--so saith King
David."

"It may be so; but I forget the passage.  Now what has your son Bob
to say?"

Bob was a sailor of the fine old British type, still to be found
even nowadays, and fit to survive forever.  Broad and resolute of
aspect, set with prejudice as stiff as his own pigtail, truthful
when let alone, yet joyful in a lie, if anybody doubted him,
peaceable in little things through plenty of fight in great ones,
gentle with women and children, and generous with mankind in
general, expecting to be cheated, yet not duly resigned at being
so, and subject to unaccountable extremes of laziness and
diligence.  His simple mind was now confused by the general
factor's appeal to him to pronounce his opinion, when he had just
now pronounced it, after great exertion.

"Sir," he said, "I leave such things to father's opinion; he hath
been ashore some years; and I almost forget how the land lays."

"Sea-faring Robert, you are well advised.  A man may go round the
world till he has no limbs left, yet never overtake his father.  So
the matter is left to my decision.  Very good; you shall have no
reason to repent it.  To-night you have liberty to splice the main-
brace, or whatever your expression is for getting jolly drunk; in
the morning you will be sobriety itself, sad, and wise, and aching.
But hear my proposal, before you take a gloomy view of things, such
as to-morrow's shades may bring.  You have been of service to me,
and I have paid you with great generosity; but what I have done,
including dinner, is dust in the balance to what I shall do,
provided only that you act with judgment, discipline, and self-
denial, never being tipsy more than once a week, which is fair
naval average, and doing it then with only one another.  Hard it
may be; but it must be so.  Now before I go any further, let me ask
whether you, Joseph, as a watchman under government, have lost your
position by having left it for two months upon a private spree?"

"Lor', no, your honor!  Sure you must know more than that.  I gived
a old 'ooman elevenpence a week, and a pot of beer a Sunday, to
carry out the dooties of the government."

"You farmed out your appointment at a low figure.  My opinion of
your powers and discretion is enhanced; you will return to your
post with redoubled ardor, and vigor renewed by recreation; you
will be twice the man you were, and certainly ought to get double
pay.  I have interest; I may be enabled to double your salary--if
you go on well."

This made both of them look exceeding downcast, and chew the bitter
quid of disappointment.  They had laid their heads together over
glass number one, and resolved upon asking for a guinea a week;
over glass number two, they had made up their minds upon getting
two guineas weekly; and glass number three had convinced them that
they must be poor fools to accept less than three.  Also they felt
that the guineas they had spent, in drinking their way up to a
great discovery, should without hesitation be made good ere ever
they had another pint of health.  In this catastrophe of large
ideas, the father gazed sadly at the son, and the son reproachfully
reflected the paternal gaze.  How little availed it to have come up
here, wearily going on upon yellow waters, in a barge where the
fleas could man the helm, without aid of the stouter insect, and
where a fresh run sailor was in more demand than salmon; and even
without that (which had largely enhanced the inestimable benefit of
having wooden legs), this pair of tars had got into a state of mind
to return the whole way upon horseback.  No spurs could they wear,
and no stirrups could they want, and to get up would be difficult;
but what is the use of living, except to conquer difficulties?
They rejoiced all the more in the four legs of a horse, by reason
of the paucity of their own; which approves a liberal mind.  But
now, where was the horse to come from, or the money to make him go?

"You look sad," proceeded Mr. Mordacks.  "It grieves me when any
good man looks sad; and doubly so when a brace of them do it.
Explain your feelings, Joe and Bob; if it lies in a human being to
relieve them, I will do it."

"Captain, we only wants what is our due," said Bob, with his chin
up, and his strong eyes stern.  "We have been on the loose; and it
is the manner of us, and encouraged by the high authorities.  We
have come across, by luck of drink, a thing as seems to suit you;
and we have told you all our knowledge without no conditions.  If
you takes us for a pair of fools, and want no more of us, you are
welcome, and it will be what we are used to; but if your meaning is
to use us, we must have fair wages; and even so, we would have
naught to do with it if it was against an honest man; but a rogue
who has scuttled a ship--Lor', there!"

Bob cast out the juice of his chew into the fire, as if it were the
life-blood of such a villain, and looked at his father, who
expressed approval by the like proceeding.  And Geoffrey Mordacks
was well content at finding them made of decent stuff.  It was not
his manner to do things meanly; and he had only spoken so to
moderate their minds and keep them steady.

"Mariner Bob, you speak well and wisely," he answered, with a
superior smile.  "Your anxiety as to ways and means does credit to
your intellect.  That subject has received my consideration.  I
have studied the style of life at Flamborough, and the prices of
provisions--would that such they were in York!--and to keep you in
temperate and healthy comfort, without temptation, and with minds
alert, I am determined to allow for the two of you, over and above
all your present income from a grateful country (which pays a man
less when amputation has left less of him), the sum of one guinea
and a half per week.  But remember that, to draw this stipend, both
of you must be in condition to walk one mile and a half on a
Saturday night, which is a test of character.  You will both be
fitted up with solid steel ends, by the cutler at the end of Ouse
Bridge, to-morrow morning, so that the state of the roads will not
affect you, and take note of one thing, mutual support (graceful
though it always is in paternal and filial communion) will not be
allowed on a Saturday night.  Each man must stand on his own
stumps."

"Sir," replied Bob, who had much education, which led him to a
knowledge of his failings, "never you fear but what we shall do it.
Sunday will be the day of standing with a shake to it; for such, is
the habit of the navy.  Father, return thanks; make a leg--no man
can do it better.  Master Mordacks, you shall have our utmost duty;
but a little brass in hand would be convenient."

"You shall have a fortnight in advance; after that you must go
every Saturday night to a place I will appoint for you.  Now keep
your own counsel; watch that fellow; by no means scare him at
first, unless you see signs of his making off; but rather let him
think that you know nothing of his crime.  Labor hard to make him
drink again; then terrify him like Davy Jones himself; and get
every particular out of him, especially how he himself escaped,
where he landed, and who was with him.  I want to learn all about a
little boy (at least, he may be a big man now), who was on board
the ship Golconda, under the captain's special charge.  I can not
help thinking that the child escaped; and I got a little trace of
something connected with him at Flamborough.  I durst not make much
inquiry there, because I am ordered to keep things quiet.  Still, I
did enough to convince me almost that my suspicion was an error;
for Widow Precious--"

"Pay you no heed, Sir, to any manoeuvring of Widow Precious.  We
find her no worse than the other women; but not a blamed bit
better."

"I think highly of the female race; at least, in comparison with
the male one.  I have always found reason to believe that a woman,
put upon her mettle by a secret, will find it out, or perish."

"Your honor, everybody knows as much as that; but it doth not
follow that she tells it on again, without she was ordered not to
do so."

"Bob, you have not been round the world for nothing.  I see my
blot, and you have hit it; you deserve to know all about the matter
now.  Match me that button, and you shall have ten guineas."

The two sailors stared at the bead of Indian gold which Mordacks
pulled out of his pocket.  Buttons are a subject for nautical
contempt and condemnation; perhaps because there is nobody to sew
them on at sea; while ear-rings, being altogether useless, are held
in good esteem and honor.

"I have seen a brace of ear-rings like it," said old Joe, wading
through deep thought.  "Bob, you knows who was a-wearing of 'em."

"A score of them fishermen, like enough," cautious Bob answered;
for he knew what his father meant, but would not speak of the great
free-trader; for Master Mordacks might even be connected with the
revenue.  "What use to go on about such gear?  His honor wanteth to
hear of buttons, regulation buttons by the look of it, and good
enough for Lord Nelson.  Will you let us take the scantle, and the
rig of it, your honor?"

"By all means, if you can do so, my friend; but what have you to do
it with?"

"Hold on a bit, Sir, and you shall see."  With these words Bob
clapped a piece of soft York bread into the hollow of his broad
brown palm, moistened it with sugary dregs of ale, such as that
good city loves, and kneading it firmly with some rapid flits of
thumb, tempered and enriched it nobly with the mellow juice of
quid.  Treated thus, it took consistence, plastic, docile, and
retentive pulp; and the color was something like that of gold which
had passed, according to its fate, through a large number of
unclean hands.

"Now the pattern, your honor," said Bob, with a grin; "I could do
it from memory, but better from the thing."  He took the bauble,
and set it on the foot of a rummer which stood on the table; and in
half a minute he had the counterpart in size, shape, and line; but
without the inscription.  "A sample of them in the hollow will do,
and good enough for the nigger-body words--heathen writing, to my
mind."  With lofty British intolerance, he felt that it might be a
sinful thing to make such marks; nevertheless he impressed one
side, whereon the characters were boldest, into the corresponding
groove of his paste model; then he scooped up the model on the
broad blade of his knife, and set it in the oven of the little
fire-place, in a part where the heat was moderate.

"Well done, indeed!" cried Mr. Mordacks; "you will have a better
likeness of it than good Mother Precious.  Robert, I admire your
ingenuity.  But all sailors are ingenious."

"At sea, in the trades, or in a calm, Sir, what have we to do but
to twiddle our thumbs, and practice fiddling with them?  A lively
tune is what I like, and a-serving of the guns red-hot; a man must
act according to what nature puts upon him.  And nature hath taken
one of my legs from me with a cannon-shot from the French line-of-
battle ship--Rights of Mankind the name of her."



CHAPTER XXVII

THE PROPER WAY TO ARGUE


Alas, how seldom is anything done in proper time and season!
Either too fast, or too slow, is the clock of all human dealings;
and what is the law of them, when the sun (the regulator of works
and ways) has to be allowed for very often on his own meridian?
With the best intention every man sets forth to do his duty, and to
talk of it; and he makes quite sure that he has done it, and to his
privy circle boasts, or lets them do it better for him; but before
his lips are dry, his ears apprise him that he was a stroke too
late.

So happened it with Master Mordacks, who of all born men was
foremost, with his wiry fingers spread, to pass them through the
scattery forelock of that mettlesome horse, old Time.  The old
horse galloped by him unawares, and left him standing still, to
hearken the swish of the tail, and the clatter of the hoofs, and
the spirited nostrils neighing for a race, on the wide breezy down
at the end of the lane.  But Geoffrey Mordacks was not to blame.
His instructions were to move slowly, until he was sure of
something worth moving for.  And of this he had no surety yet, and
was only too likely to lose it altogether by any headlong action.
Therefore, instead of making any instant rush, or belting on his
pistols, and hiring the sagacious quadruped that understood his
character, content he was to advance deliberately upon one foot and
three artificial legs.

Meanwhile, at Anerley Farm, the usual fatness of full garners, and
bright comfort of the evening hearth, the glow of peace, which
labor kindles in the mind that has earned its rest, and the
pleasant laziness of heart which comes where family love lies
careless, confident, and unassailed--the pleasure also of pitying
the people who never can get in their wheat, and the hot
benevolence of boiling down the bones for the man who has tumbled
off one's own rick--all these blisses, large and little, were not
in their usual prime.

The master of the house was stern and silent, heavy and careless of
his customary victuals, neglectful also of his customary jokes.  He
disliked the worse side of a bargain as much as in his most happy
moments; and the meditation (which is generally supposed to be
going on where speech is scarce) was not of such loftiness as to
overlook the time a man stopped round the corner.  As a horse
settles down to strong collar-work better when the gloss of the
stable takes the ruffle of the air, so this man worked at his
business all the harder, with the brightness of the home joys
fading.  But it went very hard with him more than once, when he
made a good stroke of salesmanship, to have to put the money in the
bottom of his pocket, without even rubbing a bright half crown, and
saying to himself, "I have a'most a mind to give this to Mary."

Now if this settled and steadfast man (with three-quarters of his
life gone over him, and less and less time every year for
considering soft subjects), in spite of all that, was put out of
his way by not being looked at as usual--though for that matter,
perhaps, himself failed to look in search of those looks as usual--
what, on the other hand, was likely to remain of mirth and light-
heartedness in a weaker quarter?  Mary, who used to be as happy as
a bird where worms abound and cats are scarce, was now in a
grievous plight of mind, restless, lonely, troubled in her heart,
and doubtful of her conscience.  Her mother had certainly shown
kind feeling, and even a readiness to take her part, which
surprised the maiden, after all her words; and once or twice they
had had a cry together, clearing and strengthening their intellects
desirably.  For the more Mistress Anerley began to think about it,
the more she was almost sure that something could be said on both
sides.  She never had altogether approved of the farmer's
volunteering, which took him away to drill at places where ladies
came to look at him; and where he slept out of his own bed, and got
things to eat that she had never heard of; and he never was the
better afterward.  If that was the thing which set his mind against
free trade so bitterly, it went far to show that free trade was
good, and it made all the difference of a blanket.  And more than
that, she had always said from the very first, and had even told
the same thing to Captain Carroway, in spite of his position, that
nobody knew what Robin Lyth might not turn out in the end to be.
He had spoken most highly of her, as Mary had not feared to
mention; and she felt obliged to him for doing so, though of course
he could not do otherwise.  Still, there were people who would not
have done that, and it proved that he was a very promising young
man.

Mary was pleased with this conclusion, and glad to have some one
who did not condemn her; hopeful, moreover, that her mother's
influence might have some effect by-and-by.  But for the present it
seemed to do more harm than good; because the farmer, having quite
as much jealousy as justice, took it into silent dudgeon that the
mother of his daughter, who regularly used to be hard upon her for
next to nothing, should now turn round and take her part, from
downright womanism, in the teeth of all reason, and of her own
husband!  Brave as he was, he did not put it to his wife in so
strong a way as that; but he argued it so to himself, and would let
it fly forth, without thinking twice about it, if they went on in
that style much longer, quite as if he were nobody, and they could
do better without him.  Little he knew, in this hurt state of mind--
for which he should really have been too old--how the heart of his
child was slow and chill, stupid with the strangeness he had made,
waiting for him to take the lead, or open some door for entrance,
and watching for the humors of the elder body, as the young of past
generations did.  And sometimes, faithful as she was to plighted
truth and tenderness, one coaxing word would have brought her home
to the arms that used to carry her.

But while such things were waiting to be done till they were
thought of, the time for doing them went by; and to think of them
was memory.  Master Popplewell had told Captain Anerley continually
what his opinions were, fairly giving him to know on each occasion
that they were to be taken for what they were worth; that it did
not follow, from his own success in life, that he might not be
mistaken now; and that he did not care a d--n, except for Christian
feeling, whether any fool hearkened to him twice or not.  He said
that he never had been far out in any opinion he had formed in all
his life; but none the more for that would he venture to foretell a
thing with cross-purposes about it.  A man of sagacity and dealings
with the world might happen to be right ninety-nine times in a
hundred, and yet he might be wrong the other time.  Therefore he
would not give any opinion, except that everybody would be sorry
by-and-by, when things were too late for mending.

To this the farmer listened with an air of wisdom, not put forward
too severely; because Brother Popplewell had got a lot of money,
and must behave handsomely when in a better world.  The simplest
way of treating him was just to let him talk--for it pleased him,
and could do no harm--and then to recover self-content by saying
what a fool he was when out of hearing.  The tanner partly
suspected this; and it put his nature upon edge; for he always
drove his opinions in as if they were so many tenpenny nails, which
the other man must either clinch or strike back into his teeth
outright.  He would rather have that than flabby silence, as if he
were nailing into dry-rot.

"I tell you what it is," he said, the third time he came over,
which was well within a week--for nothing breeds impatience faster
than retirement from work--"you are so thick-headed in your
farmhouse ways, sometimes I am worn out with you.  I do not expect
to be thought of any higher because I have left off working for
myself; and Deborah is satisfied to be called 'Debby,' and walks no
prouder than if she had got to clean her own steps daily.  You can
not enter into what people think of me, counting Parson Beloe; and
therefore it is no good saying anything about it.  But, Stephen,
you may rely upon it that you will be sorry afterward.  That poor
girl, the prettiest girl in Yorkshire, and the kindest, and the
best, is going off her victuals, and consuming of her substance,
because you will not even look at her.  If you don't want the
child, let me have her.  To us she is welcome as the flowers in
May."

"If Mary wishes it, she can go with you," the farmer answered,
sternly; and hating many words, he betook himself to work,
resolving to keep at it until the tanner should be gone.  But when
he came home after dusk, his steadfast heart was beating faster
than his stubborn mind approved.  Mary might have taken him at his
word, and flown for refuge from displeasure, cold voice, and dull
comfort, to the warmth, and hearty cheer, and love of the folk who
only cared to please her, spoil her, and utterly ruin her.  Folk
who had no sense of fatherly duty, or right conscience; but, having
piled up dirty money, thought that it covered everything: such
people might think it fair to come between a father and his child,
and truckle to her, by backing her up in whims that were against
her good, and making light of right and wrong, as if they turned on
money; but Mary (such a prudent lass, although she was a fool just
now) must see through all such shallow tricks, such rigmarole about
Parson Beloe, who must be an idiot himself to think so much of
Simon Popplewell--for Easter offerings, no doubt--but there, if
Mary had the heart to go away, what use to stand maundering about
it?  Stephen Anerley would be dashed if he cared which way it was.

Meaning all this, Stephen Anerley, however, carried it out in a
style at variance with such reckless vigor.  Instead of marching
boldly in at his own door, and throwing himself upon a bench, and
waiting to be waited upon, he left the narrow gravel-walk (which
led from the horse gate to the front door) and craftily fetched a
compass through the pleasure beds and little shrubs, upon the
sward, and in the dusk, so that none might see or hear him.  Then,
priding himself upon his stealth, as a man with whom it is rare may
do, yet knowing all the time that he was more than half ashamed of
it, he began to peep in at his own windows, as if he were planning
how to rob his own house.  This thought struck him, but instead of
smiling, he sighed very sadly; for his object was to learn whether
house and home had been robbed of that which he loved so fondly.
There was no Mary in the kitchen, seeing to his supper; the fire
was bright, and the pot was there, but only shadows round it.  No
Mary in the little parlor; only Willie half asleep, with a stupid
book upon his lap, and a wretched candle guttering.  Then, as a
last hope, he peered into the dairy, where she often went at fall
of night, to see things safe, and sang to keep the ghosts away.
She would not be singing now of course, because he was so cross
with her; but if she were there, it would be better than the
merriest song for him.  But no, the place was dark and cold; tub
and pan, and wooden skimmer, and the pails hung up to drain, all
were left to themselves, and the depth of want of life was over
them.  "She hathn't been there for an hour," thought he; "a reek o'
milk, and not my lassie."

Very few human beings have such fragrance of good-will as milk.
The farmer knew that he had gone too far in speaking coarsely of
the cow, whose children first forego their food for the benefit of
ours, and then become veal to please us.  "My little maid is gone,"
said the lord of many cows, and who had robbed some thousand of
their dear calves.  "I trow I must make up my mind to see my little
maid no more."

Without compunction for any mortal cow (though one was bellowing
sadly in the distance, that had lost her calf that day), and
without even dreaming of a grievance there, Master Anerley sat down
to think upon a little bench hard by.  His thoughts were not very
deep or subtle; yet to him they were difficult, because they were
so new and sad.  He had always hoped to go through life in the
happiest way there is of it, with simply doing common work, and
heeding daily business, and letting other people think the higher
class of thought for him.  To live as Nature, cultivated quite
enough for her own content, enjoys the round of months and years,
the changes of the earth and sky, and gentle slope of time
subsiding to softer shadows and milder tones.  And, most of all, to
see his children, dutiful, good, and loving, able and ready to take
his place--when he should be carried from farm to church--to work
the land he loved so well, and to walk in his ways, and praise him.

But now he thought, like Job in his sorrow, "All these things are
against me."  The air was laden with the scents of autumn, rich and
ripe and soothing--the sweet fulfillment of the year.  The mellow
odor of stacked wheat, the stronger perfume of clover, the brisk
smell of apples newly gathered, the distant hint of onions roped,
and the luscious waft of honey, spread and hung upon the evening
breeze.  "What is the good of all this," he muttered, "when my
little lassie is gone away, as if she had no father?"

"Father, I am not gone away.  Oh, father, I never will go away, if
you will love me as you did."

Here Mary stopped; for the short breath of a sob was threatening to
catch her words; and her nature was too like her father's to let
him triumph over her.  The sense of wrong was in her heart, as firm
and deep as in his own, and her love of justice quite as strong;
only they differed as to what it was.  Therefore Mary would not sob
until she was invited.  She stood in the arch of trimmed yew-tree,
almost within reach of his arms; and though it was dark, he knew
her face as if the sun was on it.

"Dearie, sit down here," he said; "there used to be room for you
and me, without two chairs, when you was my child."

"Father, I am still your child," she answered, softly, sitting by
him.  "Were you looking for me just now?  Say it was me you were
looking for."

"There is such a lot of rogues to look for; they skulk about so,
and they fire the stacks--"

"Now, father, you never could tell a fib," she answered, sidling
closer up, and preparing for his repentance.

"I say that I was looking for a rogue.  If the cap fits--" here he
smiled a little, as much as to say, "I had you there;" and then,
without meaning it, from simple force of habit, he did a thing
equal to utter surrender.  He stroked his chin, as he always used
to do when going to kiss Mary, that the bristles might lie down for
her.

"The cap doesn't fit; nothing fits but you; you--you--you, my own
dear father," she cried, as she kissed him again and again, and put
her arms round to protect him.  "And nobody fits you, but your own
Mary.  I knew you were sorry.  You needn't say it.  You are too
stubborn, and I will let you off.  Now don't say a word, father, I
can do without it.  I don't want to humble you, but only to make
you good; and you are the very best of all people, when you please.
And you never must be cross again with your darling Mary.  Promise
me immediately; or you shall have no supper."

"Well," said the farmer, "I used to think that I was gifted with
the gift of argument.  Not like a woman, perhaps; but still pretty
well for a man, as can't spare time for speechifying, and hath to
earn bread for self and young 'uns."

"Father, it is that arguing spirit that has done you so much harm.
You must take things as Heaven sends them; and not go arguing about
them.  For instance, Heaven has sent you me."

"So a' might," Master Anerley replied; "but without a voice from
the belly of a fish, I wunna' believe that He sent Bob Lyth."



CHAPTER XXVIII

FAREWELL, WIFE AND CHILDREN DEAR


Now Robin Lyth held himself in good esteem; as every honest man is
bound to do, or surely the rogues will devour him.  Modesty kept
him silent as to his merits very often; but the exercise of self-
examination made them manifest to himself.  As the Yorkshireman
said to his minister, when pressed to make daily introspection, "I
dare na do it, sir; it sets me up so, and leaveth no chance for my
neighbors;" so the great free-trader, in charity for others,
forbore to examine himself too much.  But without doing that, he
was conscious of being as good as Master Anerley; and intended,
with equal mind and manner, to state his claim to the daughter's
hand.

It was not, therefore, as the farmer thought, any deep sense of
illegality which kept him from coming forward now, as a gallant
sailor always does; but rather the pressure of sterner business,
and the hard necessity of running goods, according to honorable
contract.  After his narrow escape from outrage upon personal
privilege--for the habeas corpus of the Constitution should at
least protect a man while making love--it was clear that the field
of his duties as a citizen was padlocked against him, until next
time.  Accordingly he sought the wider bosom of the ever-liberal
sea; and leaving the noble Carroway to mourn--or in stricter truth,
alas! to swear--away he sailed, at the quartering of the moon, for
the land of the genial Dutchman.

Now this was the time when the forces of the realm were mightily
gathered together against him.  Hitherto there had been much fine
feeling on the part of his Majesty's revenue, and a delicate sense
of etiquette.  All the commanders of the cutters on the coast, of
whom and of which there now were three, had met at Carroway's
festive board; and, looking at his family, had one and all agreed
to let him have the first chance of the good prize-money.  It was
All-saints' Day of the year gone by when they met and thus enjoyed
themselves; and they bade their host appoint his time; and he said
he should not want three months.  At this they laughed, and gave
him twelve; and now the twelve had slipped away.

"I would much rather never have him caught at all," said Carroway,
to his wife, when his year of precaption had expired, "than for any
of those fellows to nab him; especially that prig last sent down,"

"So would I, dear; so would I, of course," replied Mrs. Carroway,
who had been all gratitude for their noble self-denial when they
made the promise; "what airs they would give themselves!  And what
could they do with the money?  Drink it out!  I am sure that the
condition of our best tumblers, after they come, is something.
People who don't know anything about it always fancy that glass
will clean.  Glass won't clean, after such men as those; and as for
the table--don't talk of it."

"Two out of the three are gone"--the lieutenant's conscience was
not void of offense concerning tables--"gone upon promotion.
Everybody gets promotion, if he only does his very best never to
deserve it.  They ought to have caught Lyth long and long ago.
What are such dummies fit for?"

"But, Charles, you know that they would have acted meanly and
dishonestly if they had done so.  They promised not to catch him;
and they carried out their promise."

"Matilda, such questions are beyond you altogether.  You can not be
expected to understand the service.  One of those trumpery, half-
decked craft--or they used to be half-deckers in my time--has had
three of those fresh-meat Jemmies over her in a single twelvemonth.
But of course they were all bound by the bargain they had made.  As
for that, small thanks to them.  How could they catch him, when I
couldn't?  They chop and they change so, I forget their names; my
head is not so good as it was, with getting so much moonlight."

"Nonsense, Charles; you know them like your fingers.  But I know
what you want; you want Geraldine, you are so proud to hear her
tell it."

"Tilly, you are worse.  You love to hear her say it.  Well, call
her in, and let her do it.  She is making an oyster-shell cradle
over there, with two of the blessed babies."

"Charles, how very profane you are!  All babes are blest by the
Lord, in an independent parable, whether they can walk, or crawl,
or put up their feet and take nourishment.  Jerry, you come in this
very moment.  What are you doing with your two brothers there, and
a dead skate--bless the children!  Now say the cutters and their
captains."

Geraldine, who was a pretty little girl, as well as a good and
clever one, swept her wind-tossed hair aside, and began to repeat
her lesson; for which she sometimes got a penny when her father had
made a good dinner.

"His Majesty's cutter Swordfish, Commander Nettlebones, senior
officer of the eastern division after my papa, although a very
young man still, carries a swivel-gun and two bow-chasers.  His
Majesty's cutter Kestrel, commanded by Lieutenant Bowler, is armed
with three long-John's, or strap-guns, capable of carrying a pound
of shrapnel.  His Majesty's cutter Albatross, Lieutenant Corkoran
Donovan, carries no artillery yet--"

"Not artillery--guns, child; your mother calls them 'artillery.'"

"Carries no guns yet, because she was captured from the foreign
enemy; and as yet she has not been reported stanch, since the
British fire made a hole in her.  It is, however, expected that
those asses at the dock-yard---"

"Geraldine, how often must I tell you that you are not to use that
word?  It is your father's expression."

"It is, however, expected that those donkeys at the dock-yard will
recommend her to be fitted with two brass howisyers."

"Howitzers, my darling.  Spell that word, and you shall have your
penny.  Now you may run out and play again.  Give your old father a
pretty kiss for it.  I often wish," continued the lieutenant, as
his daughter flew back to the dead skate and the babies, "that I
had only got that child's clear head.  Sometimes the worry is too
much for me.  And now if Nettlebones catches Robin Lyth, to a
certainty I shall be superseded, and all of us go to the workhouse.
Oh, Tilly, why won't your old aunt die?  We might be so happy
afterward."

"Charles, it is not only sinful, but wicked, to show any wish to
hurry her.  The Lord knows best what is good for us; and our
prayers upon such matters should be silent."

"Well, mine would be silent and loud too, according to the best
chance of being heard.  Not that I would harm the poor old soul; I
wish her every heavenly blessing; and her time is come for all of
them.  But I never like to think of that, because one's own time
might come first.  I have felt very much out of spirits to-day, as
my poor father did the day before he got his billet.  You know,
Matilda, he was under old Boscawen, and was killed by the very
first shot fired; it must be five-and-forty years ago.  How my
mother did cry, to be sure!  But I was too young to understand it.
Ah, she had a bad time with us all!  Matilda, what would you do
without me?"

"Why, Charles, you are not a bit like yourself.  Don't go to-night;
stay at home for once.  And the weather is very uncertain, too.
They never will attempt their job to-night.  Countermand the boats,
dear; I will send word to stop them.  You shall not even go out of
the house yourself."

"As if it were possible!  I am not an old woman, nor even an old
man yet, I hope.  In half an hour I must be off.  There will be
good time for a pipe.  One more pipe in the old home, Tilly.  After
all I am well contented with it, although now and then I grumble;
and I don't like so much cleaning."

"The cleaning must be done; I could never leave off that.  Your
room is going to be turned out to-morrow, and before you go you
must put away your papers, unless you wish me to do it.  You really
never seem to understand when things are really important.  Do you
wish me to have a great fever in the house?  It is a fortnight
since your boards were scrubbed; and how can you think of smoking?"

"Very well, Tilly, I can have it by-and-by, 'upon the dancing
waves,' as little Tommy has picked up the song.  Only I can not let
the men on duty; and to see them longing destroys my pleasure.
Lord, how many times I should like to pass my pipe to Dick, or
Ellis, if discipline allowed of it!  A thing of that sort is not
like feeding, which must be kept apart by nature; but this by
custom only."

"And a very good custom, and most needful," answered Mrs. Carroway.
"I never can see why men should want to do all sorts of foolish
things with tobacco--dirty stuff, and full of dust.  No sooner do
they begin, like a tinder-box, than one would think that it made
them all alike.  They want to see another body puffing two great
streams of reeking smoke from pipe and from mouth, as if their own
was not enough; and their good resolutions to speak truth of one
another float away like so much smoke; and they fill themselves
with bad charity.  Sir Walter Raleigh deserved his head off, and
Henry the Eighth knew what was right."

"My dear, I fancy that your history is wrong.  The king only
chopped off his own wives' heads.  But the moral of the lesson is
the same.  I will go and put away my papers.  It will very soon be
dark enough for us to start."

"Charles, I can not bear your going.  The weather is so dark, and
the sea so lonely, and the waves are making such a melancholy
sound.  It is not like the summer nights, when I can see you six
miles off, with the moon upon the sails, and the land out of the
way.  Let anybody catch him that has the luck.  Don't go this time,
Charley."

Carroway kissed his wife, and sent her to the baby, who was
squalling well up stairs.  And when she came down he was ready to
start, and she brought the baby for him to kiss.

"Good-by, little chap--good-by, dear wife."  With his usual vigor
and flourish, he said, "I never knew how to kiss a baby, though I
have had such a lot of them."

"Good-by, Charley dear.  All your things are right; and here is the
key of the locker.  You are fitted out for three days; but you must
on no account make that time of it.  To-morrow I shall be very
busy, but you must be home by the evening.  Perhaps there will be a
favorite thing of yours for supper.  You are going a long way; but
don't be long,"

"Good-by, Tilly darling--good-by, Jerry dear--good-by, Tommy boy,
and all my countless family.  I am coming home to-morrow with a
mint of money."



CHAPTER XXIX

TACTICS OF DEFENSE


The sea at this time was not pleasant, and nobody looking at it
longed to employ upon it any members of a shorter reach than eyes.

It was not rushing upon the land, nor running largely in the
offing, nor making white streaks on the shoals; neither in any
other places doing things remarkable.  No sign whatever of coming
storm or gathering fury moved it; only it was sullen, heavy,
petulant, and out of sorts.  It went about its business in a state
of lumps irregular, without long billows or big furrows, as if it
took the impulse more of distant waters than of wind; and its color
was a dirty green.  Ancient fishermen hate this, and ancient
mariners do the same; for then the fish lie sulking on their
bellies, and then the ship wallows without gift of sail.

"Bear off, Tomkins, and lay by till the ebb.  I can only say, dash
the whole of it!"

Commander Nettlebones, of the Swordfish, gave this order in disgust
at last; for the tide was against her, with a heavy pitch of sea,
and the mainsail scarcely drew the sheet.  What little wind there
was came off the land, and would have been fair if it had been
firm; but often it dropped altogether where the cliffs, or the
clouds that lay upon them, held it.  The cutter had slipped away
from Scarborough, as soon as it was dark last night, under orders
for Robin Hood's Bay, where the Albatross and Kestrel were to meet
her, bring tidings, and take orders.  Partly by coast-riding, and
partly by coast signals, it had been arranged that these three
revenue cruisers should come together in a lonely place during the
haze of November morning, and hold privy council of importance.
From Scarborough, with any wind at all, or even with ordinary tide-
run, a coal barge might almost make sure of getting to Robin Hood's
Bay in six hours, if the sea was fit to swim in.  Yet here was a
cutter that valued herself upon her sailing powers already eighteen
hours out, and headed back perpetually, like a donkey-plough.
Commander Nettlebones could not understand it, and the more
impatient he became, the less could he enter into it.  The sea was
nasty, and the wind uncertain, also the tide against him; but how
often had such things combined to hinder, and yet he had made much
fairer way!  Fore and aft he bestrode the planks, and cast keen
eyes at everything, above, around, or underneath, but nothing
showed him anything.  Nettlebones was a Cornishman, and Cornishmen
at that time had a reverent faith in witchcraft.  "Robin Lyth has
bought the powers, or ancient Carroway has done it," he said to
himself, in stronger language than is now reportable.  "Old
Carroway is against us, I know, from his confounded jealousy; and
this cursed delay will floor all my plans."

He deserved to have his best plans floored for such vile suspicion
of Carroway.  Whatever the brave lieutenant did was loyal,
faithful, and well above-board.  Against the enemy he had his
plans, as every great commander must, and he certainly did not
desire to have his glory stolen by Nettlebones.  But that he would
have suffered, with only a grin at the bad luck so habitual; to do
any crooked thing against it was not in his nature.  The cause of
the grief of Commander Nettlebones lay far away from Carroway; and
free trade was at the bottom of it.

For now this trim and lively craft was doing herself but scanty
credit, either on or off a wind.  She was like a poor cat with her
tail in a gin, which sadly obstructs her progress; even more was
she like to the little horse of wood, which sits on the edge of a
table and gallops, with a balance weight limiting his energies.
None of the crew could understand it, if they were to be believed;
and the more sagacious talked of currents and mysterious "under-
tow."  And sure enough it was under-tow, the mystery of which was
simple.  One of the very best hands on board was a hardy seaman
from Flamborough, akin to old Robin Cockscroft, and no stranger to
his adopted son.  This gallant seaman fully entered into the value
of long leverage, and he made fine use of a plug-hole which had
come to his knowledge behind his berth.  It was just above the
water-line, and out of sight from deck, because the hollow of the
run was there.  And long ere the lights of Scarborough died into
the haze of night, as the cutter began to cleave watery way, the
sailor passed a stout new rope from a belaying-pin through this
hole, and then he betrayed his watch on deck by hauling the end up
with a clew, and gently returning it to the deep with a long
grappling-iron made fast to it.  This had not fluke enough to lay
fast hold and bring the vessel up; for in that case it would have
been immediately discovered; but it dragged along the bottom like a
trawl, and by its weight, and a hitch every now and then in some
hole, it hampered quite sufficiently the objectionable voyage.
Instead of meeting her consorts in the cloud of early morning, the
Swordfish was scarcely abreast of the Southern Cheek by the middle
of the afternoon.  No wonder if Commander Nettlebones was in a fury
long ere that, and fitted neither to give nor take the counsel of
calm wisdom; and this condition of his mind, as well as the loss of
precious time, should have been taken into more consideration by
those who condemned him for the things that followed.

"Better late than never, as they say," he cried, when the Kestrel
and the Albatross hove in sight.  "Tomkins, signal to make sail and
close.  We seem to be moving more lively at last.  I suppose we are
out of that infernal under-tow."

"Well, sir, she seems like herself a little more.  She've had a
witch on board of her, that's where it is.  When I were a younker,
just joined his Majesty's forty-two-gun frigate--"

"Stow that, Tomkins.  No time now.  I remember all about it, and
very good it is.  Let us have it all again when this job is done
with.  Bowler and Donovan will pick holes if they can, after
waiting for us half a day.  Not a word about our slow sailing,
mind; leave that to me.  They are framptious enough.  Have
everything trim, and all hands ready.  When they range within hail,
sing out for both to come to me."

It was pretty to see the three cutters meet, all handled as smartly
as possible; for the Flamborough man had cast off his clog, and the
Swordfish again was as nimble as need be.  Lieutenants Bowler and
Donovan were soon in the cabin of their senior officer, and durst
not question him very strictly as to his breach of rendezvous, for
his manner was short and sharp with them.

"There is plenty of time, if we waste it not in talking," he said,
when they had finished comparing notes.  "All these reports we are
bound to receive and consider; but I believe none of them.  The
reason why poor Carroway has made nothing but a mess of it is that
he will listen to the country people's tales.  They are all bound
together, all tarred with one brush--all stuffed with a heap of
lies, to send us wrong; and as for the fishing-boats, and what they
see, I have been here long enough already to be sure that their
fishing is a sham nine times in ten, and their real business is to
help those rogues.  Our plan is to listen, and pretend to be
misled."

"True for you, captain," cried the ardent Donovan.  "You 'bout ship
as soon as you can see them out of sight."

"My own opinion is this," said Bowler, "that we never shall catch
any fellow until we have a large sum of money placed at our
disposal.  The general feeling is in their favor, and against us
entirely.  Why is it in their favor?  Because they are generally
supposed to run great risks, and suffer great hardships.  And so
they do; but not half so much as we do, who keep the sea in all
sorts of weather, while they can choose their own.  Also because
they outrun the law, which nature makes everybody long to do, and
admire the lucky ones who can.  But most of all because they are
free-handed, and we can be only niggards.  They rob the king with
impunity, because they pay well for doing it; and he pays badly, or
not at all, to defend himself from robbery.  If we had a thousand
pounds apiece, with orders to spend it on public service, take no
receipt, and give no account, I am sure that in three months we
could stop all contraband work upon this coast."

"Upon me sowl and so we could; and it's meself that would go into
the trade, so soon as it was stopped with the thousand pounds."

"We have no time for talking nonsense;" answered Nettlebones,
severely, according to the universal law that the man who has
wasted the time of others gets into a flurry about his own.  "Your
suggestion, Bowler, is a very wise one, and as full as possible of
common-sense.  You also, Donovan, have shown with great sagacity
what might come of it thereafter.  But unluckily we have to get on
as we can, without sixpence to spare for anybody.  We know that the
fishermen and people on the coast, and especially the womankind,
are all to a man--as our good friend here would say--banded in
league against us.  Nevertheless, this landing shall not be, at
least upon our district.  What happens north of Teesmouth is none
of our business; and we should have the laugh of the old Scotchman
there, if they pay him a visit, as I hope they may; for he cuts
many jokes at our expense.  But, by the Lord Harry, there shall be
no run between the Tees and Yare, this side of Christmas.  If there
is, we may call ourselves three old women.  Shake hands, gentlemen,
upon that point; and we will have a glass of grog to it."

This was friendly, and rejoiced them all; for Nettlebones had been
stiff at first.  Readily enough they took his orders, which seemed
to make it impossible almost for anything large to slip between
them, except in case of a heavy fog; and in that case they were to
land, and post their outlooks near the likely places.

"We have shed no blood yet, and I hope we never shall," said the
senior officer, pleasantly.  "The smugglers of this coast are too
wise, and I hope too kind-hearted, for that sort of work.  They are
not like those desperate scoundrels of Sussex.  When these men are
nabbed, they give up their venture as soon as it goes beyond
cudgel-play, and they never lie in wait for a murderous revenge.
In the south I have known a very different race, who would jump on
an officer till he died, or lash him to death with their long cart-
whips; such fellows as broke open Poole Custom-house, and murdered
poor Galley and Cator, and the rest, in a manner that makes human
blood run cold.  It was some time back; but their sons are just as
bad.  Smuggling turns them all to devils."

"My belief is," said Bowler, who had a gift of looking at things
from an outer point of view, "that these fellows never propose to
themselves to transgress the law, but to carry it out according to
their own interpretation.  One of them reasoned with me some time
ago, and he talked so well about the Constitution that I was at a
loss to answer him."

"Me jewel, forbear," shouted Donovan; "a clout on the head is the
only answer for them Constitutionals.  Niver will it go out of my
mind about the time I was last in Cark; shure, thin, and it was
holiday-time; and me sister's wife's cousin, young Tim O'Brady--Tim
says to me, 'Now, Corkoran, me lad--'"

"Donovan," Nettlebones suddenly broke in, "we will have that story,
which I can see by the cut of your jib is too good to be hurried,
when first we come together after business done.  The sun will be
down in less than half an hour, and by that time we all must be
well under way.  We are watched from the land, as I need not tell
you, and we must not let them spy for nothing.  They shall see us
all stand out to sea to catch them in the open, as I said in the
town-hall of Scarborough yesterday, on purpose.  Everybody laughed;
but I stuck to it, knowing how far the tale would go.  They take it
for a crotchet of mine, and will expect it, especially after they
have seen us standing out; and their plans will be laid
accordingly."

"The head-piece ye have is beyont me inthirely.  And if ye stand
out, how will ye lay close inshore?"

"By returning, my good friend, before the morning breaks; each man
to his station, lying as close as can be by day, with proper
outlooks hidden at the points, but standing along the coast every
night, and communicating with sentries.  Have nothing to say to any
fishing-boats--they are nearly all spies--and that puzzles them.
This Robin Hood's Bay is our centre for the present, unless there
comes change of weather.  Donovan's beat is from Whitby to
Teesmouth, mine from Whitby to Scarborough, and Bowler's thence to
Flamborough.  Carroway goes where he likes, of course, as the
manner of the man is.  He is a little in the doldrums now, and
likely enough to come meddling.  From Flamborough to Hornsea is
left to him, and quite as much as he can manage.  Further south
there is no fear; our Yarmouth men will see to that.  Now I think
that you quite understand.  Good-by; we shall nab some of them to a
certainty this time; they are trying it on too large a scale."

"If they runs any goods through me, then just ye may reckon the
legs of me four times over."

"And if they slip in past me," said Bowler, "without a thick fog,
or a storm that drives me off, I will believe more than all the
wonders told of Robin Lyth."

"Oh! concerning that fellow, by-the-bye," Commander Nettlebones
stopped his brother officers as they were making off; "you know
what a point poor Carroway has made, even before I was sent down
here, of catching the celebrated Robin for himself.  He has even
let his fellows fire at him once or twice when he was quietly
departing, although we are not allowed to shoot except upon
strenuous resistance.  Cannon we may fire, but no muskets,
according to wise ordinance.  Luckily, he has not hit him yet; and,
upon the whole, we should be glad of it, for the young fellow is a
prime sailor, as you know, and would make fine stuff for Nelson.
Therefore we must do one thing of two--let Carroway catch him, and
get the money to pay for all the breeches and the petticoats we
saw; or if we catch him ourselves, say nothing, but draft him right
off to the Harpy.  You understand me.  It is below us to get blood-
money upon the man.  We are gentlemen, not thief-catchers."

The Irishman agreed to this at once, but Bowler was not well
pleased with it.  "Our duty is to give him up," he said.

"Your duty is to take my orders," answered Nettlebones, severely.
"If there is a fuss about it, lay the blame on me.  I know what I
am about in what I say.  Gentlemen, good-by, and good luck to you."

After long shivers in teeth of the wind and pendulous labor of
rolling, the three cutters joyfully took the word to go.  With a
creak, and a cant, and a swish of canvas, upon their light heels
they flew round, and trembled with the eagerness of leaping on
their way.  The taper boom dipped toward the running hills of sea,
and the jib-foreleech drew a white arc against the darkness of the
sky to the bowsprit's plunge.  Then, as each keen cut-water clove
with the pressure of the wind upon the beam, and the glistening
bends lay over, green hurry of surges streaked with gray began the
quick dance along them.  Away they went merrily, scattering the
brine, and leaving broad tracks upon the closing sea.

Away also went, at a rapid scamper, three men who had watched them
from the breast-work of the cliffs--one went northward, another to
the south, and the third rode a pony up an inland lane.  Swiftly as
the cutters flew over the sea, the tidings of their flight took
wing ashore, and before the night swallowed up their distant sails,
everybody on the land whom it concerned to know, knew as well as
their steersmen what course they had laid.



CHAPTER XXX

INLAND OPINION


Whatever may be said, it does seem hard, from a wholly disinterested
point of view, that so many mighty men, with swift ships, armed
with villainous saltpetre and sharp steel, should have set their
keen faces all together and at once to nip, defeat, and destroy as
with a blow, liberal and well-conceived proceedings, which they had
long regarded with a larger mind.  Every one who had been led to
embark soundly and kindly in this branch of trade felt it as an
outrage and a special instance of his own peculiar bad luck that
suddenly the officers should become so active.  For long success
had encouraged enterprise; men who had made a noble profit nobly
yearned to treble it; and commerce, having shaken off her shackles,
flapped her wings and began to crow; so at least she had been
declared to do at a public banquet given by the Mayor of Malton,
and attended by a large grain factor, who was known as a wholesale
purveyor of illicit goods.

This man, Thomas Rideout, long had been the head-master of the
smuggling school.  The poor sea-faring men could not find money
to buy, or even hire, the craft (with heavy deposit against
forfeiture) which the breadth and turbulence of the North Sea made
needful for such ventures.  Across the narrow English Channel an
open lobster boat might run, in common summer weather, without much
risk of life or goods.  Smooth water, sandy coves, and shelfy
landings tempted comfortable jobs; and any man owning a boat that
would carry a sail as big as a shawl might smuggle, with heed of
the weather, and audacity.  It is said that once upon the Sussex
coast a band of haymakers, when the rick was done, and their wages
in hand on a Saturday night, laid hold of a stout boat on the
beach, pushed off to sea in tipsy faith of luck, and hit upon
Dieppe with a set-fair breeze, having only a fisherman's boy for
guide.  There on the Sunday they heartily enjoyed the hospitality
of the natives; and the dawn of Tuesday beheld them rapt in
domestic bliss and breakfast, with their money invested in old
Cognac; and glad would they have been to make such hay every
season.  But in Yorkshire a good solid capital was needed to carry
on free importation.  Without broad bottoms and deep sides, the
long and turbulent and often foggy voyage, and the rocky landing,
could scarcely be attempted by sane folk; well-to-do people found
the money, and jeopardized neither their own bodies, consciences,
nor good repute.  And perhaps this fact had more to do with the
comparative mildness of the men than difference of race, superior
culture, or a loftier mould of mind; for what man will fight for
his employer's goods with the ferocity inspired by his own?  A
thorough good ducking, or a tow behind a boat, was the utmost
penalty generally exacted by the victors from the vanquished.

Now, however, it seemed too likely that harder measures must be
meted.  The long success of that daring Lyth, and the large scale
of his operations, had compelled the authorities to stir at last.
They began by setting a high price upon him, and severely
reprimanding Carroway, who had long been doing his best in vain,
and becoming flurried, did it more vainly still; and now they had
sent the sharp Nettlebones down, who boasted largely, but as yet
without result.  The smugglers, however, were aware of added peril,
and raised their wages accordingly.

When the pending great venture was resolved upon, as a noble finish
to the season, Thomas Rideout would intrust it to no one but Robin
Lyth himself; and the bold young mariner stipulated that after
succeeding he should be free, and started in some more lawful
business.  For Dr. Upround, possessing as he did great influence
with Robin, and shocked as he was by what Carroway had said,
refused to have anything more to do with his most distinguished
parishioner until he should forsake his ways.  And for this he must
not be thought narrow-minded, strait-laced, or unduly dignified.
His wife quite agreed with him, and indeed had urged it as the only
proper course; for her motherly mind was uneasy about the impulsive
nature of Janetta; and chess-men to her were dolls, without even
the merit of encouraging the needle.  Therefore, with a deep sigh,
the worthy magistrate put away his board--which came out again next
day--and did his best to endure for a night the arithmetical
torture of cribbage; while he found himself supported by a sense of
duty, and capable of preaching hard at Carroway if he would only
come for it on Sunday.

From that perhaps an officer of revenue may abstain, through the
pressure of his duty and his purity of conscience; but a man of
less correctness must behave more strictly.  Therefore, when a
gentleman of vigorous aspect, resolute step, and successful-looking
forehead marched into church the next Sunday morning, showed
himself into a prominent position, and hung his hat against a
leading pillar, after putting his mouth into it, as if for prayer,
but scarcely long enough to say "Amen," behind other hats low
whispers passed that here was the great financier of free trade,
the Chancellor of the Exchequer of smuggling, the celebrated Master
Rideout.

That conclusion was shared by the rector, whose heart immediately
burned within him to have at this man, whom he had met before and
suspiciously glanced at in Weighing Lane, as an interloper in his
parish.  Probably this was the very man whom Robin Lyth served too
faithfully; and the chances were that the great operations now
known to be pending had brought him hither, spying out all
Flamborough.  The corruption of fish-folk, the beguiling of women
with foreign silks and laces, and of men with brandy, the seduction
of Robin from lawful commerce, and even the loss of his own pet
pastime, were to be laid at this man's door.  While donning his
surplice, Dr. Upround revolved these things with gentle
indignation, quickened, as soon as he found himself in white, by
clerical and theological zeal.  These feelings impelled him to
produce a creaking of the heavy vestry door, a well-known signal
for his daughter to slip out of the chancel pew and come to him.

"Now, papa, what is it?" cried that quick young lady; "that
miserable Methodist that ruined your boots, has he got the
impudence to come again?  Oh, please do say so, and show me where
he is; after church nobody shall stop me--"

"Janetta, you quite forget where you are, as well as my present
condition.  Be off like a good girl, as quick as you can, and bring
No. 27 of my own handwriting--'Render unto Caesar'--and put my hat
upon it.  My desire is that Billyjack should not know that a change
has been made in my subject of discourse."

"Papa, I see; it shall be done to perfection, while Billyjack is at
his very loudest roar in the chorus of the anthem.  But do tell me
who it is; or how can I enjoy it?  And lemon drops--lemon drops--"

"Janetta, I must have some very serious talk with you.  Now don't
be vexed, darling; you are a thoroughly good girl, only thoughtless
and careless; and remember, dear, church is not a place for high
spirits."

The rector, as behooved him, kissed his child behind the vestry
door, to soothe all sting, and then he strode forth toward the
reading-desk; and the tuning of fiddles sank to deferential scrape.

It was not at all a common thing, as one might know, for Widow
Precious to be able to escape from casks and taps, and the frying
pan of eggs demanded by some half-drowned fisherman, also the
reckoning of notches on the bench for the pints of the week unpaid
for, and then to put herself into her two best gowns (which she
wore in the winter, one over the other--a plan to be highly
commended to ladies who never can have dress enough), and so to
enjoy, without losing a penny, the warmth of the neighborhood of a
congregation.  In the afternoon she could hardly ever do it, even
if she had so wished, with knowledge that this was common people's
time; so if she went at all, it must--in spite of the difference of
length--be managed in the morning.  And this very morning here she
was, earnest, humble, and devout, with both the tap keys in her
pocket, and turning the leaves with a smack of her thumb, not only
to show her learning, but to get the sweet approval of the rector's
pew.

Now if the good rector had sent for this lady, instead of his
daughter Janetta, the sermon which he brought would have been the
one to preach, and that about Caesar might have stopped at home;
for no sooner did the widow begin to look about, taking in the
congregation with a dignified eye, and nodding to her solvent
customers, than the wrath of perplexity began to gather on her
goodly countenance.  To see that distinguished stranger was to know
him ever afterward; his power of eating, and of paying, had
endeared his memory; and for him to put up at any other house were
foul shame to the "Cod Fish."

"Hath a' put up his beastie?" she whispered to her eldest daughter,
who came in late.

"Naa, naa, no beastie," the child replied, and the widow's relish
of her thumb was gone; for, sooth to say, no Master Rideout, nor
any other patron of free trade was here, but Geoffrey Mordacks, of
York city, general factor, and universal agent.

It was beautiful to see how Dr. Upround, firmly delivering his
text, and stoutly determined to spare nobody, even insisted in the
present case upon looking at the man he meant to hit, because he
was not his parishioner.  The sermon was eloquent, and even
trenchant.  The necessity of duties was urged most sternly; if not
of directly Divine institution (though learned parallels were
adduced which almost proved them to be so), yet to every decent
Christian citizen they were synonymous with duty.  To defy or elude
them, for the sake of paltry gain, was a dark crime recoiling on
the criminal; and the preacher drew a contrast between such guilty
ways and the innocent path of the fisherman.  Neither did he even
relent and comfort, according to his custom, toward the end; that
part was there, but he left it out; and the only consolation for
any poor smuggler in all the discourse was the final Amen.

But to the rector's great amazement, and inward indignation, the
object of his sermon seemed to take it as a personal compliment.
Mr. Mordacks not only failed to wince, but finding himself
particularly fixed by the gaze of the eloquent divine, concluded
that it was from his superior intelligence, and visible gifts of
appreciation.  Delighted with this--for he was not free from
vanity--what did he do but return the compliment, not indecorously,
but nodding very gently, as much as to say, "That was very good
indeed, you were quite right, sir, in addressing that to me; you
perceive that it is far above these common people.  I never heard a
better sermon."

"What a hardened rogue you are!" thought Dr. Upround; "how feebly
and incapably I must have put it!  If you ever come again, you
shall have my Ahab sermon."

But the clergyman was still more astonished a very few minutes
afterward.  For, as he passed out of the church-yard gate,
receiving, with his wife and daughter, the kindly salute of the
parish, the same tall stranger stood before him, with a face as
hard as a statue's, and, making a short, quick flourish with his
hat, begged for the honor of shaking his hand.

"Sir, it is to thank you for the very finest sermon I ever had the
privilege of hearing.  My name is Mordacks, and I flatter nobody--
except myself--that I know a good thing when I get it."

"Sir, I am obliged to you," said Dr. Upround, stiffly, and not
without suspicion of being bantered, so dry was the stranger's
countenance, and his manner so peculiar; "and if I have been
enabled to say a good word in season, and its season lasts, it will
be a source of satisfaction to me."

"Yes, I fear there are many smugglers here.  But I am no revenue
officer, as your congregation seemed to think.  May I call upon
business to-morrow, sir?  Thank you; then may I say ten o'clock--
your time of beginning, as I hear?  Mordacks is my name, sir, of
York city, not unfavorably known there.  Ladies, my duty to you!"

"What an extraordinary man, my dear!" Mrs. Upround exclaimed, with
some ingratitude, after the beautiful bow she had received.  "He
may talk as he likes, but he must be a smuggler.  He said that he
was not an officer; that shows it, for they always run into the
opposite extreme.  You have converted him, my dear; and I am sure
that we ought to be so much obliged to him.  If he comes to-morrow
morning to give up all his lace, do try to remember how my little
all has been ruined in the wash, and I am sick of working at it."

"My dear, he is no smuggler.  I begin to recollect.  He was down
here in the summer, and I made a great mistake.  I took him for
Rideout; and I did the same to-day.  When I see him to-morrow, I
shall beg his pardon.  One gets so hurried in the vestry always;
they are so impatient with their fiddles!  A great deal of it was
Janetta's fault."

"It always is my fault, papa, somehow or other," the young lady
answered, with a faultless smile: and so they went home to the
early Sunday dinner.

"Papa, I am in such a state of excitement; I am quite unfit to go
to church this afternoon," Miss Upround exclaimed, as they set
forth again.  "You may put me in stocks made out of hassocks--you
may rope me to the Flodden Field man's monument, of the ominous
name of 'Constable;' but whatever you do, I shall never attend; and
I feel that it is so sinful."

"Janetta, your mamma has that feeling sometimes; for instance, she
has it this afternoon; and there is a good deal to be said for it.
But I fear that it would grow with indulgence."

"I can firmly fancy that it never would; though one can not be sure
without trying.  Suppose that I were to try it just once, and let
you know how it feels at tea-time?"

"My dear, we are quite round the corner of the lane.  The example
would be too shocking."

"Now don't you make any excuses, papa.  Only one woman can have
seen us yet; and she is so blind she will think it was her fault.
May I go?  Quick, before any one else comes."

"If you are quite sure, Janetta, of being in a frame of mind which
unfits you for the worship of your Maker--"

"As sure as a pike-staff, dear papa."

"Then, by all means, go before anybody sees you, for whom it might
be undesirable; and correct your thoughts, and endeavor to get into
a befitting state of mind by tea-time."

"Certainly, papa.  I will go down on the stones, and look at the
sea.  That always makes me better; because it is so large and so
uncomfortable."

The rector went on to do his duty, by himself.  A narrow-minded man
might have shaken solemn head, even if he had allowed such
dereliction.  But Dr. Upround knew that the girl was good, and he
never put strain upon her honesty.  So away she sped by a lonely
little foot-path, where nobody could take from her contagion of bad
morals; and avoiding the incline of boats, she made off nicely for
the quiet outer bay, and there, upon a shelfy rock, she sat and
breathed the sea.

Flamborough, excellent place as it is, and delightful, and full of
interest for people who do not live there, is apt to grow dull
perhaps for spirited youth, in the scanty and foggy winter light.
There is not so very much of that choice product generally called
"society" by a man who has a house to let in an eligible
neighborhood, and by ladies who do not heed their own.  Moreover,
it is vexatious not to have more rogues to talk about.

That scarcity may be less lamentable now, being one that takes care
to redress itself, and perhaps any amateur purchaser of fish may
find rogues enough now for his interest.  But the rector's daughter
pined for neither society nor scandal: she had plenty of interest
in her life, and in pleasing other people, whenever she could do it
with pleasure to herself, and that was nearly always.  Her present
ailment was not languor, weariness, or dullness, but rather the
want of such things; which we long for when they happen to be
scarce, and declare them to be our first need, under the sweet name
of repose.

Her mind was a little disturbed by rumors, wonders, and uncertainty.
She was not at all in love with Robin Lyth, and laughed at his
vanity quite as much as she admired his gallantry.  She looked upon
him also as of lower rank, kindly patronized by her father, but not
to be treated as upon an equal footing.  He might be of any rank,
for all that was known; but he must be taken to belong to those who
had brought him up and fed him.  Janetta was a lively girl, of
quick perception and some discretion, though she often talked much
nonsense.  She was rather proud of her position, and somewhat
disdainful of uneducated folk; though (thanks to her father) Lyth
was not one of these.  Possibly love (if she had felt it) would
have swept away such barriers; but Robin was grateful to his patron,
and, knowing his own place in life, would rightly have thought it a
mean return to attempt to inveigle the daughter.  So they liked one
another--but nothing more.  It was not, therefore, for his sake
only, but for her father's, and that of the place, that Miss
Upround now was anxious.  For days and days she had watched the sea
with unusual forebodings, knowing that a great importation was
toward, and pretty sure to lead to blows, after so much preparation.
With feminine zeal, she detested poor Carroway, whom she regarded
as a tyrant and a spy; and she would have clapped her hands at
beholding the three cruisers run upon a shoal, and there stick fast.
And as for King George, she had never believed that he was the
proper King of England.  There were many stanch Jacobites still in
Yorkshire, and especially the bright young ladies.

To-night, at least, the coast was likely to be uninvaded.
Smugglers, even if their own forces would make breach upon the day
of rest, durst not outrage the piety of the land, which would only
deal with kegs in-doors.  The coast-guard, being for the most part
southerns, splashed about as usual--a far more heinous sin against
the Word of God than smuggling.  It is the manner of Yorkshiremen
to think for themselves, with boldness, in the way they are brought
up to: and they made it a point of serious doubt whether the orders
of the king himself could set aside the Fourth Commandment, though
his arms were over it.

Dr. Upround's daughter, as she watched the sea, felt sure that,
even if the goods were ready, no attempt at landing would be made
that night, though something might be done in the morning.  But
even that was not very likely, because (as seemed to be widely
known) the venture was a very large one, and the landers would
require a whole night's work to get entirely through with it.

"I wish it was over, one way or the other," she kept on saying to
herself, as she gazed at the dark, weary lifting of the sea; "it
keeps one unsettled as the waves themselves.  Sunday always makes
me feel restless, because there is so little to do.  It is wicked,
I suppose; but how can I help it?  Why, there is a boat, I do
declare!  Well, even a boat is welcome, just to break this gray
monotony.  What boat can it be?  None of ours, of course.  And what
can they want with our Church Cave?  I hope they understand its
dangers."

Although the wind was not upon the shore, and no long rollers were
setting in, short, uncomfortable, clumsy waves were lolloping under
the steep gray cliffs, and casting up splashes of white here and
there.  To enter that cave is a risky thing, except at very
favorable times, and even then some experience is needed, for the
rocks around it are like knives, and the boat must generally be
backed in, with more use of fender and hook than of oars.  But the
people in the boat seemed to understand all that.  There were two
men rowing, and one steering with an oar, and a fourth standing up,
as if to give directions; though in truth he knew nothing about it,
but hated even to seem to play second fiddle.

"What a strange thing!" Janetta thought, as she drew behind a rock,
that they might not see her, "I could almost declare that the man
standing up is that most extraordinary gentleman papa preached
quite the wrong sermon at.  Truly he deserves the Ahab one, for
spying our caves out on a Sunday.  He must be a smuggler, after
all, or a very crafty agent of the Revenue.  Well, I never!  That
old man steering, as sure as I live, is Robin Cockscroft, by the
scarlet handkerchief round his head.  Oh, Robin! Robin! could I
ever have believed that you would break the Sabbath so?  But the
boat is not Robin's.  What boat can it be?  I have not staid away
from church for nothing.  One of the men rowing has got no legs,
when the boat goes up and down.  It must be that villain of a tipsy
Joe, who used to keep the 'Monument.'  I heard that he was come
back again, to stump for his beer as usual: and his son, that sings
like the big church bell, and has such a very fine face and one
leg--why, he is the man that pulls the other oar.  Was there ever
such a boat-load?  But they know what they are doing."

Truly it was, as the young lady said, an extraordinary boat's crew.
Old Robin Cockscroft, with a fringe of silver hair escaping from
the crimson silk, which he valued so much more than it, and his
face still grand (in spite of wrinkles and some weakness of the
eyes), keenly understanding every wave, its character, temper, and
complexity of influence, as only a man can understand who has for
his life stood over them.  Then tugging at the oars, or rather
dipping them with a short well-practiced plunge, and very little
toil of body, two ancient sailors, one considerably older than the
other, inasmuch as he was his father, yet chips alike from a sturdy
block, and fitted up with jury-stumps.  Old Joe pulled rather the
better oar, and called his son "a one-legged fiddler" when he
missed the dip of wave; while Mordacks stood with his leg's apart,
and playing the easy part of critic, had his sneers at both of
them.  But they let him gibe to his liking; because they knew their
work, and he did not.  And, upon the whole, they went merrily.

The only one with any doubt concerning the issue of the job was the
one who knew most about it, and that was Robin Cockscroft.  He
doubted not about want of strength, or skill, or discipline of his
oars, but because the boat was not Flamburian, but borrowed from a
collier round the Head.  No Flamborough boat would ever think of
putting to sea on a Sunday, unless it were to save human life; and
it seemed to him that no strange boat could find her way into the
native caves.  He doubted also whether, even with the pressure of
strong motive put upon him, which was not of money, it was a godly
thing on his part to be steering in his Sunday clothes; and he
feared to hear of it thereafter.  But being in for it, he must do
his utmost.

With genuine skill and solid patience, the entrance of the cave was
made, and the boat was lost to Janetta's view.  She as well was
lost in the deeper cavern of great wonder, and waited long, and
much desired to wait even longer, to see them issue forth again,
and learn what they could have been after.  But the mist out of
which they had come, and inside of which they would rather have
remained perhaps, now thickened over land and sea, and groping
dreamily for something to lay hold of, found a solid stay and rest-
hold in the jagged headlands here.  Here, accordingly, the coilings
of the wandering forms began to slide into strait layers, and soft
settlement of vapor.  Loops of hanging moisture marked the hollows
of the land-front, or the alleys of the waning light; and then the
mass abandoned outline, fused its shades to pulp, and melted into
one great blur of rain.  Janetta thought of her Sunday frock,
forgot the boat, and sped away for home.



CHAPTER XXXI

TACTICS OF ATTACK


"I am sorry to be troublesome, Mynheer Van Dunck, but I can not say
good-by without having your receipt in full for the old bilander."

"Goot, it is vere good, Meester Lyth; you are te goot man for te
pisness."

With these words the wealthy merchant of the Zuyder-Zee drew forth
his ancient inkhorn, smeared with the dirt of countless contracts,
and signed an acquittance which the smuggler had prepared.  But he
signed it with a sigh, as a man declares that a favorite horse must
go at last; sighing, not for the money, but the memories that go
with it.  Then, as the wind began to pipe, and the roll of the sea
grew heavier, the solid Dutchman was lowered carefully into his
shore boat, and drew the apron over his great and gouty legs.

"I vos married in dat zhips," he shouted back, with his ponderous
fist wagging up at Robin Lyth, "Dis taime you will have de bad
luck, sir."

"Well, mynheer, you have only to pay the difference, and the ketch
will do; the bilander sails almost as fast."

But Master Van Dunck only heaved another sigh, and felt that his
leather bag was safe and full in his breeches pocket.  Then he
turned his eyes away, and relieved his mind by swearing at his men.

Now this was off the Isle of Texel, and the time was Sunday
morning, the very same morning which saw the general factor sitting
to be preached at.  The flotilla of free trade was putting forth
upon its great emprise, and Van Dunck (who had been ship's husband)
came to speed them from their moorings.

He took no risk, and to him it mattered little, except as a
question of commission; but still he enjoyed the relish of breaking
English law most heartily.  He hated England, as a loyal Dutchman,
for generations, was compelled to do; and he held that a Dutchman
was a better sailor, a better ship-builder, and a better fighter
than the very best Englishman ever born.  However, his opinions
mattered little, being (as we must feel) absurd.  Therefore let him
go his way, and grumble, and reckon his guilders.  It was generally
known that he could sink a ship with money; and when such a man is
insolent, who dares to contradict him?

The flotilla in the offing soon ploughed hissing furrows through
the misty waves.  There were three craft, all of different rig--a
schooner, a ketch, and the said bilander.  All were laden as
heavily as speed and safety would allow, and all were thoroughly
well manned.  They laid their course for the Dogger Bank, where
they would receive the latest news of the disposition of the enemy.
Robin Lyth, high admiral of smugglers, kept to his favorite
schooner, the Glimpse, which had often shown a fading wake to
fastest cutters.  His squadron was made up by the ketch, Good Hope,
and the old Dutch coaster, Crown of Gold.  This vessel, though
built for peaceful navigation and inland waters, had proved herself
so thoroughly at home in the roughest situations, and so swift of
foot, though round of cheek, that the smugglers gloried in her and
the good luck which sat upon her prow.  They called her "the
lugger," though her rig was widely different from that, and her due
title was "bilander."  She was very deeply laden now, and, having
great capacity, appeared an unusually tempting prize.

This grand armada of invasion made its way quite leisurely.  Off
the Dogger Bank they waited for the last news, and received it, and
the whole of it was to their liking, though the fisherman who
brought it strongly advised them to put back again.  But Captain
Lyth had no such thought, for the weather was most suitable for the
bold scheme he had hit upon.  "This is my last run," he said, "and
I mean to make it a good one."  Then he dressed himself as smartly
as if he were going to meet Mary Anerley, and sent a boat for the
skippers of the Good Hope, and the Crown of Gold, who came very
promptly and held counsel in his cabin.

"I'm thinking that your notion is a very good one, captain," said
the master of the bilander, Brown, a dry old hand from Grimsby.

"Capital, capital; there never was a better," the master of the
ketch chimed in, "Nettlebones and Carroway--they will knock their
heads together!"

"The plan is clever enough," replied Robin, who was free from all
mock-modesty, "But you heard what that old Van Dunck said.  I wish
he had not said it."

"Ten tousan' tuyfels--as the stingy old thief himself says--he
might have held his infernal croak.  I hate to make sail with a
croak astern; 'tis as bad as a crow on forestay-sail."

"All very fine for you to talk," grumbled the man of the bilander
to the master of the ketch; "but the bad luck is saddled upon me
this voyage.  You two get the gilgoes, and I the bilboes!"

"Brown, none of that!" Captain Lyth said, quietly, but with a look
which the other understood; "you are not such a fool as you pretend
to be.  You may get a shot or two fired at you; but what is that to
a Grimsby man?  And who will look at you when your hold is
broached?  Your game is the easiest that any man can play--to hold
your tongue and run away."

"Brown, you share the profits, don't you see?" the ketch man went
on, while the other looked glum; "and what risk do you take for it?
Even if they collar you, through your own clumsiness, what is there
for them to do?  A Grimsby man is a grumbling man, I have heard
ever since I was that high.  I'll change berths with you, if you
choose, this minute."

"You could never do it," said the Grimsby man, with that high
contempt which abounds where he was born--"a boy like you!  I
should like to see you try it."

"Remember, both of you," said Robin Lyth, "that you are not here to
do as you please, but to obey my orders.  If the coast-guard
quarrel, we do not; and that is why we beat them.  You will both do
exactly as I have laid it down; and the risk of failure falls on
me.  The plan is very simple, and can not fail, if you will just
try not to think for yourselves, which always makes everything go
wrong.  The only thing you have to think about at all is any sudden
change of weather.  If a gale from the east sets in, you both run
north, and I come after you.  But there will not be any easterly
gale for the present week, to my belief; although I am not quite
sure of it."

"Not a sign of it.  Wind will hold with sunset, up to next quarter
of the moon."

"The time I ha' been on the coast," said Brown, "and to hear the
young chaps talking over my head!  Never you mind how I know, but
I'll lay a guinea with both of you--easterly gale afore Friday."

"Brown, you may be right," said Robin; "I have had some fear of it,
and I know that you carry a weather eye.  No man under forty can
pretend to that.  But if it will only hold off till Friday, we
shall have the laugh of it.  And even if it come on, Tom and I
shall manage.  But you will be badly off in that case, Brown.
After all, you are right; the main danger is for you."

Lyth, knowing well how important it was that each man should play
his part with true good-will, shifted his ground thus to satisfy
the other, who was not the man to shrink from peril, but liked to
have his share acknowledged.

"Ay, ay, captain, you see clear enough, though Tom here has not got
the gumption," the man of Grimsby answered, with a lofty smile.
"Everybody knows pretty well what William Brown is.  When there is
anything that needs a bit of pluck, it is sure to be put upon old
Bill Brown.  And never you come across the man, Captain Lyth, as
could say that Bill Brown was not all there.  Now orders is orders,
lad.  Tip us your latest."

"Then latest orders are to this effect.  Toward dusk of night you
stand in first, a league or more ahead of us, according to the
daylight, Tom to the north of you, and me to the south, just within
signaling distance.  The Kestrel and Albatross will come to speak
the Swordfish off Robin Hood's Bay, at that very hour, as we happen
to be aware.  You sight them, even before they sight you, because
you know where to look for them, and you keep a sharper look-out,
of course.  Not one of them will sight us, so far off in the
offing.  Signal immediately, one, two, or three; and I heartily
hope it will be all three.  Then you still stand in, as if you
could not see them; and they begin to laugh, and draw inshore;
knowing the Inlander as they do, they will hug the cliffs for you
to run into their jaws.  Tom and I bear off, all sail, never
allowing them to sight us.  We crack on to the north and south, and
by that time it will be nearly dark.  You still carry on, till they
know that you must see them; then 'bout ship, and crowd sail to
escape.  They give chase, and you lead them out to sea, and the
longer you carry on, the better.  Then, as they begin to fore-
reach, and threaten to close, you 'bout ship again, as in despair,
run under their counters, and stand in for the bay.  They may fire
at you; but it is not very likely, for they would not like to sink
such a valuable prize; though nobody else would have much fear of
that."

"Captain, I laugh at their brass kettle-pots.  They may blaze away
as blue as verdigris.  Though an Englishman haven't no right to be
shot at, only by a Frenchman."

"Very well, then, you hold on, like a Norfolk man, through the
thickest of the enemy.  Nelson is a Norfolk man; and you charge
through as he does.  You bear right on, and rig a gangway for the
landing, which puts them all quite upon the scream.  All three
cutters race after you pell-mell, and it is much if they do not run
into one another.  You take the beach, stem on, with the tide upon
the ebb, and by that time it ought to be getting on for midnight.
What to do then, I need not tell you; but make all the stand you
can to spare us any hurry.  But don't give the knock-down blow if
you can help it; the lawyers make such a point of that, from their
intimacy with the prize-fighters."

Clearly perceiving their duty now, these three men braced up loin,
and sailed to execute the same accordingly.  For invaders and
defenders were by this time in real earnest with their work, and
sure alike of having done the very best that could be done.  With
equal confidence on either side, a noble triumph was expected,
while the people on the dry land shook their heads and were
thankful to be out of it.  Carroway, in a perpetual ferment, gave
no peace to any of his men, and never entered his own door; but
riding, rowing, or sailing up and down, here and there and
everywhere, set an example of unflagging zeal, which was largely
admired and avoided.  And yet he was not the only remarkably active
man in the neighborhood; for that great fact, and universal factor,
Geoffrey Mordacks, was entirely here.  He had not broken the heart
of Widow Precious by taking up his quarters at the Thornwick Inn,
as she at first imagined, but loyally brought himself and his horse
to her sign-post for their Sunday dinner.  Nor was this all, but he
ordered the very best bedroom, and the "coral parlor"--as he
elegantly called the sea-weedy room--gave every child, whether male
or female, sixpence of new mintage, and created such impression on
her widowed heart that he even won the privilege of basting his own
duck.  Whatever this gentleman did never failed to reflect equal
credit on him and itself.  But thoroughly well as he basted his
duck, and efficiently as he consumed it, deeper things were in his
mind, and moving with every mouthful.  If Captain Carroway labored
hard on public and royal service, no less severely did Mordacks
work, though his stronger sense of self-duty led him to feed the
labor better.  On the Monday morning he had a long and highly
interesting talk with the magisterial rector, to whom he set forth
certain portions of his purpose, loftily spurning entire
concealment, according to the motto of his life.  "You see, sir,"
he said, as he rose to depart, "what I have told you is very
important, and in the strictest confidence, of course, because I
never do anything on the sly."

"Mr. Mordacks, you have surprised me," answered Dr. Upround;
"though I am not so very much wiser at present.  I really must
congratulate you upon your activity, and the impression you
create."

"Not at all, sir, not at all.  It is my manner of doing business,
now for thirty years or more.  Moles and fools, sir, work under-
ground, and only get traps set for them; I travel entirely above-
ground, and go ten miles for their ten inches.  My strategy, sir,
is simplicity.  Nothing puzzles rogues so much, because they can
not believe it."

"The theory is good; may the practice prove the same!  I should be
sorry to be against you in any case you undertake.  In the present
matter I am wholly with you, so far as I understand what it is.
Still, Flamborough is a place of great difficulties--"

"The greatest difficulty of all would be to fail, as I look at it.
Especially with your most valuable aid."

"What little I can do shall be most readily forth-coming.  But
remember there is many a slip--If you had interfered but one month
ago, how much easier it might have been!"

"Truly.  But I have to grope my way; and it is a hard people, as
you say, to deal with.  But I have no fear, sir; I shall overcome
all Flamborough, unless--unless, what I fear to think of, there
should happen to be bloodshed."

"There will be none of that, Mr. Mordacks; we are too skillful, and
too gentle, for anything more than a few cracked crowns."

"Then everything is as it ought to be.  But I must be off; I have
many points to see to.  How I find time for this affair is the
wonder."

"But you will not leave us, I suppose, until--until what appears to
be expected has happened!"

"When I undertake a thing, Dr. Upround, my rule is to go through
with it.  You have promised me the honor of an interview at any
time.  Good-by, sir; and pray give the compliments of Mr. Mordacks
to the ladies."

With even more than his usual confidence and high spirits the
general factor mounted horse and rode at once to Bridlington, or
rather to the quay thereof, in search of Lieutenant Carroway.  But
Carroway was not at home, and his poor wife said, with a sigh, that
now she had given up expecting him.  "Have no fear, madam; I will
bring him back," Mordacks answered, as if he already held him by
the collar.  "I have very good news, madam, very grand news for
him, and you, and all those lovely and highly intelligent children.
Place me, madam, under the very deepest obligation by allowing
these two little dears to take the basket I see yonder, and
accompany me to that apple stand.  I saw there some fruit of a sort
which used to fit my teeth most wonderfully when they were just the
size of theirs.  And here is another little darling, with a pin-
before infinitely too spotless.  If you will spare her also, we
will do our best to take away that reproach, ma'am."

"Oh, sir, you are much too kind.  But to speak of good news does
one good.  It is so long since there has been any, that I scarcely
know how to pronounce the words."

"Mistress Carroway, take my word for it, that such a state of
things shall be shortly of the past.  I will bring back Captain
Carroway, madam, to his sweet and most beautifully situated home,
and with tidings which shall please you."

"It is kind of you not to tell me the good news now, sir.  I shall
enjoy it so much more, to see my husband hear it.  Good-by, and I
hope that you will soon be back again."

While Mr. Mordacks was loading the children with all that they made
soft mouths at, he observed for the second time three men who
appeared to be taking much interest in his doings.  They had
sauntered aloof while he called at the cottage, as if they had
something to say to him, but would keep it until he had finished
there.  But they did not come up to him as he expected; and when he
had seen the small Carroways home, he rode up to ask what they
wanted with him.  "Nothing, only this, sir," the shortest of them
answered, while the others pretended not to hear; "we was told that
yon was Smuggler's house, and we thought that your Honor was the
famous Captain Lyth."

"If I ever want a man," said the general factor, "to tell a lie
with a perfect face, I shall come here and look for you, my
friend."  The man looked at him, and smiled, and nodded, as much as
to say, "You might get it done worse," and then carelessly followed
his comrades toward the sea.  And Mr. Mordacks, riding off with
equal jauntiness, cocked his hat, and stared at the Priory Church
as if he had never seen any such building before.

"I begin to have a very strong suspicion," he said to himself as he
put his horse along, "that this is the place where the main attack
will be.  Signs of a well-suppressed activity are manifest to an
experienced eye like mine.  All the grocers, the bakers, the
candlestick-makers, and the women, who always precede the men, are
mightily gathered together.  And the men are holding counsel in a
milder way.  They have got three jugs at the old boat-house for the
benefit of holloaing in the open air.  Moreover, the lane inland is
scored with a regular market-day of wheels, and there is no market
this side of the old town.  Carroway, vigilant captain of men, why
have you forsaken your domestic hearth?  Is it through jealousy of
Nettlebones, and a stern resolve to be ahead of him?  Robin, my
Robin, is a genius in tactics, a very bright Napoleon of free
trade.  He penetrates the counsels, or, what is more, the feelings,
of those who camp against him.  He means to land this great emprise
at Captain Carroway's threshold.  True justice on the man for
sleeping out of his own bed so long!  But instead of bowing to the
blow, he would turn a downright maniac, according to all I hear of
him.  Well, it is no concern of mine, so long as nobody is killed,
which everybody makes such a fuss about."



CHAPTER XXXII

CORDIAL ENJOYMENT


The poise of this great enterprise was hanging largely in the sky,
from which come all things, and to which resolved they are referred
again.  The sky, to hold an equal balance, or to decline all
troublesome responsibility about it, went away, or (to put it more
politely) retired from the scene.  Even as nine men out of ten,
when a handsome fight is toward, would rather have no opinion on
the merits, but abide in their breeches, and there keep their hands
till the fist of the victor is opened, so at this period the upper
firmament nodded a strict neutrality.  And yet, on the whole, it
must have indulged a sneaking proclivity toward free trade;
otherwise, why should it have been as follows?

November now was far advanced; and none but sanguine Britons hoped,
at least in this part of the world, to know (except from memory and
predictions of the almanac) whether the sun were round or square,
until next Easter-day should come.  It was not quite impossible
that he might appear at Candlemas, when he is supposed to give a
dance, though hitherto a strictly private one; but even so, this
premature frisk of his were undesirable, if faith in ancient rhyme
be any.  But putting him out of the question, as he had already put
himself, the things that were below him, and, from length of
practice, manage well to shape their course without him, were
moving now and managing themselves with moderation.

The tone of the clouds was very mild, and so was the color of the
sea.  A comely fog involved the day, and a decent mist restrained
the night from ostentatious waste of stars.  It was not such very
bad weather; but a captious man might find fault with it, and only
a thoroughly cheerful one could enlarge upon its merits.  Plainly
enough these might be found by anybody having any core of rest
inside him, or any gift of turning over upon a rigidly neutral
side, and considerably outgazing the color of his eyes.

Commander Nettlebones was not of poetic, philosophic, or vague
mind.  "What a ----- fog!" he exclaimed in the morning; and he used
the same words in the afternoon, through a speaking-trumpet, as the
two other cutters ranged up within hail.  This they did very
carefully, at the appointed rendezvous, toward the fall of the
afternoon, and hauled their wind under easy sail, shivering in the
southwestern breeze.

"Not half so bad as it was," returned Bowler, being of a cheerful
mind.  "It is lifting every minute, sir.  Have you had sight of
anything?"

"Not a blessed stick, except a fishing-boat.  What makes you ask,
lieutenant?"

"Why, sir, as we rounded in, it lifted for a moment, and I saw a
craft some two leagues out, standing straight in for us."

"The devil you did!  What was she like? and where away,
lieutenant?"

"A heavy lugger, under all sail, about E.N.E, as near as may be.
She is standing for Robin Hood's Bay, I believe.  In an hour's time
she will be upon us, if the weather keeps so thick."

"She may have seen you, and sheered off.  Stand straight for her,
as nigh as you can guess.  The fog is lifting, as you say.  If you
sight her, signal instantly.  Lieutenant Donovan, have you heard
Bowler's news?"

"Sure an' if it wasn't for the fog, I would.  Every word of it come
to me, as clear as seeing."

"Very well.  Carry on a little to the south, half a league or so,
and then stand out, but keep within sound of signal.  I shall bear
up presently.  It is clearing every minute, and we must nab them."

The fog began to rise in loops and alleys, with the upward pressure
of the evening breeze, which freshened from the land in lines and
patches, according to the run of cliff.  Here the water darkened
with the ruffle of the wind, and there it lay quiet, with a glassy
shine, or gentle shadows of variety.  Soon the three cruisers saw
one another clearly; and then they all sighted an approaching sail.

This was a full-bowed vessel, of quaint rig, heavy sheer, and
extraordinary build--a foreigner clearly, and an ancient one.  She
differed from a lugger as widely as a lugger differs from a
schooner, and her broad spread of canvas combined the features of
square and of fore-and-aft tackle.  But whatever her build or rig
might be, she was going through the water at a strapping pace,
heavily laden as she was, with her long yards creaking, and her
broad frame croaking, and her deep bows driving up the fountains of
the sea.  Her enormous mainsail upon the mizzenmast--or mainmast,
for she only carried two--was hung obliquely, yet not as a
lugger's, slung at one-third of its length, but bent to a long yard
hanging fore and aft, with a long fore-end sloping down to midship.
This great sail gave her vast power, when close hauled; and she
carried a square sail on the foremast, and a square sail on either
topmast.

"Lord, have mercy!  She could run us all down if she tried!"
exclaimed Commander Nettlebones; "and what are my pop-guns against
such beam?"

For a while the bilander seemed to mean to try it, for she carried
on toward the central cruiser as if she had not seen one of them.
Then, beautifully handled, she brought to, and was scudding before
the wind in another minute, leading them all a brave stern-chase
out to sea.

"It must be that dare-devil Lyth himself," Nettlebones said, as the
Swordfish strained, with all canvas set, but no gain made; "no
other fellow in all the world would dare to beard us in this style.
I'd lay ten guineas that Donovan's guns won't go off, if he tries
them.  Ah, I thought so--a fizz, and a stink--trust an Irishman."

For this gallant lieutenant, slanting toward the bows of the flying
bilander, which he had no hope of fore-reaching, trained his long
swivel-gun upon her, and let go--or rather tried to let go--at her.
But his powder was wet, or else there was some stoppage; for the
only result was a spurt of smoke inward, and a powdery eruption on
his own red cheeks.

"I wish I could have heard him swear," grumbled Nettlebones; "that
would have been worth something.  But Bowler is further out.
Bowler will cross her bows, and he is not a fool.  Don't be in a
hurry, my fine Bob Lyth.  You are not clear yet, though you crack
on like a trooper.  Well done, Bowler, you have headed him!  By
Jove, I don't understand these tactics.  Stand by there!  She is
running back again."

To the great amazement of all on board the cruisers, except perhaps
one or two, the great Dutch vessel, which might haply have escaped
by standing on her present course, spun round like a top, and bore
in again among her three pursuers.  She had the heels of all of
them before the wind, and might have run down any intercepter, but
seemed not to know it, or to lose all nerve.  "Thank the Lord in
heaven, all rogues are fools!  She may double as she will, but she
is ours now.  Signal Albatross and Kestrel to stand in."

In a few minutes all four were standing for the bay; the Dutch
vessel leading with all sail set, the cruisers following warily,
and spreading, to head her from the north or south.  It was plain
that they had her well in the toils; she must either surrender or
run ashore; close hauled as she was, she could not run them down,
even if she would dream of such an outrage.

So far from showing any sign of rudeness was the smuggling vessel,
that she would not even plead want of light as excuse for want of
courtesy.  For running past the royal cutters, who took much longer
to come about, she saluted each of them with deep respect for the
swallowtail of his Majesty.  And then she bore on, like the
admiral's ship, with signal for all to follow her.

"Such cursed impudence never did I see," cried every one of the
revenue skippers, as they all were compelled to obey her.
"Surrender she must, or else run upon the rocks.  Does the fool
know what he is driving at?"

The fool, who was Master James Brown of Grimsby, knew very well
what he was about.  Every shoal, and sounding, and rocky gut, was
thoroughly familiar to him, and the spread of faint light on the
waves and alongshore told him all his bearings.  The loud cackle of
laughter, which Grimsby men (at the cost of the rest of the world)
enjoy, was carried by the wind to the ears of Nettlebones.

The latter set fast his teeth, and ground them; for now in the
rising of the large full moon he perceived that the beach of the
cove was black with figures gathering rapidly.  "I see the
villain's game; it is all clear now," he shouted, as he slammed his
spy-glass.  "He means to run in where we dare not follow: and he
knows that Carroway is out of hail.  The hull may go smash for the
sake of the cargo; and his flat-bottomed tub can run where we can
not.  I dare not carry after him--court-martial if I do: that is
where those fellows beat us always.  But, by the Lord Harry, he
shall not prevail!  Guns are no good--the rogue knows that.  We
will land round the point, and nab him."

By this time the moon was beginning to open the clouds, and strew
the waves with light; and the vapors, which had lain across the
day, defying all power of sun ray, were gracefully yielding, and
departing softly, at the insinuating whisper of the gliding night.
Between the busy rolling of the distant waves, and the shining
prominence of forward cliffs, a quiet space was left for ships to
sail in, and for men to show activity in shooting one another.  And
some of these were hurrying to do so, if they could.

"There is little chance of hitting them in this bad light; but let
them have it, Jakins; and a guinea for you, if you can only bring
that big mainsail down."

The gunner was yearning for this, and the bellow of his piece
responded to the captain's words.  But the shot only threw up a
long path of fountains, and the bilander ploughed on as merrily as
before.

"Hard aport!  By the Lord, I felt her touch!  Go about!  So, so--
easy!  Now lie to, for Kestrel and Albatross to join.  My certy!
but that was a narrow shave.  How the beggar would have laughed if
we had grounded!  Give them another shot.  It will do the gun good;
she wants a little exercise."

Nothing loath was master gunner, as the other bow-gun came into
bearing, to make a little more noise in the world, and possibly
produce a greater effect.  And therein he must have had a grand
success, and established a noble reputation, by carrying off a
great Grimsby head, if he only had attended to a little matter.
Gunner Jakins was a celebrated shot, and the miss he had made
stirred him up to shoot again.  If the other gun was crooked, this
one should be straight; and dark as it was inshore, he got a patch
of white ground to sight by.  The bilander was a good sizable
object, and not to hit her anywhere would be too bad.  He
considered these things carefully, and cocked both eyes, with a
twinkling ambiguity between them; then trusting mainly to the left
one, as an ancient gunner for the most part does, he watched the
due moment, and fired.  The smoke curled over the sea, and so did
the Dutchman's maintop-sail, for the mast beneath it was cut clean
through.  Some of the crew were frightened, as may be the bravest
man when for the first time shot at; but James Brown rubbed his
horny hands.

"Now this is a good judgment for that younker Robin Lyth," he
shouted aloud, with the glory of a man who has verified his own
opinions.  "He puts all the danger upon his elders, and tells them
there is none of it.  A' might just as well have been my head, if a
wave hadn't lifted the muzzle when that straight-eyed chap let
fire.  Bear a hand, boys, and cut away the wreck.  He hathn't got
never another shot to send.  He hath saved us trouble o' shortening
that there canvas.  We don't need too much way on her."

This was true enough, as all hands knew; for the craft was bound to
take the beach, without going to pieces yet awhile.  Jem Brown
stood at the wheel himself, and carried her in with consummate
skill.

"It goeth to my heart to throw away good stuff," he grumbled at
almost every creak.  "Two hunder pound I would 'a paid myself for
this here piece of timber.  Steady as a light-house, and as handy
as a mop; but what do they young fellows care?  There, now, my
lads, hold your legs a moment; and now make your best of that."

"With a crash, and a grating, and a long sad grind, the nuptial ark
of the wealthy Dutchman cast herself into her last bed and berth.

"I done it right well," said the Grimsby man.

The poor old bilander had made herself such a hole in the shingle
that she rolled no more, but only lifted at the stern and groaned,
as the quiet waves swept under her.  The beach was swarming with
men, who gave her a cheer, and flung their hats up; and in two or
three minutes as many gangways of timber and rope were rigged to
her hawse-holes, or fore-chains, or almost anywhere.  And then the
rolling of puncheons began, and the hoisting of bales, and the
thump and the creak, and the laughter, and the swearing.

"Now be you partiklar, uncommon partiklar; never start a stave nor
fray a bale.  Powerful precious stuff this time.  Gold every bit of
it, if it are a penny.  They blessed coast-riders will be on us
round the point.  But never you hurry, lads, the more for that.
Better a'most to let 'em have it, than damage a drop or a thread of
such goods."

"All right, Cappen Brown.  Don't you be so wonnerful unaisy.  Not
the first time we have handled such stuff."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied Brown, as he lit a short pipe
and began to puff.  "I've a-run some afore, but never none so
precious."

Then the men of the coast and the sailors worked with a will, by
the broad light of the moon, which showed their brawny arms and
panting chests, with the hoisting, and the heaving, and the
rolling.  In less than an hour three-fourths of the cargo was
landed, and some already stowed inland, where no Preventive eye
could penetrate.  Then Captain Brown put away his pipe, and was
busy, in a dark empty part of the hold, with some barrels of his
own, which he covered with a sailcloth.

Presently the tramp of marching men was heard in a lane on the
north side of the cove, and then the like sound echoed from the
south.  "Now never you hurry," said the Grimsby man.  The others,
however, could not attain such standard of equanimity.  They fell
into sudden confusion, and babble of tongues, and hesitation--
everybody longing to be off, but nobody liking to run without
something good.  And to get away with anything at all substantial,
even in the dark, was difficult, because there were cliffs in
front, and the flanks would be stopped by men with cutlasses.

"Ston' you still," cried Captain Brown; "never you budge, ne'er a
one of ye.  I stands upon my legitimacy; and I answer for the
consekence.  I takes all responsibility."

Like all honest Britons, they loved long words, and they knew that
if the worst came to the worst, a mere broken head or two would
make all straight; so they huddled together in the moonlight
waiting, and no one desired to be the outside man.  And while they
were striving for precedence toward the middle, the coast-guards
from either side marched upon them, according to their very best
drill and in high discipline, to knock down almost any man with the
pommel of the sword.

But the smugglers also showed high discipline under the commanding
voice of Captain Brown.

"Every man ston' with his hands to his sides, and ask of they
sojjers for a pinch of bacca."

This made them laugh, till Captain Nettlebones strode up.

"In the name of his Majesty, surrender, all you fellows.  You are
fairly caught in the very act of landing a large run of goods
contraband.  It is high time to make an example of you.  Where is
your skipper, lads?  Robin Lyth, come forth."

"May it please your good honor and his Majesty's commission," said
Brown, in his full, round voice, as he walked down the broadest of
the gangways leisurely, "my name is not Robin Lyth, but James
Brown, a family man of Grimsby, and an honest trader upon the high
seas.  My cargo is medical water and rags, mainly for the use of
the revenue men, by reason they han't had their new uniforms this
twelve months."

Several of the enemy began to giggle, for their winter supply of
clothes had failed, through some lapse of the department.  But
Nettlebones marched up, and collared Captain Brown, and said, "You
are my prisoner, sir.  Surrender, Robin Lyth, this moment."  Brown
made no resistance, but respectfully touched his hat, and thought.

"I were trying to call upon my memory," he said, as the revenue
officer led him aside, and promised him that he should get off
easily if he would only give up his chief.  "I am not going to
deny, your honor, that I have heard tell of that name 'Robin Lyth.'
But my memory never do come in a moment.  Now were he a man in the
contraband line?"

"Brown, you want to provoke me.  It will only be ten times worse
for you.  Now give him up like an honest fellow, and I will do my
best for you.  I might even let a few tubs slip by."

"Sir, I am a stranger round these parts; and the lingo is beyond
me.  Tubs is a bucket as the women use for washing.  Never I heared
of any other sort of tubs.  But my mate he knoweth more of
Yorkshire talk.  Jack, here his honor is a-speaking about tubs;
ever you hear of tubs, Jack?"

"Make the villain fast to yonder mooring-post," shouted
Nettlebones, losing his temper; "and one of you stand by him, with
a hanger ready.  Now, Master Brown, we'll see what tubs are, if you
please; and what sort of rags you land at night.  One chance more
for you--will you give up Robin Lyth?"

"Yes, sir, that I will, without two thoughts about 'un.  Only too
happy, as the young women say, to give 'un up, quick stick--so soon
as ever I ha' got 'un."

"If ever there was a contumacious rogue!  Roll up a couple of those
puncheons, Mr. Avery; and now light half a dozen links.  Have you
got your spigot-heels--and rummers?  Very good; Lieutenant Donovan,
Mr. Avery, and Senior Volunteer Brett, oblige me by standing by to
verify.  Gentlemen, we will endeavor to hold what is judicially
called an assay--a proof of the purity of substances.  The brand on
these casks is of the very highest order--the renowned Mynheer Van
Dunck himself.  Donovan, you shall be our foreman; I have heard you
say that you understood ardent spirits from your birth."

"Faix, and I quite forget, commander, whether I was weaned on or
off of them.  But the foine judge me father was come down till me--
honey, don't be narvous; slope it well, then--a little thick, is
it?  All the richer for that same, me boy.  Commander, here's the
good health of his Majesty--Oh Lord!"

Mr. Corkoran Donovan fell down upon the shingle, and rolled and
bellowed:  "Sure me inside's out!  'Tis poisoned I am, every
mortial bit o' me.  A docthor, a docthor, and a praste, to kill me!
That ever I should live to die like this!  Ochone, ochone, every
bit of me; to be brought forth upon good whiskey, and go out of the
world upon docthor's stuff!"

"Most folk does that, when they ought to turn ends t'otherwise."
James Brown of Grimsby could see how things were going, though his
power to aid was restricted by a double turn of rope around him;
but a kind hand had given him a pipe, and his manner was to take
things easily.  "Commander, or captain, or whatever you be, with
your king's clothes, constructing a hole in they flints, never you
fear, sir.  'Tis medical water, and your own wife wouldn't know you
to-morrow.  Your complexion will be like a hangel's."

"You d----d rogue," cried Nettlebones, striding up, with his sword
flashing in the link-lights, "if ever I had a mind to cut any man
down--"

"Well, sir, do it, then, upon a roped man, if the honor of the
British navy calleth for it.  My will is made, and my widow will
have action; and the executioner of my will is a Grimsby man, with
a pile of money made in the line of salt fish, and such like."

"Brown, you are a brave man.  I would scorn to harm you.  Now, upon
your honor, are all your puncheons filled with that stuff, and
nothing else?"

"Upon my word of honor, sir, they are.  Some a little weaker, some
with more bilge-water in it, or a trifle of a dash from the midden.
The main of it, however, in the very same condition as a' bubbleth
out of what they call the spawses.  Why, captain, you must 'a lived
long enough to know, partiklar if gifted with a family, that no
sort of spirit as were ever stilled will fetch so much money by the
gallon, duty paid, as the doctor's stuff doth by the phial-bottle."

"That is true enough; but no lies, Brown, particularly when upon
your honor!  If you were importing doctor's stuff, why did you lead
us such a dance, and stand fire?"

"Well, your honor, you must promise not to be offended, if I tell
you of a little mistake we made.  We heared a sight of talk about
some pirate craft as hoisteth his Majesty's flag upon their
villainy.  And when first you come up, in the dusk of the night--"

"You are the most impudent rogue I ever saw.  Show your bills of
lading, sir.  You know his Majesty's revenue cruisers as well as I
know your smuggling tub."

"Ship's papers are aboard of her, all correct, sir.  Keys at your
service, if you please to feel my pocket, objecting to let my hands
loose."

"Very well, I must go on board of her, and test a few of your
puncheons and bales, Master Brown.  Locker in the master's own
cabin, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, plain as can be, on the starboard side, just behind the
cabin door.  Only your honor must be smart about it; the time-fuse
can't 'a got three inches left."

"Time-fuse?  What do you mean, you Grimsby villain?"

"Nothing, commander, but to keep you out of mischief.  When we were
compelled to beach the old craft, for fear of them scoundrelly
pirates, it came into my head what a pity it would be to have her
used illegal; for she do outsail a'most everything, as your honor
can bear witness.  So I just laid a half-hour fuse to three big-
powder barrels as is down there in the hold; and I expect to see a
blow-up almost every moment.  But your honor might be in time yet,
with a run, and good luck to your foot, you might--"

"Back, lads! back every one of you this moment!"  The first concern
of Nettlebones was rightly for his men.  "Under the cliff here.
Keep well back.  Push out those smuggler fellows into the middle.
Let them have the benefit of their own inventions, and this
impudent Brown the foremost.  They have laid a train to their
powder barrels, and the lugger will blow up any moment."

"No fear for me, commander," James Brown shouted through the hurry
and jostle of a hundred runaways.  "More fear for that poor man as
lieth there a-lurching.  She won't hit me when she bloweth up, no
more than your honor could.  But surely your duty demandeth of you
to board the old bilander, and take samples."

"Sample enough of you, my friend.  But I haven't quite done with
you yet.  Simpson, here, bear a hand with poor Lieutenant Donovan."

Nettlebones set a good example by lifting the prostrate Irishman;
and they bore him into safety, and drew up there; while the
beachmen, forbidden the shelter at point of cutlass, made off right
and left; and then, with a crash that shook the strand and drove
back the water in a white turmoil, the Crown of Gold flew into a
fount of timbers, splinters, shreds, smoke, fire, and dust.

"Gentlemen, you may come out of your holes," the Grimsby man
shouted from his mooring-post, as the echoes ran along the cliffs,
and rolled to and fro in the distance.  "My old woman will miss a
piece of my pigtail, but she hathn't hurt her old skipper else.
She blowed up handsome, and no mistake!  No more danger, gentlemen,
and plenty of stuff to pick up afore next pay-day."

"What shall we do with that insolent hound?" Nettlebones asked poor
Donovan, who was groaning in slow convalescence.  "We have caught
him in nothing.  We can not commit him; we can not even duck him
legally."

"Be jabers, let him drink his health in his own potheen."

"Capital!  Bravo for old Ireland, my friend!  You shall see it
done, and handsomely.  Brown, you recommend these waters, so you
shall have a dose of them."

A piece of old truncate kelp was found, as good a drinking horn as
need be; and with this Captain Brown was forced to swallow half a
bucketful of his own "medical water"; and they left him fast at his
moorings, to reflect upon this form of importation.



CHAPTER XXXIII

BEARDED IN HIS DEN


"What do you think of it by this time, Bowler?" Commander
Nettlebones asked his second, who had been left in command afloat,
and to whom they rowed back in a wrathful mood, with a good deal of
impression that the fault was his, "You have been taking it easily
out here.  What do you think of the whole of it?"

"I have simply obeyed your orders, sir; and if I am to be blamed
for that, I had better offer no opinion."

"No, no, I am finding no fault with you.  Don't be so tetchy,
Bowler.  I seek your opinion, and you are bound to give it."

"Well, then, sir, my opinion is that they have made fools of the
lot of us, excepting, of course, my superior officer."

"You think so, Bowler?  Well, and so do I--and myself the biggest
fool of any.  They have charged our centre with a dummy cargo,
while they run the real stuff far on either flank.  Is that your
opinion?"

"To a nicety, that is my opinion, now that you put it so clearly,
sir."

"The trick is a clumsy one, and never should succeed.  Carroway
ought to catch one lot, if he has a haporth of sense in him.  What
is the time now; and how is the wind?"

"I hear a church clock striking twelve; and by the moon it must be
that.  The wind is still from the shore, but veering, and I felt a
flaw from the east just now."

"If the wind works round, our turn will come.  Is Donovan fit for
duty yet?"

"Ten times fit, sir--to use his own expression.  He is burning to
have at somebody.  His eyes work about like the binnacle's card."

"Then board him, and order him to make all sail for Burlington, and
see what old Carroway is up to.  You be off for Whitby, and as far
as Teesmouth, looking into every cove you pass.  I shall stand off
and on from this to Scarborough, and as far as Filey.  Short
measures, mind, if you come across them.  If I nab that fellow
Lyth, I shall go near to hanging him as a felon outlaw.  His trick
is a little too outrageous."

"No fear, commander.  If it is as we suppose, it is high time to
make a strong example."

Hours had been lost, as the captains of the cruisers knew too well
by this time.  Robin Lyth's stratagem had duped them all, while the
contraband cargoes might be landed safely, at either extremity of
their heat.  By the aid of the fishing-boats, he had learned their
manoeuvres clearly, and outmanoeuvred them.

Now it would have been better for him, perhaps, to have been
content with a lesser triumph, and to run his own schooner, the
Glimpse, further south, toward Hornsea, or even Aldbrough.
Nothing, however, would satisfy him but to land his fine cargo at
Carroway's own door--a piece of downright insolence, for which he
paid out most bitterly.  A man of his courage and lofty fame should
have been above such vindictive feelings.  But, as it was, he
cherished and, alas! indulged a certain small grudge against the
bold lieutenant, scarcely so much for endeavoring to shoot him, as
for entrapping him at Byrsa Cottage, during the very sweetest
moment of his life.  "You broke in disgracefully," said the
smuggler to himself, "upon my privacy when it should have been most
sacred.  The least thing I can do is to return your visit, and pay
my respects to Mrs. Carroway and your interesting family,"

Little expecting such a courtesy as this, the vigilant officer was
hurrying about, here, there, and almost everywhere (except in the
right direction), at one time by pinnace, at another upon
horseback, or on his unwearied though unequal feet.  He carried his
sword in one hand, and his spy-glass in the other, and at every fog
he swore so hard that he seemed to turn it yellow.  With his heart
worn almost into holes, as an overmangled quilt is, by burdensome
roll of perpetual lies, he condemned, with a round mouth,
smugglers, cutters, the coast-guard and the coast itself, the
weather, and, with a deeper depth of condemnation, the farmers,
landladies, and fishermen.  For all of these verily seemed to be in
league to play him the game which school-boys play with a gentle-
faced new-comer--the game of "send the fool further."

John Gristhorp, of the "Ship Inn," at Filey, had turned out his
visitors, barred his door, and was counting his money by the
fireside, with his wife grumbling at him for such late hours as
half past ten of the clock in the bar, that night when the poor
bilander ended her long career as aforesaid.  Then a thundering
knock at the door just fastened made him upset a little pyramid of
pence, and catch up the iron candlestick.

"None of your roistering here!" cried the lady.  "John, you know
better than to let them in, I hope."

"Copper coomth by daa, goold coomth t'naight-time," the sturdy
publican answered, though resolved to learn who it was before
unbarring.

"In the name of the King, undo this door," a deep stern voice
resounded, "or by royal command we make splinters of it."

"It is that horrible Carroway again," whispered Mrs. Gristhorp.
"Much gold comes of him, I doubt.  Let him in if you dare, John."

"'Keep ma oot, if ye de-arr,' saith he.  Ah'll awand here's the
tail o' it."

While Gristhorp, in wholesome fealty to his wife, was doubting, the
door flew open, and in marched Carroway and all his men, or at
least all save one of his present following.  He had ordered his
pinnace to meet him here, himself having ridden from Scarborough,
and the pinnace had brought the jolly-boat in tow, according to his
directions.  The men had landed with the jolly-boat, which was
handier for beach work, leaving one of their number to mind the
larger craft while they should refresh themselves.  They were nine
in all, and Carroway himself the tenth, all sturdy fellows, and for
the main of it tolerably honest; Cadman, Ellis, and Dick
Hackerbody, and one more man from Bridlington, the rest a re-
enforcement from Spurn Head, called up for occasion.

"Landlord, produce your best, and quickly," the officer said, as he
threw himself into the arm-chair of state, being thoroughly tired.
"In one hour's time we must be off.  Therefore, John, bring nothing
tough, for our stomachs are better than our teeth.  A shilling per
head is his Majesty's price, and half a crown for officers.  Now a
gallon of ale, to begin with."

Gristhorp, being a prudent man, brought the very toughest parts of
his larder forth, with his wife giving nudge to his elbow.  All,
and especially Carroway, too hungry for nice criticism, fell to, by
the light of three tallow candles, and were just getting into the
heart of it, when the rattle of horseshoes on the pitch-stones
shook the long low window, and a little boy came staggering in,
with scanty breath, and dazzled eyes, and a long face pale with
hurrying so.

"Why, Tom, my boy!" the lieutenant cried, jumping up so suddenly
that he overturned the little table at which he was feeding by
himself, to preserve the proper discipline.  "Tom, my darling, what
has brought you here?  Anything wrong with your mother?"

"Nobody wouldn't come, but me," Carroway's eldest son began to
gasp, with his mouth full of crying; "and I borrowed Butcher
Hewson's pony, and he's going to charge five shillings for it."

"Never mind that.  We shall not have to pay it.  But what is it all
about, my son?"

"About the men that are landing the things, just opposite our front
door, father.  They have got seven carts, and a wagon with three
horses, and one of the horses is three colors; and ever so many
ponies, more than you could count."

"Well, then, may I be forever"--here the lieutenant used an
expression which not only was in breach of the third commandment,
but might lead his son to think less of the fifth--"if it isn't
more than I can bear!  To be running a cargo at my own hall door!"
He had a passage large enough to hang three hats in, which the lady
of the house always called "the hall."  "Very well, very good, very
fine indeed!  You sons of"--an animal that is not yet accounted the
mother of the human race--"have you done guzzling and swizzling?"

The men who were new to his orders jumped up, for they liked his
expressions, by way of a change; but the Bridlington squad stuck to
their trenchers.  "Ready in five minutes, sir," said Cadman, with a
glance neither loving nor respectful.

"If ever there was an old hog for the trough, the name of him is
John Cadman.  In ten minutes, lads, we must all be afloat."

"One more against you," muttered Cadman; and a shrewd quiet man
from Spurn Head, Adam Andrews, heard him, and took heed of him.

While the men of the coast-guard were hurrying down to make ready
the jolly-boat and hail the pinnace, Carroway stopped to pay the
score, and to give his son some beer and meat.  The thirsty little
fellow drained his cup, and filled his mouth and both hands with
food, while the landlady picked out the best bits for him.

"Don't talk, my son--don't try to talk," said Carroway, looking
proudly at him, while the boy was struggling to tell his
adventures, without loss of feeding-time; "you are a chip of the
old block, Tom, for victualling, and for riding too.  Kind madam,
you never saw such a boy before.  Mark my words, he will do more in
the world than ever his father did, and his father was pretty well
known in his time, in the Royal Navy, ma'am.  To have stuck to his
horse all that way in the dark was wonderful, perfectly wonderful.
And the horse blows more than the rider, ma'am, which is quite
beyond my experience.  Now, Tom, ride home very carefully and
slowly, if you feel quite equal to it.  The Lord has watched over
you, and He will continue, as He does with brave folk that do their
duty.  Half a crown you shall have, all for yourself, and the
sixpenny boat that you longed for in the shops.  Keep out of the
way of the smugglers, Tom; don't let them even clap eyes on you.
Kiss me, my son; I am proud of you."

Little Tom long remembered this; and his mother cried over it
hundreds of times.

Although it was getting on for midnight now, Master Gristhorp and
his wife came out into the road before their house, to see the
departure of their guests.  And this they could do well, because
the moon had cleared all the fog away, and was standing in a good
part of the sky for throwing clear light upon Filey.  Along the
uncovered ridge of shore, which served for a road, and was better
than a road, the boy and the pony grew smaller; while upon the
silvery sea the same thing happened to the pinnace, with her white
sails bending, and her six oars glistening.

"The world goeth up, and the world goeth down," said the lady, with
her arms akimbo; "and the moon goeth over the whole of us, John;
but to my heart I do pity poor folk as canna count the time to have
the sniff of their own blankets."

"Margery, I loikes the moon, as young as ever ye da.  But I sooner
see the snuff of our own taller, a-going out, fra the bed-
curtings."

Shaking their heads with concrete wisdom, they managed to bar the
door again, and blessing their stars that they did not often want
them, took shelter beneath the quiet canopy of bed.  And when they
heard by-and-by what had happened, it cost them a week apiece to
believe it; because with their own eyes they had seen everything so
peaceable, and had such a good night afterward.

When a thing is least expected, then it loves to come to pass, and
then it is enjoyed the most, whatever good there is of it.  After
the fog and the slur of the day, to see the sky at all was joyful,
although there was but a white moon upon it, and faint stars
gliding hazily.  And it was a great point for every man to be
satisfied as to where he was; because that helps him vastly toward
being satisfied to be there.  The men in the pinnace could see
exactly where they were in this world; and as to the other world,
their place was fixed--if discipline be an abiding gift--by the
stern precision of their commander in ordering the lot of them to
the devil.  They carried all sail, and they pulled six oars, and
the wind and sea ran after them,

"Ha!  I see something!" Carroway cried, after a league or more of
swearing.  "Dick, the night glass; my eyes are sore.  What do you
make her out for?"

"Sir, she is the Spurn Head yawl," answered Dick Hackerbody, who
was famed for long sight, but could see nothing with a telescope.
"I can see the patch of her foresail."

"She is looking for us.  We are the wrong way of the moon.  Ship
oars, lads; bear up for her."

In ten minutes' time the two boats came to speaking distance off
Bempton Cliffs, and the windmill, that vexed Willie Anerley so,
looked bare and black on the highland.  There were only two men in
the Spurn Head boat--not half enough to manage her.  "Well, what is
it?" shouted Carroway.

"Robin Lyth has made his land-fall on Burlington Sands, opposite
your honor's door, sir.  There was only two of us to stop him, and
the man as is deaf and dumb."

"I know it," said Carroway, too wroth to swear.  "My boy of eight
years old is worth the entire boiling of you.  You got into a
rabbit-hole, and ran to tell your mammy."

"Captain, I never had no mammy," the other man answered, with his
feelings hurt.  "I come to tell you, sir; and something, if you
please, for your own ear, if agreeable."

"Nothing is agreeable.  But let me have it.  Hold on; I will come
aboard of you."

The lieutenant stepped into the Spurn Head boat with confident
activity, and ordered his own to haul off a little, while the
stranger bent down to him in the stern, and whispered.

"Now are you quite certain of this?" asked Carroway, with his grim
face glowing in the moonlight, "I have had such a heap of cock and
bulls about it.  Morcom, are you certain?"

"As certain, sir, as that I stand here, and you sit there,
commander.  Put me under guard, with a pistol to my ear, and shoot
me if it turns out to be a lie."

"The Dovecote, you say?  You are quite sure of that, and not the
Kirk Cave, or Lyth's Hole?"

"Sir, the Dovecote, and no other.  I had it from my own young
brother, who has been cheated of his share.  And I know it from my
own eyes too."

"Then, by the Lord in heaven, Morcom, I shall have my revenge at
last; and I shall not stand upon niceties.  If I call for the
jolly-boat, you step in.  I doubt if either of these will enter."

It was more than a fortnight since the lieutenant had received the
attentions of a barber, and when he returned to his own boat, and
changed her course inshore, he looked most bristly even in the
moonlight.  The sea and the moon between them gave quite light
enough to show how gaunt he was--the aspect of a man who can not
thrive without his children to make play, and his wife to do
cookery for him.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE DOVECOTE


With the tiller in his hand, the brave lieutenant meditated sadly.
There was plenty of time for thought before quick action would be
needed, although the Dovecote was so near that no boat could come
out of it unseen.  For the pinnace was fetching a circuit, so as to
escape the eyes of any sentinel, if such there should be at the
mouth of the cavern, and to come upon the inlet suddenly.  And the
two other revenue boats were in her wake.

The wind was slowly veering toward the east, as the Grimsby man had
predicted, with no sign of any storm as yet, but rather a prospect
of winterly weather, and a breeze to bring the woodcocks in.  The
gentle rise and fall of waves, or rather, perhaps, of the tidal
flow, was checkered and veined with a ripple of the slanting
breeze, and twinkled in the moonbeams.  For the moon was brightly
mounting toward her zenith, and casting bastions of rugged cliff in
gloomy largeness on the mirror of the sea.  Hugging these as
closely as their peril would allow, Carroway ordered silence, and
with the sense of coming danger thought:

"Probably I shall kill this man.  He will scarcely be taken alive,
I fear.  He is as brave as myself, or braver; and in his place I
would never yield.  If he were a Frenchman, it would be all right.
But I hate to kill a gallant Englishman.  And such a pretty girl,
and a good girl too, loves him with all her heart, I know.  And
that good old couple who depend upon him, and who have had such
shocking luck themselves!  He has been a bitter plague to me, and
often I have longed to strike him down.  But to-night--I can not
tell why it is--I wish there were some way out of it.  God knows
that I would give up the money, and give up my thief-catching
business too, if the honor of the service let me.  But duty drives
me; do it I must.  And after all, what is life to a man who is
young, and has no children?  Better over, better done with, before
the troubles and the disappointment come, the weariness, and the
loss of power, and the sense of growing old, and seeing the little
ones hungry.  Life is such a fleeting vapor--I smell some man
sucking peppermint!  The smell of it goes on the wind for a mile.
Oh! Cadman again, as usual.  Peppermint in the Royal Coast-Guard!
Away with it, you ancient beldame!"

Muttering something about his bad tooth, the man flung his lozenge
away; and his eyes flashed fire in the moonlight, while the rest
grinned a low grin at him.  And Adam Andrews, sitting next him, saw
him lay hands upon his musketoon.

"Are your firelocks all primed, my lads?" the commander asked,
quite as if he had seen him, although he had not been noticing; and
the foremost to answer "Ay, ay, sir," was Cadman.

"Then be sure that you fire not, except at my command.  We will
take them without shedding blood, if it may be.  But happen what
will, we must have Lyth."

With these words, Carroway drew his sword, and laid it on the bench
beside him; and the rest (who would rather use steel than powder)
felt that their hangers were ready.  Few of them wished to strike
at all; for vexed as they were with the smugglers for having
outwitted them so often, as yet there was no bad blood between
them, such as must be quenched with death.  And some of them had
friends, and even relatives, among the large body of free-traders,
and counted it too likely that they might be here.

Meanwhile in the cave there was rare work going on, speedily,
cleverly, and with a merry noise.  There was only one boat, with a
crew of six men, besides Robin Lyth the captain; but the six men
made noise enough for twelve, and the echoes made it into twice
enough for any twenty-four.  The crew were trusty, hardy fellows,
who liked their joke, and could work with it; and Robin Lyth knew
them too well to attempt any high authority of gagging.  The main
of their cargo was landed and gone inland, as snugly as need be;
and having kept beautifully sober over that, they were taking the
liberty of beginning to say, or rather sip, the grace of the fine
indulgence due to them.

Pleasant times make pleasant scenes, and everything now was fair
and large in this happy cave of freedom.  Lights of bright resin
were burning, with strong flare and fume, upon shelves of rock;
dark water softly went lapping round the sides, having dropped all
rude habits at the entrance; and a pulse of quiet rise and fall
opened, and spread to the discovery of light, tremulous fronds and
fans of kelp.  The cavern, expanding and mounting from the long
narrow gut of its inlet, shone with staves of snowy crag wherever
the scour of the tide ran round; bulged and scooped, or peaked and
fissured, and sometimes beautifully sculptured by the pliant tools
of water.  Above the tide-reach darker hues prevailed, and more
jagged outline, tufted here and there with yellow, where the lichen
freckles spread.  And the vault was framed of mountain fabric,
massed with ponderous gray slabs.

All below was limpid water, or at any rate not very muddy, but as
bright as need be for the time of year, and a sea which is not
tropical.  No one may hope to see the bottom through ten feet of
water on the Yorkshire coast, toward the end of the month of
November; but still it tries to look clear upon occasion; and here
in the caves it settles down, after even a week free from churning.
And perhaps the fog outside had helped it to look clearer inside;
for the larger world has a share of the spirit of contrariety
intensified in man.

Be that as it may, the water was too clear for any hope of sinking
tubs deeper than Preventive eyes could go; and the very honest
fellows who were laboring here had not brought any tubs to sink.
All such coarse gear was shipped off inland, as they vigorously
expressed it; and what they were concerned with now was the cream
and the jewel of their enterprise.

The sea reserved exclusive right of way around the rocky sides,
without even a niche for human foot, so far as a stranger could
perceive.  At the furthermost end of the cave, however, the craggy
basin had a lip of flinty pebbles and shelly sand.  This was no
more than a very narrow shelf, just enough for a bather to plunge
from; but it ran across the broad end of the cavern, and from its
southern corner went a deep dry fissure mounting out of sight into
the body of the cliff.  And here the smugglers were merrily at
work.

The nose of their boat was run high upon the shingle; two men on
board of her were passing out the bales, while the other four
received them, and staggered with them up the cranny.  Captain Lyth
himself was in the stern-sheets, sitting calmly, but ordering
everything, and jotting down the numbers.  Now and then the gentle
wash was lifting the brown timbers, and swelling with a sleepy gush
of hushing murmurs out of sight.  And now and then the heavy vault
was echoing with some sailor's song.

There was only one more bale to land, and that the most precious of
the whole, being all pure lace most closely packed in a water-proof
inclosure.  Robin Lyth himself was ready to indulge in a careless
song.  For this, as he had promised Mary, was to be his last
illegal act.  Henceforth, instead of defrauding the revenue, he
would most loyally cheat the public, as every reputable tradesman
must.  How could any man serve his time more notably, toward shop-
keeping, and pave fairer way into the corporation of a grandly
corrupt old English town, than by long graduation of free trade?
And Robin was yet too young and careless to know that he could not
endure dull work.  "How pleasant, how comfortable, how secure," he
was saying to himself, "it will be!  I shall hardly be able to
believe that I ever lived in hardship."

But the great laws of human nature were not to be balked so.  Robin
Lyth, the prince of smugglers, and the type of hardihood, was never
to wear a grocer's apron, was never to be "licensed to sell tea,
coffee, tobacco, pepper, and snuff."  For while he indulged in this
vain dream, and was lifting his last most precious bale, a surge of
neither wind nor tide, but of hostile invasion, washed the rocks,
and broke beneath his feet.

In a moment all his wits returned, all his plenitude of resource,
and unequalled vigor and coolness.  With his left hand--for he was
as ambidexter as a brave writer of this age requires--he caught up
a handspike, and hurled it so truly along the line of torches that
only two were left to blink; with his right he flung the last bale
upon the shelf; then leaped out after it, and hurried it away.
Then he sprang into the boat again, and held an oar in either hand.

"In the name of the king, surrender," shouted Carroway, standing,
tall and grim, in the bow of the pinnace, which he had skillfully
driven through the entrance, leaving the other boats outside.  "We
are three to one, we have muskets, and a cannon.  In the name of
the king, surrender."

"In the name of the devil, splash!" cried Robin, suiting the action
to the word, striking the water with both broad blades, while his
men snatched oars and did the same.  A whirl of flashing water
filled the cave, as if with a tempest, soaked poor Carroway, and
drenched his sword, and deluged the priming of the hostile guns.
All was uproar, turmoil, and confusion thrice confounded; no man
could tell where he was, and the grappling boats reeled to and fro.

"Club your muskets, and at 'em!" cried the lieutenant, mad with
rage, as the gunwale of his boat swung over.  "Their blood be upon
their own heads; draw your hangers, and at 'em!"

He never spoke another word, but furiously leaping at the smuggler
chief, fell back into his own boat, and died, without a syllable,
without a groan.  The roar of a gun and the smoke of powder mingled
with the watery hubbub, and hushed in a moment all the oaths of
conflict.

The revenue men drew back and sheathed their cutlasses, and laid
down their guns; some looked with terror at one another, and some
at their dead commander.  His body lay across the heel of the mast,
which had been unstepped at his order; and a heavy drip of blood
was weltering into a ring upon the floor.

For several moments no one spoke, nor moved, nor listened
carefully; but the fall of the poor lieutenant's death-drops, like
the ticking of a clock, went on.  Until an old tar, who had seen a
sight of battles, crooked his legs across a thwart, and propped up
the limp head upon his doubled knee.

"Dead as a door-nail," he muttered, after laying his ear to the
lips, and one hand on the too impetuous heart, "Who takes command?
This is a hanging job, I'm thinking."

There was nobody to take command, not even a petty officer.  The
command fell to the readiest mind, as it must in such catastrophes.
"Jem, you do it," whispered two or three; and being so elected, he
was clear.

"Lay her broadside on to the mouth of the cave.  Not a man stirs
out without killing me," old Jem shouted; and to hear a plain voice
was sudden relief to most of them.  In the wavering dimness they
laid the pinnace across the narrow entrance, while the smugglers
huddled all together in their boat.  "Burn two blue-lights," cried
old Jem; and it was done.

"I'm not going to speechify to any cursed murderers," the old
sailor said, with a sense of authority which made him use mild
language; "but take heed of one thing, I'll blow you all to pieces
with this here four-pounder, without you strikes peremptory."

The brilliance of the blue-lights filled the cavern, throwing out
everybody's attitude and features, especially those of the dead
lieutenant.  "A fine job you have made of it this time!" said Jem.

They were beaten, they surrendered, they could scarcely even speak
to assert their own innocence of such a wicked job.  They submitted
to be bound, and cast down into their boat, imploring only that it
might be there--that they might not be taken to the other boat and
laid near the corpse of Carroway.

"Let the white-livered cowards have their way," the old sailor
said, contemptuously.  "Put their captain on the top of them.  Now
which is Robin Lyth?"

The lights were burned out, and the cave was dark again, except
when a slant of moonlight came through a fissure upon the southern
side.  The smugglers muttered something, but they were not heeded.

"Never mind, make her fast, fetch her out, you lubbers.  We shall
see him well enough when we get outside."

But in spite of all their certainty, they failed of this.  They had
only six prisoners, and not one of them was Lyth.



CHAPTER XXXV

LITTLE CARROWAYS


Mrs. Carroway was always glad to be up quite early in the morning.
But some few mornings seemed to slip in between whiles when, in
accordance with human nature, and its operations in the baby stage,
even Lauta Carroway failed to be about the world before the sun
himself.  Whenever this happened she was slightly cross, from the
combat of conscience and self-assertion, which fly at one another
worse than any dog and cat.  Geraldine knew that her mother was put
out if any one of the household durst go down the stairs before
her.  And yet if Geraldine herself held back, and followed the
example of late minutes, she was sure "to catch it worse," as the
poor child expressed it.

If any active youth with a very small income (such as an active
youth is pretty sure to have) wants a good wife, and has the
courage to set out with one, his proper course is to choose the
eldest daughter of a numerous family.  When the others come
thickly, this daughter of the house gets worked down into a
wonderful perfection of looking after others, while she overlooks
herself.  Such a course is even better for her than to have a step-
mother--which also is a goodly thing, but sometimes leads to
sourness.  Whereas no girl of any decent staple can revolt against
her duty to her own good mother, and the proud sense of fostering
and working for the little ones.  Now Geraldine was wise in all
these ways, and pleased to be called the little woman of the house.

The baby had been troublous in the night, and scant of reason, as
the rising race can be, even while so immature; and after being up
with it, and herself producing a long series of noises--which lead
to peace through the born desire of contradiction--the mother fell
asleep at last, perhaps from simple sympathy, and slept beyond her
usual hour.  But instead of being grateful for this, she was angry
and bitter to any one awake before her.

"I can not tell why it is," she said to Geraldine, who was toasting
a herring for her brothers and sisters, and enjoying the smell
(which was all that she would get), "but perpetually now you stand
exactly like your father.  There is every excuse for your father,
because he is an officer, and has been knocked about, as he always
is; but there is no excuse for you, miss.  Put your heel decently
under your dress.  If we can afford nothing else, we can surely
afford to behave well."

The child made no answer, but tucked her heel in, and went on
toasting nobly, while she counted the waves on the side of the
herring, where his ribs should have been if he were not too fat;
and she mentally divided him into seven pieces, not one of which,
alas! would be for hungry Geraldine.  "Tom must have two, after
being out all night," she was saying to herself; "and to grudge him
would be greedy.  But the bit of skin upon the toasting-fork will
be for me, I am almost sure."

"Geraldine, the least thing you can do, when I speak to you, is to
answer.  This morning you are in a most provoking temper, and
giving yourself the most intolerable airs.  And who gave you leave
to do your hair like that?  One would fancy that you were some
rising court beauty, or a child of the nobility at the very least,
instead of a plain little thing that has to work--or at any rate
that ought to work--to help its poor mother!  Oh, now you are going
to cry, I suppose.  Let me see a tear, and you shall go to bed
again."

"Oh, mother, mother, now what do you think has happened?" little
Tom shouted, as he rushed in from the beach.  "Father has caught
all the smugglers, every one, and the Royal George is coming home
before a spanking breeze, with three boats behind her, and they
can't be all ours; and one of them must belong to Robin Lyth
himself; and I would almost bet a penny they have been and shot
him; though everybody said that he never could be shot.  Jerry,
come and look--never mind the old fish.  I never did see such a
sight in all my life.  They have got the jib-sail on him, so he
must be dead at last; and instead of half a crown, I am sure to get
a guinea.  Come along, Jerry, and perhaps I'll give you some of
it!"

"Tommy," said his mother, "you are always so impetuous!  I never
will believe in such good luck until I see it.  But you have been a
wonderfully good brave boy, and your father may thank you for
whatever he has done.  I shall not allow Geraldine to go; for she
is not a good child this morning.  And of course I can not go
myself, for your father will come home absolutely starving.  And it
would not be right for the little ones to go, if things are at all
as you suppose.  Now, if I let you go yourself, you are not to go
beyond the flag-staff.  Keep far away from the boats, remember;
unless your father calls for you to run on any errand.  All the
rest of you go in here, with your bread and milk, and wait until I
call you."

Mrs. Carroway locked all the little ones in a room from which they
could see nothing of the beach, with orders to Cissy, the next
girl, to feed them, and keep them all quiet till she came again.
But while she was busy, with a very lively stir, to fetch out
whatever could be found of fatness or grease that could be hoped to
turn to gravy in the pan--for Carroway, being so lean, loved fat,
and to put a fish before him was an insult to his bones--just at
the moment when she had struck oil, in the shape of a very fat
chop, from forth a stew, which had beaten all the children by
stearine inertia--then at this moment, when she was rejoicing, the
latch of the door clicked, and a man came in.

"Whoever you are, you seem to me to make yourself very much at
home," the lady said, sharply, without turning round, because she
supposed it to be a well-accustomed enemy, armed with that odious
"little bill."  The intruder made no answer, and she turned to rate
him thoroughly; but the petulance of her eyes drew back before the
sad stern gaze of his.  "Who are you, and what do you want?" she
asked, with a yellow dish in one hand, and a frying-pan in the
other.  "Geraldine, come here: that man looks wild."

Her visitor did look wild enough, but without any menace in his
sorrowful dark eyes.  "Can't the man speak?" she cried.  "Are you
mad, or starving?  We are not very rich; but we can give you bread,
poor fellow.  Captain Carroway will be at home directly, and he
will see what can be done for you,"

"Have you not heard of the thing that has been done?" the young man
asked her, word by word, and staying himself with one hand upon the
dresser, because he was trembling dreadfully.

"Yes, I have heard of it all.  They have shot the smuggler Robin
Lyth at last.  I am very sorry for him.  But it was needful; and he
had no family."

"Lady, I am Robin Lyth.  I have not been shot; nor even shot at.
The man that has been shot, I know not how, instead of me, was--was
somebody quite different.  With all my heart I wish it had been me;
and no more trouble."

He looked at the mother and the little girl, and sobbed, and fell
upon a salting stool, which was to have been used that morning.
Then, while Mrs. Carroway stood bewildered, Geraldine ran up to
him, and took his hand, and said:  "Don't cry.  My papa says that
men never cry.  And I am so glad that you were not shot."

"See me kiss her," said Robin Lyth, as he laid his lips upon the
child's fair forehead.  "If I had done it, could I do that?
Darling, you will remember this.  Madam, I am hunted like a mad
dog, and shall be hanged to your flag-staff if I am caught.  I am
here to tell you that, as God looks down from heaven upon you and
me, I did not do it--I did not even know it."

The smuggler stood up, with his right hand on his heart, and tears
rolling manifestly down his cheeks, but his eyes like crystal,
clear with truth; and the woman, who knew not that she was a widow,
but felt it already with a helpless wonder, answered, quietly:
"You speak the truth, sir.  But what difference can it make to me?"
Lyth tried to answer with the same true look; but neither his eyes
nor his tongue would serve.

"I shall just go and judge for myself," she said, as if it were a
question of marketing (such bitter defiance came over her), and she
took no more heed of him than if he were a chair; nor even half so
much, for she was a great judge of a chair.  "Geraldine, go and put
your bonnet on.  We are going to meet your father.  Tell Cissy and
all the rest to come but the baby.  The baby can not do it, I
suppose.  In a minute and a half I shall expect you all--how many?
Seven?--yes, seven of you."

"Seven, mother, yes.  And the baby makes it eight; and yesterday
you said that he was worth all us together."

Robin Lyth saw that he was no more wanted, or even heeded; and
without delay he quitted such premises of danger.  Why should he
linger in a spot where he might have violent hands laid on him, and
be sped to a premature end, without benefit even of trial by jury?
Upon this train of reasoning he made off.

Without any manner of reasoning at all, but with fierceness of
dread and stupidity of grief, the mother collected her children in
silence, from the damsel of ten to the toddler of two.  Then,
leaving the baby tied down in the cradle, she pulled at the rest of
them, on this side and on that, to get them into proper trim of
dresses and of hats, as if they were going to be marched off to
church.  For that all the younger ones made up their minds, and put
up their ears for the tinkle of the bell; but the elder children
knew that it was worse than that, because their mother never looked
at them.

"You will go by the way of the station," she said, for the boats
were still out at sea, and no certainty could be made of them:
"whatever it is, we may thank the station for it."

The poor little things looked up at her in wonder; and then, acting
up to their discipline, set off, in lopsided pairs of a small and a
big one, to save any tumbling and cutting of knees.  The elder ones
walked with discretion, and a strong sense of responsibility,
hushed, moreover, by some inkling of a great black thing to meet.
But the baby ones prattled, and skipped with their feet, and
straggled away toward the flowers by the path.  The mother of them
all followed slowly and heavily, holding the youngest by the hand,
because of its trouble in getting through the stones.  Her heart
was nearly choking, but her eyes free and reckless, wandering
wildly over earth, and sea, and sky, in vain search of guidance
from any or from all of them.

The pinnace came nearer, with its sad, cold freight.  The men took
off their hats, and rubbed their eyes, and some of them wanted to
back off again; but Mrs. Carroway calmly said, "Please to let me
have my husband."



CHAPTER XXXVI

MAIDS AND MERMAIDS


Day comes with climbing, night by falling; hence the night is so
much swifter.  Happiness takes years to build; but misery swoops
like an avalanche.  Such, and even more depressing, are the
thoughts young folk give way to when their first great trouble
rushes and sweeps them into a desert, trackless to the inexperienced
hope.

When Mary Anerley heard, by the zealous offices of watchful
friends, that Robin Lyth had murdered Captain Carroway ferociously,
and had fled for his life across the seas, first wrath at such a
lie was followed by persistent misery.  She had too much faith in
his manly valor and tender heart to accept the tale exactly as it
was told to her; but still she could not resist the fear that in
the whirl of conflict, with life against life, he had dealt the
death.  And she knew that even such a deed would brand him as a
murderer, stamp out all love, and shatter every hope of quiet
happiness.  The blow to her pride was grievous also; for many a
time had she told herself that a noble task lay before her--to
rescue from unlawful ways and redeem to reputable life the man
whose bravery and other gallant gifts had endeared him to the
public and to her.  But now, through force of wretched facts, he
must be worse than ever.

Her father and mother said never a word upon the subject to her.
Mrs. Anerley at first longed to open out, and shed upon the child a
mother's sympathy, as well as a mother's scolding; but firmly
believing, as she did, the darkest version of the late event, it
was better that she should hold her peace, according to her
husband's orders.

"Let the lass alone," he said; "a word against that fellow now
would make a sight of mischief.  Suppose I had shot George
Tanfield, instead of hiding him soundly, when he stuck up to you,
why you must have been sorry for me, Sophy.  And Mary is sorry for
that rogue, no doubt, and believes that he did it for her sake, I
dare say.  The womenkind always do think that.  If a big thief gets
swung for breaking open a cash-box, his lassie will swear he was
looking for her thimble.  If you was to go now for discoursing of
this matter, you would never put up with poor Poppet's account of
him, and she would run him higher up, every time you ran him down;
ay, and believe it too: such is the ways of women."

"Why, Stephen, you make me open up my eyes.  I never dreamed you
were half so cunning, and of such low opinions."

"Well, I don't know, only from my own observance.  I would scarcely
trust myself not to abuse that fellow.  And, Sophy, you know you
can not stop your tongue, like me."

"Thank God for that same!  He never meant us so to do.  But,
Stephen, I will follow your advice; because it is my own opinion."

Mary was puzzled by this behavior; for everything used to be so
plain among them.  She would even have tried for some comfort from
Willie, whose mind was very large upon all social questions.  But
Willie had solved at last the problem of perpetual motion,
according to his own conviction, and locked himself up with his
model all day; and the world might stand still, so long as that
went on.  "Oh, what would I give for dear Jack!" cried Mary.

Worn out at length with lonely grief, she asked if she might go to
Byrsa Cottage, for a change.  Even that was refused, though her
father's kind heart ached at the necessary denial.  Sharp words
again had passed between the farmer and the tanner concerning her,
and the former believed that his brother-in-law would even
encourage the outlaw still.  And for Mary herself now the worst of
it was that she had nothing to lay hold of in the way of complaint
or grievance.  It was not like that first estrangement, when her
father showed how much he felt it in a hundred ways, and went about
everything upside down, and comforted her by his want of comfort.
Now it was ten times worse than that, for her father took
everything quite easily!

Shocking as it may be, this was true.  Stephen Anerley had been
through a great many things since the violence of his love-time,
and his views upon such tender subjects were not so tender as they
used to be.  With the eyes of wisdom he looked back, having had his
own way in the matter, upon such young sensations as very laudable,
but curable.  In his own case he had cured them well, and, upon the
whole, very happily, by a good long course of married life; but
having tried that remedy alone, how could he say that there was no
better?  He remembered how his own miseries had soon subsided, or
gone into other grooves, after matrimony.  This showed that they
were transient, but did not prove such a course to be the only cure
for them.  Recovering from illness, has any man been known to say
that the doctor recovered him?

Mrs. Anerley's views upon the subject were much the same, though
modified, of course, by the force of her own experience.  She might
have had a much richer man than Stephen; and when he was stingy,
she reminded him of that, which, after a little disturbance,
generally terminated in five guineas.  And now she was clear that
if Mary were not worried, condoled with, or cried over, she would
take her own time, and come gradually round, and be satisfied with
Harry Tanfield.  Harry was a fine young fellow, and worshipped the
ground that Mary walked upon; and it seemed a sort of equity that
he should have her, as his father had been disappointed of her
mother.  Every Sunday morning he trimmed his whiskers, and put on a
wonderful waistcoat; and now he did more, for he bought a new hat,
and came to church to look at her.

Oftentimes now, by all these doings, the spirit of the girl was
roused, and her courage made ready to fly out in words; but the
calm look of the elders stopped her, and then true pride came to
her aid.  If they chose to say nothing of the matter which was in
her heart continually, would she go whining to them about it, and
scrape a grain of pity from a cartload of contempt?  One day, as
she stood before the swinging glass--that present from Aunt
Popplewell which had moved her mother's wrath so--she threw back
her shoulders, and smoothed the plaits of her nice little waist,
and considered herself.  The humor of the moment grew upon her, and
crept into indulgence, as she saw what a very fair lass she was,
and could not help being proud of it.  She saw how the soft rich
damask of her cheeks returned at being thought of, and the sparkle
of her sweet blue eyes, and the merry delight of her lips, that
made respectable people want to steal a kiss, from the pure
enticement of good-will.

"I will cry no more in the nights," she said.  "Why should I make
such a figure of myself, with nobody to care for it?  And here is
my hair full of kinkles and neglect!  I declare, if he ever came
back, he would say, 'What a fright you are become, my Mary!'  Where
is that stuff of Aunt Deborah's, I wonder, that makes her hair like
satin?  It is high time to leave off being such a dreadful dowdy.
I will look as nice as ever, just to let them know that their
cruelty has not killed me."

Virtuous resolves commend themselves, and improve with being
carried out.  She put herself into her very best trim, as simple as
a lily, and as perfect as a rose, though the flutter of a sigh or
two enlarged her gentle breast.  She donned a very graceful hat,
adorned with sweet ribbon right skillfully smuggled; and she made
up her mind to have the benefit of the air.

The prettiest part of all Anerley Farm, for those who are not
farmers, is a soft little valley, where a brook comes down, and
passes from voluntary ruffles into the quiet resignation of a
sheltered lake.  A pleasant and a friendly little water-spread is
here, cheerful to the sunshine, and inviting to the moon, with a
variety of gleamy streaks, according to the sky and breeze.
Pasture-land and arable come sloping to the margin, which, instead
of being rough and rocky, lips the pool with gentleness.  Ins and
outs of little bays afford a nice variety, while round the brink
are certain trees of a modest and unpretentious bent.  These having
risen to a very fair distance toward the sky, come down again,
scarcely so much from a doubt of their merits, as through affection
to their native land.  In summer they hang like a permanent shower
of green to refresh the bright water; and in winter, like loose
osier-work, or wattles curved for binding.

Under one of the largest of these willows the runaway Jack had made
a seat, whereon to sit and watch his toy boat cruising on the
inland wave.  Often when Mary was tired of hoping for the return of
her playmate, she came to this place to think about him, and wonder
whether he thought of her.  And now in the soft December evening
(lonely and sad, but fair to look at, like herself) she was sitting
here.

The keen east wind, which had set in as Captain Brown predicted,
was over now, and succeeded by the gentler influence of the west.
Nothing could be heard in this calm nook but the lingering touch of
the dying breeze, and the long soft murmur of the distant sea, and
the silvery plash of a pair of coots at play.  Neither was much to
be seen, except the wavering glisten and long shadows of the mere,
the tracery of trees against the fading light, and the outline of
the maiden as she leaned against the trunk.  Generations of goat-
moths in their early days of voracity had made a nice hollow for
her hat to rest in, and some of the powdering willow dusted her
bright luxuriant locks with gold.  Her face was by no means wan or
gloomy, and she added to the breezes not a single sigh.  This
happened without any hardness of heart, or shallow contempt of the
nobler affections; simply from the hopefulness of healthful youth,
and the trust a good will has in powers of good.

She was looking at those coots, who were full of an idea that the
winter had spent itself in that east wind, that the gloss of spring
plumage must be now upon their necks, and that they felt their toes
growing warmer toward the downy tepefaction of a perfect nest.
Improving a long and kind acquaintance with these birds, some of
whom have confidence in human nature, Mary was beginning to be
absent from her woes, and joyful in the pleasure of a thoughtless
pair, when suddenly, with one accord, they dived, and left a bright
splash and a wrinkle.  "Somebody is coming; they must have seen an
enemy," said the damsel to herself.  "I am sure I never moved.  I
will never have them shot by any wicked poacher."  To watch the
bank nicely, without being seen, she drew in her skirt and shrank
behind the tree, not from any fear, but just to catch the fellow;
for one of the laborers on the farm, who had run at his master with
a pitchfork once, was shrewdly suspected of poaching with a gun.
But keener eyes than those of any poacher were upon her, and the
lightest of light steps approached.

"Oh, Robin, are you come, then, at last?" cried Mary.

"Three days I have been lurking, in the hope of this.  Heart of my
heart, are you glad to see me?"

"I should think that I was.  It is worth a world of crying.  Oh,
where have you been this long, long time?"

"Let me have you in my arms, if it is but for a moment.  You are
not afraid of me?--you are not ashamed to love me?"

"I love you all the better for your many dreadful troubles.  Not a
word do I believe of all the wicked people say of you.  Don't be
afraid of me.  You may kiss me, Robin."

"You are such a beautiful spick and span!  And I am only fit to go
into the pond.  Oh, Mary, what a shame of me to take advantage of
you!"

"Well, I think that it is time for you to leave off now.  Though
you must not suppose that I think twice about my things.  When I
look at you, it makes me long to give you my best cloak and a tidy
hat.  Oh, where is all your finery gone, poor Robin?"

"Endeavor not to be insolent, on the strength of your fine clothes.
Remember that I have abandoned free trade; and the price of every
article will rise at once."

Mary Anerley not only smiled, but laughed, with the pleasure of a
great relief.  She had always scorned the idea that her lover had
even made a shot at Carroway, often though the brave lieutenant had
done the like to him; and now she felt sure that he could clear
himself; or how could he be so light-hearted?  "You see that I am
scarcely fit to lead off a country-dance with you," said Robin,
still holding both her hands, and watching the beauty of her clear
bright eyes, which might gather big tears at any moment, as the
deep blue sky is a sign of sudden rain; "and it will be a very long
time, my darling, before you see me in gay togs again."

"I like you a great deal better so.  You always look brave--but you
look so honest now!"

"That is a most substantial saying, and worthy of the race of
Anerley.  How I wish that your father would like me, Mary!  I
suppose it is hopeless to wish for that?"

"No, not at all--if you could keep on looking shabby.  My dear
father has a most generous mind.  If he only could be brought to
see how you are ill-treated--"

"Alas!  I shall have no chance of letting him see that.  Before to-
morrow morning I must say good-by to England.  My last chance of
seeing you was now this evening.  I bless every star that is in the
heaven now.  I trusted to my luck, and it has not deceived me."

"Robin dear, I never wish to try to be too pious.  But I think that
you should rather trust in Providence than starlight."

"So I do.  And it is Providence that has kept me out of sight--out
of sight of enemies, and in sight of you, my Mary.  The Lord looks
down on every place where His lovely angels wander.  You are one of
His angels, Mary; and you have made a man of me.  For years I shall
not see you, darling; never more again, perhaps.  But as long as I
live you will be here; and the place shall be kept pure for you.
If we only could have a shop together--oh, how honest I would be!
I would give full weight, besides the paper; I would never sell an
egg more than three weeks old; and I would not even adulterate!
But that is a dream of the past, I fear.  Oh, I never shall hoist
the Royal Arms.  But I mean to serve under them, and fight my way.
My captain shall be Lord Nelson."

"That is the very thing that you were meant for.  I will never
forgive Dr. Upandown for not putting you into the navy.  You could
have done no smuggling then."

"I am not altogether sure of that.  However, I will shun scandal,
as behooves a man who gets so much.  You have not asked me to clear
myself of that horrible thing about poor Carroway.  I love you the
more for not asking me; it shows your faith so purely.  But you
have the right to know all I know.  There is no fear of any
interruption here; so, Mary, I will tell you, if you are sure that
you can bear it."

"Yes, oh yes!  Do tell me all you know.  It is so frightful that I
must hear it."

"What I have to say will not frighten you, darling, because I did
not even see the deed.  But my escape was rather strange, and
deserves telling better than I can tell it, even with you to
encourage me by listening.  When we were so suddenly caught in the
cave, through treachery of some of our people, I saw in a moment
that we must be taken, but resolved to have some fun for it, with a
kind of whim which comes over me sometimes.  So I knocked away the
lights, and began myself to splash with might and main, and ordered
the rest to do likewise.  We did it so well that the place was like
a fountain or a geyser; and I sent a great dollop of water into the
face of the poor lieutenant--the only assault I have ever made upon
him.  There was just light enough for me to know him, because he
was so tall and strange; but I doubt whether he knew me at all.  He
became excited, as he well might be; he dashed away the water from
his eyes with one hand, and with the other made a wild sword-cut,
rushing forward as if to have at me.  Like a bird, I dived into the
water from our gunwale, and under the keel of the other boat, and
rose to the surface at the far side of the cave.  In the very act
of plunging, a quick flash came before me--or at least I believed
so afterward--and a loud roar, as I struck the wave.  It might have
been only from my own eyes and ears receiving so suddenly the
cleavage of the water.  If I thought anything at all about it, it
was that somebody had shot at me; but expecting to be followed, I
swam rapidly away.  I did not even look back, as I kept in the dark
of the rocks, for it would have lost a stroke, and a stroke was
more than I could spare.  To my great surprise, I heard no sound of
any boat coming after me, nor any shouts of Carroway, such as I am
accustomed to.  But swimming as I was, for my own poor life, like
an otter with a pack of hounds after him, I assure you I did not
look much after anything except my own run of the gauntlet."

"Of course not.  How could you?  It makes me draw my breath to
think of you swimming in the dark like that, with deep water, and
caverns, and guns, and all!"

"Mary, I thought that my time was come; and only one beautiful
image sustained me, when I came to think of it afterward.  I swam
with my hands well under water, and not a breath that could be
heard, and my cap tucked into my belt, and my sea-going pumps
slipped away into a pocket.  The water was cold, but it only seemed
to freshen me, and I found myself able to breathe very pleasantly
in the gentle rise and fall of waves.  Yet I never expected to
escape, with so many boats to come after me.  For now I could see
two boats outside, as well as old Carroway's pinnace in the cave;
and if once they caught sight of me, I could never get away.

"When I saw those two boats upon the watch outside, I scarcely knew
what to do for the best, whether to put my breast to it and swim
out, or to hide in some niche with my body under water, and cover
my face with oar-weed.  Luckily I took the bolder course,
remembering their portfires, which would make the cave like day.
Not everybody could have swum out through that entrance, against a
spring-tide and the lollop of the sea; and one dash against the
rocks would have settled me.  But I trusted in the Lord, and tried
a long, slow stroke.

"My enemies must have been lost in dismay, and panic, and utter
confusion, or else they must have espied me, for twice or thrice,
as I met the waves, my head and shoulders were thrown above the
surface, do what I would; and I durst not dive, for I wanted my
eyes every moment.  I kept on the darkest side, of course, but the
shadows were not half so deep as I could wish; and worst of all,
outside there was a piece of moonlight, which I must cross within
fifty yards of the bigger of the sentry boats.

"The mouth of that cave is two fathoms wide for a longish bit of
channel; and, Mary dear, if I had not been supported by continual
thoughts of you, I must have gone against the sides, or downright
to the bottom, from the waves keeping knocking me about so.  I may
tell you that I felt that I should never care again, as my clothes
began to bag about me, except to go down to the bottom and be
quiet, but for the blessed thought of standing up some day, at the
'hymeneal altar,' as great people call it, with a certain lovely
Mary."

"Oh, Robin, now you make me laugh, when I ought to be quite crying.
If such a thing should ever be, I shall expect to see you
swimming."

"Such a thing will be, as sure as I stand here--though not at all
in hymeneal garb just now.  Whatever my whole heart is set upon, I
do, and overcome all obstacles.  Remember that, and hold fast,
darling.  However, I had now to overcome the sea, which is worse
than any tide in the affairs of men.  A long and hard tussle it
was, I assure you, to fight against the indraught, and to drag my
frame through the long hillocky gorge.  At last, however, I managed
it; and to see the open waves again put strength into my limbs, and
vigor into my knocked-about brain.  I suppose that you can not
understand it, Mary, but I never enjoyed a thing more than the
danger of crossing that strip of moonlight.  I could see the very
eyes and front teeth of the men who were sitting there to look out
for me if I should slip their mates inside; and knowing the twist
of every wave, and the vein of every tide-run, I rested in a smooth
dark spot, and considered their manners quietly.  They had not yet
heard a word of any doings in the cavern, but their natures were up
for some business to do, as generally happens with beholders.
Having nothing to do, they were swearing at the rest.

"In the place where I was halting now the line of a jagged cliff
seemed to cut the air, and fend off the light from its edges.  You
can only see such a thing from the level of the sea, and it looks
very odd when you see it, as if the moon and you were a pair of
playing children, feeling round a corner for a glimpse of one
another.  But plain enough it was, and far too plain, that the
doubling of that little cape would treble my danger, by reason of
the bold moonlight, I knew that my only refuge was another great
hollow in the crags between the cave I had escaped from and the
point--a place which is called the 'Church Cave,' from an old
legend that it leads up to Flamborough church.  To the best of my
knowledge, it does nothing of the kind, at any rate now; but it has
a narrow fissure, known to few except myself, up which a nimble man
may climb; and this was what I hoped to do.  Also it has a very
narrow entrance, through which the sea flows into it, so that a
large boat can not enter, and a small one would scarcely attempt it
in the dark, unless it were one of my own, hard pressed.  Now it
seemed almost impossible for me to cross that moonlight without
being seen by those fellows in the boat, who could pull, of course,
four times as fast as I could swim, not to mention the chances of a
musket-ball.  However, I was just about to risk it, for my limbs
were growing very cold, when I heard a loud shout from the cave
which I had left, and knew that the men there were summoning their
comrades.  These at once lay out upon their oars, and turned their
backs to me, and now was my good time.  The boat came hissing
through the water toward the Dovecote, while I stretched away for
the other snug cave.  Being all in a flurry, they kept no look-out;
if the moon was against me, my good stars were in my favor.  Nobody
saw me, and I laughed in my wet sleeves as I thought of the rage of
Carroway, little knowing that the fine old fellow was beyond all
rage or pain."

"How wonderful your luck was, and your courage too!" cried Mary,
who had listened with bright tears upon her cheeks.  "Not one man
in a thousand could have done so bold a thing.  And how did you get
away at last, poor Robin?"

"Exactly as I meant to do, from the time I formed my plan.  The
Church has ever been a real friend in need to me; I took the name
for a lucky omen, and swam in with a brisker stroke.  It is the
prettiest of all the caves, to my mind, though the smallest, with a
sweet round basin, and a playful little beach, and nothing very
terrible about it.  I landed, and rested with a thankful heart upon
the shelly couch of the mermaids."

"Oh, Robin, I hope none of them came to you.  They are so
wonderfully beautiful.  And no one that ever has seen them cares
any more for--for dry people that wear dresses."

"Mary, you delight me much, by showing signs of jealousy.  Fifty
may have come, but I saw not one, for I fell into a deep calm
sleep.  If they had come, I would have spurned them all, not only
from my constancy to you, my dear, but from having had too much
drip already.  Mary, I see a man on the other side of the mere, not
opposite to us, but a good bit further down.  You see those two
swimming birds: look far away between them, you will see something
moving."

"I see nothing, either standing still or moving.  It is growing too
dark for any eyes not thoroughly trained in smuggling.  But that
reminds me to tell you, Robin, that a strange man--a gentleman they
seemed to say--has been seen upon our land, and he wanted to see
me, without my father knowing it.  But only think!  I have never
even asked you whether you are hungry--perhaps even starving!  How
stupid, how selfish, how churlish of me!  But the fault is yours,
because I had so much to hear of."

"Darling, you may trust me not to starve, I can feed by-and-by.
For the present I must talk, that you may know all about
everything, and bear me harmless in your mind, when evil things are
said of me.  Have you heard that I went to see Widow Carroway, even
before she had heard of her loss, but not before I was hunted?  I
knew that I must do so, now or never, before the whole world was up
in arms against me; and I thank God that I saw her.  A man might
think nothing of such an act, or even might take it for hypocrisy;
but a woman's heart is not so black.  Though she did not even know
what I meant, for she had not felt her awful blow, and I could not
tell her of it, she did me justice afterward.  In the thick of her
terrible desolation, she stood beside her husband's grave, in
Bridlington Priory Church yard, and she said to a hundred people
there:  'Here lies my husband, foully murdered.  The coroner's jury
have brought their verdict against Robin Lyth the smuggler.  Robin
Lyth is as innocent as I am.  I know who did it, and time will
show.  My curse is upon him; and my eyes are on him now.'  Then she
fell down in a fit, and the Preventive men, who were drawn up in a
row, came and carried her away.  Did anybody tell you, darling?
Perhaps they keep such things from you."

"Part of it I heard; but not so clearly.  I was told that she
acquitted you and I blessed her in my heart for it."

"Even more than that she did.  As soon as she got home again, she
wrote to Robin Cockscroft--a very few words, but as strong as could
be, telling him that I should have no chance of justice if I were
caught just now; that she must have time to carry out her plans;
that the Lord would soon raise up good friends to help her; and as
sure as there was a God in heaven, she would bring the man who did
it to the gallows.  Only that I must leave the land at once.  And
that is what I shall do this very night.  Now I have told you
almost all.  Mary, we must say 'good-by.'"

"But surely I shall hear from you sometimes?" said Mary, striving
to be brave, and to keep her voice from trembling.  "Years and
years, without a word--and the whole world bitter against you and
me!  Oh, Robin, I think that it will break my heart.  And I must
not even talk of you."

"Think of me, darling, while I think of you.  Thinking is better
than talking, I shall never talk of you, but be thinking all the
more.  Talking ruins thinking.  Take this token of the time you
saved me, and give me that bit of blue ribbon, my Mary; I shall
think of your eyes every time I kiss it.  Kiss it yourself before
you give it to me."

Like a good girl, she did what she was told to do.  She gave him
the love-knot from her breast, and stored his little trinket in
that pure shrine.

"But sometimes--sometimes, I shall hear of you?" she whispered,
lingering, and trembling in the last embrace.

"To be sure, you shall hear of me from time to time, through Robin
and Joan Cockscroft.  I will not grieve you by saying, 'Be true to
me,' my noble one, and my everlasting love."

Mary was comforted, and ceased to cry.  She was proud of him thus
in the depth of his trouble; and she prayed to God to bless him
through the long sad time.



CHAPTER XXXVII

FACT, OR FACTOR


"Papa, I have brought you a wonderful letter," cried Miss Janetta
Upround, toward supper-time of that same night; "and the most
miraculous thing about it is that there is no post to pay.  Oh, how
stupid I am!  I ought to have got at least a shilling out of you
for postage."

"My dear, be sorry for your sins, and not for having failed to add
to them.  Our little world is brimful of news just now, but nearly
all of it bad news.  Why, bless me, this is in regular print, and
it never has passed through the post at all, which explains the
most astounding fact of positively naught to pay.  Janetta, every
day I congratulate myself upon such a wondrous daughter.  But I
never could have hoped that even you would bring me a letter
gratis."

"But the worst of it is that I deserve no credit.  If I had cheated
the postman, there would have been something to be proud of.  But
this letter came in the most ignominious way--poked under the gate,
papa!  It is sealed with a foreign coin!  Oh, dear, dear, I am all
in a tingle to know all about it.  I saw it by the moonlight, and
it must belong to me."

"My dear, it says, 'Private, and to his own hands.'  Therefore you
had better go, and think no more about it.  I confide to you many
of my business matters: or at any rate you get them out of me: but
this being private, you must think no more about it."

"Darling papa, what a flagrant shame!  The man must have done it
with no other object than to rob me of every wink of sleep.  If I
swallow the outrage and retire, will you promise to tell me every
word to-morrow?  You preached a most exquisite sermon last Sunday
about the meanness and futility of small concealments."

"Be off!" cried the rector; "you are worse than Mr. Mordacks, who
lays down the law about frankness perpetually, but never lets me
guess what his own purpose is."

"Oh, now I see where the infection comes from!  Papa, I am off, for
fear of catching it myself.  Don't tell me, whatever you do.  I
never can sleep upon dark mysteries."

"Poor dear, you shall not have your rest disturbed," Dr. Upround
said, sweetly, as he closed the door behind her; "you are much too
good a girl for other people's plagues to visit you."  Then, as he
saddled his pleasant old nose with the tranquil span of spectacles,
the smile on his lips and the sigh of his breast arrived at a quiet
little compromise.  He was proud of his daughter, her quickness and
power to get the upper turn of words with him; but he grieved at
her not having any deep impressions, even after his very best
sermons.  But her mother always told him not to be in any hurry,
for even she herself had felt no very profound impressions until
she married a clergyman; and that argument always made him smile
(as invisibly as possible), because he had not detected yet their
existence in his better half.  Such questions are most delicate,
and a husband can only set mute example.  A father, on the other
hand, is bound to use his pastoral crook upon his children
foremost.

"Now for this letter," said Dr. Upround, holding council with
himself; "evidently a good clerk, and perhaps a first-rate scholar.
One of the very best Greek scholars of the age does all his
manuscript in printing hand, when he wishes it to be legible.  And
a capital plan it is--without meaning any pun.  I can read this
like a gazette itself."


"REVEREND AND WORSHIPFUL SIR,--Your long and highly valued kindness
requires at least a word from me, before I leave this country.  I
have not ventured into your presence, because it might place you in
a very grave predicament.  Your duty to King and State might compel
you with your own hand to arrest me; and against your hand I could
not strive.  The evidence brought before you left no choice but to
issue a warrant against me, though it grieved your kind heart to do
that same.  Sir, I am purely innocent of the vile crime laid
against me.  I used no fire-arm that night, neither did any of my
men.  And it is for their sake, as well as my own, that I now take
the liberty of writing this.  Failing of me, the authorities may
bring my comrades to trial, and convict them.  If that were so, it
would become my duty as a man to surrender myself, and meet my
death in the hope of saving them.  But if the case is sifted
properly, they must be acquitted; for no fire-arm of any kind was
in my boat, except one pair of pistols, in a locker under the after
thwart, and they happened to be unloaded.  I pray you to verify
this, kind sir.  My firm belief is that the revenue officer was
shot by one of his own men; and his widow has the same opinion.  I
hear that the wound was in the back of the head.  If we had carried
fire-arms, not one of us could have shot him so.

"It may have been an accident; I can not say.  Even so, the man
whose mishap it was is not likely to acknowledge it.  And I know
that in a court of law truth must be paid for dearly.  I venture to
commit to your good hands a draft upon a well-known Holland firm,
which amounts to 78 pounds British, for the defense of the men who
are in custody.  I know that you as a magistrate can not come
forward as their defender; but I beg you as a friend of justice to
place the money for their benefit.  Also especially to direct
attention to the crew of the revenue boat and their guns.

"And now I fear greatly to encroach upon your kindness, and very
long-suffering good-will toward me.  But I have brought into sad
trouble and distress with her family--who are most obstinate
people--and with the opinion of the public, I suppose, a young lady
worth more than all the goods I ever ran, or ever could run, if I
went on for fifty years.  By name she is Mistress Mary Anerley, and
by birth the daughter of Captain Anerley, of Anerley Farm, outside
our parish.  If your reverence could only manage to ride round that
way upon coming home from Sessions, once or twice in the fine
weather, and to say a kind word or two to my Mary, and a good word,
if any can be said of me, to her parents, who are stiff but worthy
people, it would be a truly Christian act, and such as you delight
in, on this side of the Dane-dike.

"Reverend sir, I must now say farewell.  From you I have learned
almost everything I know, within the pale of statutes, which repeal
one another continually.  I have wandered sadly outside that pale,
and now I pay the penalty.  If I had only paid heed to your advice,
and started in business with the capital acquired by free trade,
and got it properly protected, I might have been able to support my
parents, and even be churchwarden of Flamborough.  You always told
me that my unlawful enterprise must close in sadness; and your
words have proved too true.  But I never expected anything like
this; and I do not understand it yet.  A penetrating mind like
yours, with all the advantages of authority, even that is likely to
be baffled in such a difficult case as this.

"Reverend sir, my case is hard; for I always have labored to
establish peaceful trade; and I must have succeeded again, if honor
had guided all my followers.  We always relied upon the coast-guard
to be too late for any mischief; and so they would have been this
time, if their acts had been straightforward.  In sorrow and
lowness of fortune, I remain, with humble respect and gratitude,
your Worship's poor pupil and banished parishioner,

"ROBIN LYTH, of Flamborough."


"Come, now, Robin," Dr. Upround said, as soon as he had well
considered this epistle, "I have put up with many a checkmate at
your hands, but not without the fair delight of a counter-stroke at
the enemy.  Here you afford me none of that.  You are my master in
every way; and quietly you make me make your moves, quite as if I
were the black in a problem.  You leave me to conduct your fellow-
smugglers' case, to look after your sweetheart, and to make myself
generally useful.  By-the-way, that touch about my pleading his
cause in my riding-boots, and with a sessional air about me, is
worthy of the great Verdoni.  Neither is that a bad hit about my
Christianity stopping at the Dane-dike.  Certes, I shall have to
call on that young lady, though from what I have heard of the
sturdy farmer, I may both ride and reason long, even after my
greatest exploits at the Sessions, without converting him to free
trade; and trebly so after that deplorable affair.  I wonder
whether we shall ever get to the bottom of that mystery.  How often
have I warned the boy that mischief was quite sure to come! though
I never even dreamed that it would be so bad as this."

Since Dr. Upround first came to Flamborough, nothing (not even the
infliction of his nickname) had grieved him so deeply as the sad
death of Carroway.  From the first he felt certain that his own
people were guiltless of any share in it.  But his heart misgave
him as to distant smugglers, men who came from afar freebooting,
bringing over ocean woes to men of settlement, good tithe-payers.
For such men (plainly of foreign breed, and very plain specimens of
it) had not at all succeeded in eluding observation, in a
neighborhood where they could have no honest calling.  Flamborough
had called to witness Filey, and Filey had attested Bridlington,
that a stranger on horseback had appeared among them with a purpose
obscurely evil.  They were right enough as to the fact, although
the purpose was not evil, as little Denmark even now began to own,

"Here I am again!" cried Mr. Mordacks, laying vehement hold of the
rector's hand, upon the following morning; "just arrived from York,
dear sir, after riding half the night, and going anywhere you
please; except perhaps where you would like to send me, if charity
and Christian courtesy allowed.  My dear sir, have you heard the
news?  I perceive by your countenance that you have not.  Ah, you
are generally benighted in these parts.  Your caves have got
something to do with it.  The mind gets accustomed to them."

"I venture to think, Mr. Mordacks, on the whole," said the rector,
who studied this man gently, "that sometimes you are rapid in your
conclusions.  Possibly of the two extremes it is the more
desirable; especially in these parts, because of its great rarity.
Still the mere fact of some caves existing, in or out of my parish,
whichever it may be, scarcely seems to prove that all the people of
Flamborough live in them.  And even if we did, it was the manner of
the ancient seers, both in the Classics, and in Holy Writ--"

"Sir, I know all about Elijah and Obadiah, and the rest of them.
Profane literature we leave now for clerks in holy orders--we
positively have no time for it.  Everything begins to move with
accelerated pace.  This is a new century, and it means to make its
mark.  It begins very badly; but it will go on all the better.  And
I hope to have the pleasure, at a very early day, of showing you
one of its leading men, a man of large intellect, commanding
character, the most magnificent principles--and, in short, lots of
money.  You must be quite familiar with the name of Sir Duncan
Yordas."

"I fancy that I have heard or seen it somewhere.  Oh, something to
do with the Hindoos, or the Africans.  I never pay much attention
to such things."

"Neither do I, Dr. Upround.  Still somebody must, and a lot of
money comes of it.  Their idols have diamond eyes, which purity of
worship compels us to confiscate.  And there are many other ways of
getting on among them, while wafting and expanding them into a
higher sphere of thought.  The mere fact of Sir Duncan having
feathered his nest--pardon so vulgar an expression, doctor--proves
that while giving, we may also receive: for which we have the
highest warranty."

"The laborer is worthy of his hire, Mr. Mordacks.  At the same time
we should remember also--"

"What St. Paul says per contra.  Quite so.  That is always my first
consideration, when I work for my employers.  Ah, Dr. Upround, few
men give such pure service as your humble servant.  I have twice
had the honor of handing you my card.  If ever you fall into any
difficulty, where zeal, fidelity, and high principle, combined with
very low charges--"

"Mr. Mordacks, my opinion of you is too high for even yourself to
add to it.  But what has this Sir Duncan Yorick--"

"Yordas, my dear sir--Sir Duncan Yordas--the oldest family in
Yorkshire.  Men of great power, both for good and evil, mainly,
perhaps, the latter.  It has struck me sometimes that the county
takes its name--But etymology is not my forte.  What has he to do
with us, you ask?  Sir, I will answer you most frankly.  'Coram
populo' is my business motto.  Excuse me, I think I hear that door
creak.  No, a mere fancy--we are quite 'in camera.'  Very well;
reverend sir, prepare your mind for a highly astounding
disclosure."

"I have lived too long to be astounded, my good sir.  But allow me
to put on my spectacles.  Now I am prepared for almost anything."

"Dr. Upround, my duty compels me to enter largely into minds.  Your
mind is of a lofty order--calm, philosophic, benevolent.  You have
proved this by your kind reception of me, a stranger, almost an
intruder.  You have judged from my manners and appearance, which
are shaped considerably by the inner man, that my object was good,
large, noble.  And yet you have not been quite able to refrain, at
weak moments perhaps, but still a dozen times a day, from
exclaiming in the commune of your heart, 'What the devil does this
man want in my parish?'"

"My good sir, I never use bad language; and if I did my duty, I
should now inflict--"

"Five shillings for your poor-box.  There it is.  And it serves me
quite right for being too explicit, and forgetting my reverence to
the cloth.  However, I have coarsely expressed your thoughts.  Also
you have frequently said to yourself, 'This man prates of openness,
but I find him closer than any oyster.'  Am I right?  Yes, I see
that I am, by your bow.  Very well, you may suppose what pain it
gave me to have the privilege of intercourse with a perfect
gentleman and an eloquent divine, and yet feel myself in an
ambiguous position.  In a few words I will clear myself, being now
at liberty to indulge that pleasure.  I have been here, as agent
for Sir Duncan Yordas, to follow up the long-lost clew to his son,
and only child, who for very many years was believed to be out of
all human pursuit.  My sanguine and penetrating mind scorned
rumors, and went in for certainty.  I have found Sir Duncan's son,
and am able to identify him, beyond all doubt, as a certain young
man well known to you, and perhaps too widely known, by the name of
Robin Lyth."

In spite of the length of his experience of the world, in a place
of so many adventures, the rector of Flamborough was astonished,
and perhaps a little vexed as well.  If anything was to be found
out, in such a headlong way, about one of his parishioners, and
notably such a pet pupil and favorite, the proper thing would have
been that he himself should do it.  Failing that, he should at
least have been consulted, enlisted, or at any rate apprised of
what was toward.  But instead of that, here he had been hoodwinked
(by this marvel of incarnate candor employed in the dark about
several little things), and then suddenly enlightened, when the job
was done.  Gentle and void of self-importance as he was, it
misliked him to be treated so.

"This is a wonderful piece of news," he said, as he fixed a calm
gaze upon the keen, hard eyes of Mordacks.  "You understand your
business, sir, and would not make such a statement unless you could
verify it.  But I hope that you may not find cause to regret that
you have treated me with so little confidence."

"I am not open to that reproach.  Dr. Upround, consider my
instructions.  I was strictly forbidden to disclose my object until
certainty should be obtained.  That being done, I have hastened to
apprise you first of a result which is partly due to your own good
offices.  Shake hands, my dear sir, and acquit me of rudeness--the
last thing of which I am capable."

The rector was mollified, and gave his hand to the gallant general
factor.  "Allow me to add my congratulations upon your wonderful
success," he said; "but would that I had known it some few hours
sooner!  It might have saved you a vast amount of trouble.  I might
have kept Robin well within your reach.  I fear that he is now
beyond it."

"I am grieved to hear you say so.  But according to my last
instructions, although he is in strict concealment, I can lay hands
upon him when the time is ripe."

"I fear not.  He sailed last night for the Continent, which is a
vague destination, especially in such times as these.  But perhaps
that was part of your skillful contrivance?"

"Not so.  And for the time it throws me out.  I have kept most
careful watch on him.  But the difficulty was that he might
confound my vigilance with that of his enemies; take me for a
constable, I mean.  And perhaps he has done so, after all.  Things
have gone luckily for me in the main; but that murder came in most
unseasonably.  It was the very thing that should have been avoided.
Sir Duncan will need all his influence there.  Suppose for a moment
that young Robin did not do it--"

"Mr. Mordacks, you frighten me.  What else could you suppose?"

"Certainly--yes.  A parishioner of yours, when not engaged
unlawfully upon the high seas.  We heartily hope that he did not do
it, and we give him the benefit of the doubt; in which I shared
largely, until it became so manifest that he was a Yordas.  A
Yordas has made a point of slaying his man--and sometimes from
three to a dozen men--until within the last two generations.  In
the third generation the law revives, as is hinted, I think, in the
Decalogue.  In my professional course a large stock of hereditary
trail--so to speak--comes before me.  Some families always drink,
some always steal, some never tell lies because they never know a
falsehood, some would sell their souls for a sixpence, and these
are the most respectable of any--"

"My dear sir, my dear sir, I beg your pardon for interrupting you;
but in my house the rule is to speak well of people, or else to say
nothing about them."

"Then you must resign your commission, doctor; for how can you take
depositions?  But, as I was saying, I should have some hope of the
innocence of young Robin if it should turn out that his father, Sir
Duncan, has destroyed a good many of the native race in India.  It
may reasonably be hoped that he has done so, which would tend very
strongly to exonerate his son.  But the evidence laid before your
Worship and before the coroner was black--black--black."

"My position forbids me to express opinions.  The evidence
compelled me to issue the warrant.  But knowing your position, I
may show you this, in every word of which I have perfect faith."

With these words Dr. Upround produced the letter which he had
received last night, and the general factor took in all the gist of
it in less than half a minute.

"Very good! very good!" he said, with a smile of experienced
benevolence.  "We believe some of it.  Our duty is to do so.  There
are two points of importance in it.  One as to the girl he is in
love with, and the other his kind liberality to the fellows who
will have to bear the brunt of it."

"You speak sarcastically, and I hope unfairly.  To my mind, the
most important facts are these--that poor Carroway was shot from
behind, and that the smugglers had no fire-arms, except two
pistols, both unloaded."

"Who is to prove that, Dr. Upround?  Their mouths are closed; and
if they were open, would anybody believe them?  We knew long ago
that the vigilant and deservedly lamented officer took the
deathblow from behind; but of that how simple is the explanation!
The most intelligent of his crew, and apparently his best
subordinate, whose name is John Cadman, deposes that his lamented
chief turned round for one moment to give an order, and during that
moment received the shot.  His evidence is the more weighty because
he does not go too far with it.  He does not pretend to say who
fired.  He knows only that one of the smugglers did.  His evidence
will hang those six poor fellows, from the laudable desire of the
law to include the right one.  But I trust that the right one will
be far away."

"I trust not.  If even one of them is condemned, even to
transportation, Robin Lyth will surrender immediately.  You doubt
it.  You smile at the idea.  Your opinion of human nature is low.
Mine is not enthusiastic.  But I judge others by myself."

"So do I," Mr. Mordacks answered, with a smile of curious humor.
And the rector could not help smiling too, at this instance of
genuine candor.  "However, not to go too deeply into that," his
visitor continued, "there really is one point in Robin's letter
which demands inquiry.  I mean about the guns of the Preventive
men.  Cadman may be a rogue.  Most probably he is.  None of the
others confirm, although they do not contradict him.  Do you know
anything about him?"

"Only villainy--in another way.  Ho led away a nice girl of this
parish, an industrious mussel-gatherer.  And he then had a wife and
large family of his own, of which the poor thing knew nothing.  Her
father nearly killed him; and I was compelled (very much against my
will) to inflict a penalty.  Cadman is very shy of Flamborough now.
By-the-way, have you called upon poor Widow Carroway?"

"I thank you for the hint.  She is the very person.  It will be a
sad intrusion; and I have put it off as long as possible.  After
what Robin says, it is most important.  I hope that Sir Duncan will
be here very shortly.  He is coming from Yarmouth in his own yacht.
Matters are crowding upon me very fast.  I will see Mrs. Carroway
as soon as it is decent.  Good-morning, and best thanks to your
Worship."



CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE DEMON OF THE AXE


The air was sad and heavy thus, with discord, doubt, and death
itself gathering and descending, like the clouds of long night,
upon Flamborough.  But far away, among the mountains and the dreary
moorland, the "intake" of the coming winter was a great deal worse
to see.  For here no blink of the sea came up, no sunlight under
the sill of clouds (as happens where wide waters are), but rather a
dark rim of brooding on the rough horizon seemed to thicken itself
against the light under the sullen march of vapors--the muffled
funeral of the year.  Dry trees and naked crags stood forth, and
the dirge of the wind went to and fro, and there was no comfort
out-of-doors.

Soon the first snow of the winter came, the first abiding earnest
snow, for several skits had come before, and ribbed with white the
mountain breasts.  But nobody took much heed of that, except to
lean over the plough, while it might be sped, or to want more
breakfast.  Well resigned was everybody to the stoppage of work by
winter.  It was only what must be every year, and a gracious
provision of Providence.  If a man earned very little money, that
was against him in one way, but encouraged him in another.  It
brought home to his mind the surety that others would be kind to
him; not with any sense of gift, but a large good-will of sharing.

But the first snow that visits the day, and does not melt in its
own cold tears, is a sterner sign for every one.  The hardened
wrinkle, and the herring-bone of white that runs among the brown
fern fronds, the crisp defiant dazzle on the walks, and the crust
that glitters on the patient branch, and the crest curling under
the heel of a gate, and the ridge piled up against the tool-house
door--these, and the shivering wind that spreads them, tell of a
bitter time in store.

The ladies of Scargate Hall looked out upon such a December
afternoon.  The massive walls of their house defied all sudden
change of temperature, and nothing less than a week of rigor
pierced the comfort of their rooms.  The polished oak beams
overhead glanced back the merry fire-glow, the painted walls shone
with rosy tints, and warm lights flitting along them, and the
thick-piled carpet yielded back a velvety sense of luxury.  It was
nice to see how bleak the crags were, and the sad trees laboring
beneath the wind and snow.

"If it were not for thinking of the poor cold people, for whom one
feels so deeply," said the gentle Mrs. Carnaby, with a sweet soft
sigh, "one would rather enjoy this dreary prospect.  I hope there
will be a deep snow to-night.  There is every sign of it upon the
scaurs.  And then, Philippa, only think--no post, no plague of
news, no prospect of even that odious Jellicorse!  Once more we
shall have our meals in quiet."

Mrs. Carnaby loved a good dinner right well, a dinner unplagued by
hospitable cares; when a woodcock was her own to dwell on, and
pretty little teeth might pick a pretty little bone at ease.

"Eliza, you are always such a creature of the moment," Mistress
Yordas answered, indulgently; "you do love the good things of the
world too much.  How would you like to be out there, in a naked
little cottage where the wind howls through, and the ewer is frozen
every morning?  And where, if you ever get anything to eat--"

"Philippa, I implore you not to be so dreadful.  One never can
utter the most commonplace reflection--and you know that I said I
was sorry for the people."

"My object is good, as you ought to know.  My object is to
habituate your mind--"

"Philippa, I beg you once more to confine your exertions, in that
way, to your own more lofty mind.  Again I refuse to have my mind,
or whatever it is that does duty for it, habituated to anything.  A
gracious Providence knows that I should die outright, after all my
blameless life, if reduced to those horrible straits you always
picture.  And I have too much faith in a gracious Providence to
conceive for one moment that it would treat me so.  I decline the
subject.  Why should we make such troubles?  There is clear soup
for dinner, and some lovely sweet-breads.  Cook has got a new
receipt for bread sauce, and Jordas says that he never did shoot
such a woodcock."

"Eliza, I trust that you may enjoy them all; your appetite is
delicate, and you require nourishment.  Why, what do I see over
yonder in the snow?  A slim figure moving at a very great pace, and
avoiding the open places!  Are my eyes growing old, or is it
Lancelot?"

"Pet out in such weather, Philippa!  Such a thing is simply
impossible.  Or at any rate I should hope so.  You know that Jordas
was obliged to put a set of curtains from end to end even of the
bowling-alley, which is so beautifully sheltered; and even then
poor Pet was sneezing.  And you should have heard what he said to
me, when I was afraid of the sheets taking fire from his warming-
pan one night.  Pet is unaccountable sometimes, I know.  But the
very last thing imaginable of him is that he should put his pretty
feet into the snow."

"You know him best, Eliza; and it is very puzzling to distinguish
things in snow.  But if it was not Pet, why, it must have been a
squirrel."

"The squirrels are gone to sleep for the winter, Philippa.  I dare
say it was only Jordas.  Don't you think that it must have been
Jordas?"

"I am quite certain that it was not Jordas.  But I will not pretend
to say that it was not a squirrel.  He may forego his habitudes
more easily than Lancelot."

"How horribly dry you are sometimes, Philippa.  There seems to be
no softness in your nature.  You are fit to do battle with fifty
lawyers; and I pity Mr. Jellicorse, with his best clothes on."

"You could commit no greater error.  We pay the price of his black
silk stockings three times over, every time we see him.  The true
objects of pity are--you, I, and the estates."

"Well, let us drop it for a while.  If you begin upon that nauseous
subject, not a particle of food will pass my lips; and I did look
forward to a little nourishment."

"Dinner, my ladies!" cried the well-appointed Welldrum, throwing
open the door as only such a man can do, while cleverly
accomplishing the necessary bow, which he clinched on such
occasions with a fine smack of his lips.

"Go and tell Mr. Lancelot, if you please, that we are waiting for
him."  A great point was made, but not always effected, of having
Master Pet, in very gorgeous attire, to lead his aunt into the
dining-room.  It was fondly believed that this impressed him with
the elegance and nice humanities required by his lofty position and
high walk in life.  Pet hated this performance, and generally
spoiled it by making a face over his shoulder at old Welldrum,
while he strode along in real or mock awe of Aunt Philippa.

"If you please, my ladies," said the butler now, choosing Mrs.
Carnaby for his eyes to rest on, "Mr. Lancelot beg to be excoosed
of dinner.  His head is that bad that he have gone for open air."

"Snow-headache is much in our family; Eliza, you remember how our
dear father used to feel it."  With these words Mistress Yordas led
her sister to the dining-room; and they took good care to say
nothing more about it before the officious Welldrum.

Pet meanwhile was beginning to repent of his cold and lonely
venture.  For a mile or two the warmth of his mind and the glow of
exercise sustained him; and he kept on admiring his own courage
till his feet began to tingle.  "Insie will be bound to kiss me
now; and she never will be able to laugh at me again," he said to
himself some fifty times.  "I am like the great poet who describes
the snow; and I have got some cherry-brandy."  He trudged on very
bravely; but his poor dear toes at every step grew colder.  Out
upon the moor, where he was now, no shelter of any kind encouraged
him; no mantlet of bank, or ridge, or brush-wood, set up a furry
shiver betwixt him and the tatterdemalion wind.  Not even a naked
rock stood up to comfort a man by looking colder than himself.

But in truth there was no severe cold yet; no depth of snow, no
intensity of frost, no splintery needles of sparkling drift; but
only the beginning of the wintry time, such as makes a strong man
pick his feet up, and a healthy boy start an imaginary slide.  The
wind, however, was shrewd and searching, and Lancelot was
accustomed to a warming-pan.  Inside his waistcoat he wore a hare-
skin, and his heart began to give rapid thumps against it.  He knew
that he was going into bodily peril worse than any frost or snow.

For a long month he had not even seen his Insie, and his hot young
heart had never before been treated so contemptuously.  He had been
allowed to show himself in the gill at his regular interval, a
fortnight ago.  But no one had ventured forth to meet him, or even
wave signal of welcome or farewell.  But that he could endure,
because he had been warned not to hope for much that Friday; now,
however, it was not his meaning to put up with any more such
nonsense.  That he, who had been told by the servants continually
that all the land for miles and miles around was his, should be
shut out like a beggar, and compelled to play bo-peep, by people
who lived in a hole in the ground, was a little more than in the
whole entire course of his life he could ever have imagined.  His
mind was now made up to let them know who he was and what he was;
and unless they were very quick in coming to their senses, Jordas
should have orders to turn them out, and take Insie altogether away
from them.

But in spite of all brave thoughts and words, Master Pet began to
spy about very warily, ere ever he descended from the moor into the
gill.  He seemed to have it borne in upon his mind that territorial
rights--however large and goodly--may lead only to a taste of
earth, when earth alone is witness to the treatment of her
claimant.  Therefore it behooved him to look sharp; and possessing
the family gift of keen sight, he began to spy about, almost as
shrewdly as if he had been educated in free trade.  But first he
had wit enough to step below the break, and get behind a gorse
bush, lest haply he should illustrate only the passive voice of
seeing.

In the deep cut of the glen there was very little snow, only a few
veins and patches here and there, threading and seaming the steep,
as if a white-footed hare had been coursing about.  Little stubby
brier shoots, and clumps of russet bracken, and dead heather,
ruffling like a brown dog's back, broke the dull surface of
withered herbage, thistle stumps, teasels, rugged banks, and naked
brush.  Down in the bottom the noisy brook was scurrying over its
pebbles brightly, or plunging into gloom of its own production; and
away at the bend of the valley was seen the cot of poor Lancelot's
longing.

The situation was worth a sigh, and came half way to share one; Pet
sighed heavily, and deeply felt how wrong it was of any one to
treat him so.  What could be easier for him than to go, as Insie
had said to him at least a score of times, and mind his own
business, and shake off the dust--or the mud--of his feet at such
strangers?  But, alas! he had tried it, and could shake nothing,
except his sad and sapient head.  How deplorably was he altered
from the Pet that used to be!  Where were now his lofty joys, the
pleasure he found in wholesome mischief and wholesale destruction,
the high delight of frightening all the world about his safety?

"There are people here, I do believe," he said to himself, most
touchingly, "who would be quite happy to chop off my head!"

As if to give edge to so murderous a thought, and wings to the feet
of the thinker, a man both tall and broad came striding down the
cottage garden.  He was swinging a heavy axe as if it were a mere
dress cane, and now and then dealing clean slash of a branch, with
an air which made Pet shiver worse than any wind.  The poor lad saw
that in the grasp of such a man he could offer less resistance than
a nut within the crackers, and even his champion, the sturdy
Jordas, might struggle without much avail.  He gathered in his
legs, and tucked his head well under the gorse to watch him,

"Surely he is too big to run very fast," thought the boy, with his
valor evaporated; "it must be that horrible Maunder.  What a
blessing that I stopped up here just in time!  He is going up the
gill to cleave some wood.  Shall I cut away at once, or lie flat
upon my stomach?  He would be sure to see me if I tried to run
away; and much he would care for his landlord!"

In such a choice of evils, poor Lancelot resolved to lie still,
unless the monster should turn his steps that way.  And presently
he had the heart-felt pleasure of seeing the formidable stranger
take the track that followed the windings of the brook.  But
instead of going well away, and rounding the next corner, the big
man stopped at the very spot where Insie used to fill her pitcher,
pulled off his coat and hung it on a bush, and began with mighty
strokes to fell a dead alder-tree that stood there.  As his great
arms swung, and his back rose and fell, and the sway of his legs
seemed to shake the bank, and the ring of his axe filled the glen
with echoes, wrath and terror were fighting a hot battle in the
heart of Lancelot.

His sense of a land-owner's rights and titles had always been most
imperious, and though the Scargate estates were his as yet only in
remainder, he was even more jealous about them than if he held them
already in possession.  What right had this man to cut down trees,
to fell and appropriate timber?  Even in the garden which he rented
he could not rightfully touch a stick or stock.  But to come out
here, a good furlong from his renting, and begin hacking and
hewing, quite as if the land were his--it seemed almost too brazen-
faced for belief!  It must be stopped at once--such outrageous
trespass stopped, and punished sternly.  He would stride down the
hill with a summary veto--but, alas, if he did, he might get cut
down too!

Not only this disagreeable reflection, but also his tender regard
for Insie, prevented him from challenging this process of the axe;
but his feelings began to goad him toward something worthy of a
Yordas--for a Yordas he always accounted himself, and not by any
means a Carnaby.  And to this end all the powers of his home
conspired.

"That fellow is terribly big and strong," he said to himself, with
much warmth of spirit; "but his axe is getting dull; and to chop
down that tree of mine will take him at least half an hour.  Dead
wood is harder to cut than live.  And when he has done that, he
must work till dark to lop the branches, and so on.  I need not be
afraid of anybody but this fellow.  Now is my time, then, while he
is away.  Even if the old folk are at home, they will listen to my
reasons.  The next time he comes to hack my tree on this side, I
shall slip out, and go down to the cottage.  I have no fear of any
one that pays any heed to reason."

This sudden admirer and lover of reason cleverly carried out his
bold discretion.  For now the savage woodman, intent upon that
levelling which is the highest glory of pugnacious minds, came
round the tree, glaring at it (as if it were the murderer, and he
the victim), redoubling his tremendous thwacks at every sign of
tremor, flinging his head back with a spiteful joy, poising his
shoulders on the swing, and then with all his weight descending
into the trenchant blow.  When his back was fairly turned on
Lancelot, and his whole mind and body thus absorbed upon his prey,
the lad rose quickly from his lair, and slipped over the crest of
the gill to the moorland.  In a moment he was out of sight to that
demon of the axe, and gliding, with his head bent low, along a
little hollow of the heathery ground, which cut off a bend of the
ravine, and again struck its brink a good furlong down the gill.
Here Pet stopped running, and lay down, and peered over the brink,
for this part was quite new to him, and resolved as he was to make
a bold stroke of it, he naturally wished to see how the land lay,
and what the fortress of the enemy was like, ere ever he ventured
into it.



CHAPTER XXXIX

BATTERY AND ASSUMPSIT


That little moorland glen, whose only murmur was of wavelets, and
principal traffic of birds and rabbits, even at this time of year
looked pretty, with the winter light winding down its shelter and
soft quietude.  Ferny pitches and grassy bends set off the harsh
outline of rock and shale, while a white mist (quivering like a
clew above the rivulet) was melting into the faint blue haze
diffused among the foldings and recesses of the land.  On the
hither side, nearly at the bottom of the slope, a bright green spot
among the brown and yellow roughness, looking by comparison most
smooth and rich, showed where the little cottage grew its
vegetables, and even indulged in a small attempt at fruit.  Behind
this, the humble retirement of the cot was shielded from the wind
by a breastwork of bold rock, fringed with ground-ivy, hanging
broom, and silver stars of the carline.  So simple and low was the
building, and so matched with the colors around it, that but for
the smoke curling up from a pipe of red pottery-ware, a stranger
might almost have overlooked it.  The walls were made from the
rocks close by, the roof of fir slabs thatched with ling; there was
no upper story, and (except the door and windows) all the materials
seemed native and at home.  Lancelot had heard, by putting a crafty
question in safe places, that the people of the gill here had built
their own dwelling, a good many years ago; and it looked as if they
could have done it easily.

Now, if he intended to spy out the land, and the house as well,
before the giant of the axe returned, there was no time to lose in
beginning.  He had a good deal of sagacity in tricks, and some
practice in little arts of robbery.  For before he attained to this
exalted state of mind one of his favorite pastimes had been a
course of stealthy raids upon the pears in Scargate garden.  He
might have had as many as he liked for asking; but what flavor
would they have thus possessed?  Moreover, he bore a noble spite
against the gardener, whose special pride was in that pear wall;
and Pet more than once had the joy of beholding him thrash his own
innocent son for the dark disappearance of Beurre and Bergamot.
Making good use of this experience, he stole his way down the steep
glen-side, behind the low fence of the garden, until he reached the
bottom, and the brush-wood by the stream.  Here he stopped to
observe again, and breathe, and get his spirit up.  The glassy
water looked as cold as death; and if he got cramp in his feet, how
could he run?  And yet he could see no other way but wading, of
approaching the cottage unperceived.

Now fortune (whose privilege it is to cast mortals into the holes
that most misfit them) sometimes, when she has got them there,
takes pity, and contemptuously lifts them.  Pet was in a hole of
hardship, such as his dear mamma never could have dreamed of, and
such as his nurture and constitution made trebly disastrous for
him.  He had taken a chill from his ambush, and fright, and the
cold wind over the snow of the moor; and now the long wading of
that icy water might have ended upon the shores of Acheron.
However, he was just about to start upon that passage--for the
spirit of his race was up--when a dull grating sound, as of
footsteps crunching grit, came to his prettily concave ears.

At this sound Lancelot Carnaby stopped from his rash venture into
the water, and drew himself back into an ivied bush, which served
as the finial of the little garden hedge.  Peeping through this, he
could see that the walk from the cottage to the hedge was newly
sprinkled with gray wood ash, perhaps to prevent the rain from
lodging and the snow from lying there.  Heavy steps of two old men
(as Pet in the insolence of young days called them) fell upon the
dull soft crust, and ground it, heel and toe--heel first, as stiff
joints have it--with the bruising snip a hungry cow makes, grazing
wiry grasses.  "One of them must be Insie's dad," said Pet to
himself, as he crouched more closely behind the hedge; "which of
them, I wonder?  Well, the tall one, I suppose, to go by the height
of that Maunder.  And the other has only one arm; and a man with
one arm could never have built their house.  They are coming to sit
on that bench; I shall hear every word they say, and learn some of
their secrets that I never could get out of Insie one bit of.  But
I wonder who that other fellow is?"

That other fellow, in spite of his lease, would promptly have laid
his surviving hand to the ear of Master Lancelot, or any other
eavesdropper; for a sturdy and resolute man was he, being no less
than our ancient friend and old soldier, Jack of the Smithies.  And
now was verified that homely proverb that listeners never hear good
of themselves.

"Sit down, my friend," said the elder of the twain, a man of rough
dress and hard hands, but good, straightforward aspect, and that
careless humor which generally comes from a life of adventures, and
a long acquaintance with the world's caprice.  "I have brought you
here that we may be undisturbed.  Little pitchers have long ears.
My daughter is as true as steel; but this matter is not for her at
present.  You are sure, then, that Sir Duncan is come home at last?
And he wished that I should know it?"

"Yes, sir, he wished that you should know it.  So soon as I told
him that you was here, and leading what one may call this queer
life, he slapped his thigh like this here--for he hath a downright
way of everything--and he said, 'Now, Smithies, so soon as you get
home, go and tell him that I am coming.  I can trust him as I trust
myself; and glad I am for one old friend in the parts I am such a
stranger to.  Years and years I have longed to know what was become
of my old friend Bert.'  Tears was in his eyes, your honor: Sir
Duncan hath seen such a mighty lot of men, that his heart cometh up
to the few he hath found deserving of the name, sir."

"You said that you saw him at York, I think?"

"Yes, sir, at the business house of his agent, one Master Geoffrey
Mordacks.  He come there quite unexpected, I believe, to see about
something else he hath in hand, and I got a message to go there at
once.  I save his life once in India, sir, from one of they cursed
Sours, which made him take heed of me, and me of him.  And then it
come out where I come from, and why; and the both of us spoke the
broad Yorkshire together, like as I dea naa care to do to home.
After that he got on wonderful, as you know; and I stuck to him
through the whole of it, from luck as well as liking, till, if I
had gone out to see to his breeches, I could not very well have
knowed more of him.  And I tell you, sir, not to regard him for a
Yordas.  He hath a mind far above them lot; though I was born under
them, to say so!"

"And you think that he will come and recover his rights, in spite
of his father's will against him.  I know nothing of the ladies of
the Hall; but it seems a hard thing to turn them out, after being
there so long."

"Who was turned out first, they or him?  Five-and-twenty years of
tent, open sky, jungle, and who knows what, for him--but eider-
down, and fireside, and fat of land for them!  No, no, sir;
whatever shall happen there, will be God's own justice."

"Of His justice who shall judge?" said Insie's father, quietly.
"But is there not a young man grown, who passes for the heir with
every one?"

"Ay, that there is; and the best game of all will be neck and crop
for that young scamp.  A bully, a coward, a puling milksop, is all
the character he beareth.  He giveth himself born airs, as if every
inch of the Riding belonged to him.  He hath all the viciousness of
Yordas, without the pluck to face it out.  A little beast that hath
the venom, without the courage, of a toad.  Ah, how I should like
to see--"

Jack of the Smithies not only saw, but felt.  The Yordas blood was
up in Pet.  He leaped through the hedge and struck this man with a
sharp quick fist in either eye.  Smithies fell backward behind the
bench, his heels danced in the air, and the stump of his arm got
wedged in the stubs of a bush, while Lancelot glared at him with
mad eyes.

"What next?" said his companion, rising calmly, and steadfastly
gazing at Lancelot.

"The next thing is to kill him; and it shall be done," the furious
youth replied, while he swung the gentleman's big stick, which he
had seized, and danced round his foe with the speed of a wild-cat.
"Don't meddle, or it will be worse for you.  You heard what he said
of me.  Get out of the way."

"Indeed, my young friend, I shall do nothing of the sort."  But the
old man was not at all sure that he could do much; such was the
fury and agility of the youth, who jumped three yards for every
step of his, while the poor old soldier could not move.  The boy
skipped round the protecting figure, whose grasp he eluded easily,
and swinging the staff with both arms, aimed a great blow at the
head of his enemy.  Suddenly the other interposed the bench, upon
which the stick fell, and broke short; and before the assailant
could recover from the jerk, he was a prisoner in two powerful old
arms.

"You are so wild that we must make you fast," his captor said, with
a benignant smile; and struggle as he might, the boy was very soon
secured.  His antagonist drew forth a red bandana handkerchief, and
fastened his bleeding hands behind his back.  "There, now, lad," he
said, "you can do no mischief.  Recover your temper, sir, and tell
us who you are, as soon as you are sane enough to know."

Pet, having spent his just indignation, began to perceive that he
had made a bad investment.  His desire had been to maintain in this
particular spot strict privacy from all except Insie, to whom in
the largeness of love he had declared himself.  Yet here he stood,
promulged and published, strikingly and flagrantly pronounced!  At
first he was like to sulk in the style of a hawk who has failed of
his swoop; but seeing his enemy arising slowly with grunts, and
action nodose and angular--rather than flexibly graceful--contempt
became the uppermost feature of his mind.

"My name," he said, "if you are not afraid of it, that you tie me
in this cowardly low manner, is--Lancelot Yordas Carnaby."

"My boy, it is a long name for any one to carry.  No wonder that
you look weak beneath it.  And where do you live, young gentleman?"

Amazement sat upon the face of Pet--a genuine astonishment,
entirely pure from wrath.  It was wholly beyond his imagination
that any one, after hearing his name, should have to ask him where
he lived.  He thought that the question must be put in low mockery,
and to answer was far beneath his dignity.

By this time the veteran Jack of the Smithies had got out of his
trap, and was standing stiffly, passing his hand across his sadly
smitten eyes, and talking to himself about them.

"Two black eyes, at my time of life, as sure as I'm a Christian!
Howsomever, young chap, I likes you better.  Never dreamed there
was such good stuff in you.  Master Bert, cast him loose, if so
please you.  Let me shake hands with 'un, and bear no malice.  Bad
words deserve hard blows, and I ask his pardon for driving him into
it.  I called 'un a milksop, and he hath proved me a liar.  He may
be a bad 'un, but with good stuff in 'un.  Lord bless me, I never
would have believed the lad could hit so smartly!"

Pet was well pleased with this tribute to his prowess; but as for
shaking hands with a tenant, and a "common man"--as every one not
of gentle birth was then called--such an act was quite below him,
or above him, according as we take his own opinion, or the truth.
And possibly he rose in Smithies' mind by drawing back from bodily
overture.

Mr. Bert looked on with all the bliss of an ancient interpreter.
He could follow out the level of the vein of each, as no one may do
except a gentleman, perhaps, who has turned himself deliberately
into a "common man."  Bert had done his utmost toward this end; but
the process is difficult when voluntary.

"I think it is time," he now said, firmly, to the unshackled and
triumphant Pet, "for Lancelot Yordas Carnaby to explain what has
brought him into such humble quarters, and induced him to turn
eavesdropper; which was not considered (at least in my young days)
altogether the part of a gentleman."

The youth had not seen quite enough of the world to be pat with a
fertile lie as yet; especially under such searching eyes.  However,
he did as much as could be well expected.

"I was just looking over my property," he said, "and I thought I
heard somebody cutting down my timber.  I came to see who it was,
and I heard people talking, and before I could ask them about it, I
heard myself abused disgracefully; and that was more than I could
stand."

"We must take it for granted that a brave young gentleman of your
position would tell no falsehood.  You assure us, on your honor,
that you heard no more?"

"Well, I heard voices, sir.  But nothing to understand, or make
head or tail of."  There was some truth in this; for young Lancelot
had not the least idea who "Sir Duncan" was.  His mother and aunt
had kept him wholly in the dark as to any lost uncle in India.  "I
should like to know what it was," he added, "if it has anything to
do with me."

This was a very clever hit of his; and it made the old gentleman
believe him altogether.

"All in good time, my young friend," he answered, even with a smile
of some pity for the youth.  "But you are scarcely old enough for
business questions, although so keen about your timber.  Now after
abusing you so disgracefully, as I admit that my friend here has
done, and after roping your pugnacious hands, as I myself was
obliged to do, we never can launch you upon the moor, in such
weather as this, without some food.  You are not very strong, and
you have overdone yourself.  Let us go to the house, and have
something."

Jack of the Smithies showed alacrity at this, as nearly all old
soldiers must; but Pet was much oppressed with care, and the
intellect in his breast diverged into sore distraction of anxious
thought.  Whether should he draw the keen sword of assurance, put
aside the others, and see Insie, or whether should he start with
best foot foremost, scurry up the hill, and avoid the axe of
Maunder?  Pallas counselled this course, and Aphrodite that; and
the latter prevailed, as she always used to do, until she produced
the present dry-cut generation.

Lancelot bowed to the gentleman of the gill, and followed him along
the track of grit, which set his little pearly teeth on edge; while
Jack of the Smithies led, and formed, the rear-guard.  "This is
coming now to something very queer," thought Pet; "after all, it
might have been better for me to take my chance with the hatchet
man."

Brown dusk was ripely settling down among the mossy apple-trees,
and the leafless alders of the brook, and the russet and yellow
memories of late autumn lingering in the glen, while the peaky
little freaks of snow, and the cold sighs of the wind, suggested
fireside and comfort.  Mr. Bert threw open his cottage door, and
bowing as to a welcome guest, invited Pet to enter.  No passage, no
cold entrance hall, demanded scrapes of ceremony; but here was the
parlor, and the feeding-place, and the warm dance of the fire-glow.
Logs that meant to have a merry time, and spread a cheerful noise
abroad, ere ever they turned to embers, were snorting forth the
pointed flames, and spitting soft protests of sap.  And before them
stood, with eyes more bright than any flash of fire-light, intent
upon rich simmering scents, a lovely form, a grace of dainties--oh,
a goddess certainly!

"Master Carnaby," said the host, "allow me, sir, the honor to
present my daughter to you, Insie darling, this is Mr. Lancelot
Yordas Carnaby.  Make him a pretty courtesy."

Insie turned round with a rosy blush, brighter than the brightest
fire-wood, and tried to look at Pet as if she had never even
dreamed of such a being.  Pet drew hard upon his heart, and stood
bewildered, tranced, and dazzled.  He had never seen Insie in-doors
before, which makes a great difference in a girl; and the vision
was too bright for him.

For here, at her own hearth, she looked so gentle, sweet, and
lovely.  No longer wild and shy, or gayly mischievous and watchful,
but calm-eyed, firm-lipped, gravely courteous; intent upon her
father's face, and banishing not into shadow so much as absolute
nullity any one who dreamed that he ever filled a pitcher for her,
or fed her with grouse and partridge, and committed the incredible
atrocity of kissing her.

Lancelot ceased to believe it possible that he ever could have done
such a thing as that, while he saw how she never would see him at
all, or talk in the voice that he had been accustomed to, or even
toss her head in the style he had admired, when she tried to
pretend to make light of him.  If she would only make light of him
now, he would be well contented, and say to himself that she did it
on purpose, for fear of the opposite extreme.  But the worst of it
was that she had quite forgotten, beyond blink of inquiry or gleam
of hope, that ever in her life she had set eyes on a youth of such
perfect insignificance before.

"My friend, you ought to be hungry," said Bert of the Gill, as he
was proud to call himself; "after your exploit you should be fed.
Your vanquished foe will sit next to you.  Insie, you are harassed
in mind by the countenance of our old friend Master John Smithies.
He has met with a little mishap--never mind--the rising generation
is quick of temper.  A soldier respects his victor; it is a
beautiful arrangement of Providence; otherwise wars would never
cease.  Now give our two guests a good dish of the best, piping
hot, and of good meaty fibre.  We will have our own supper by-and-
by, when Maunder comes home, and your mother is ready.  Gentlemen,
fall to; you have far to go, and the moors are bad after night-
fall."

Lancelot, proudly as he stood upon his rank, saw fit to make no
objection.  Not only did his inner man cry, "Feed, even though a
common man feed with thee," but his mind was under the influence of
a stronger one, which scorned such stuff.  Moreover, Insie, for the
first time, gave him a glance, demure but imperative, which meant,
"Obey my father, sir."

He obeyed, and was rewarded; for the beautiful girl came round him
so, to hand whatever he wanted, and seemed to feel so sweetly for
him in his strange position, that he scarcely knew what he was
eating, only that it savored of rich rare love, and came from the
loveliest creature in the world.  In stern fact, it came from the
head of a sheep; but neither jaws nor teeth were seen.  Upon one
occasion he was almost sure that a curl of Insie's lovely hair fell
upon the back of his stooping neck; he could scarcely keep himself
from jumping up; and he whispered, very softly, when the old man
was away, "Oh, if you would only do that again!"  But his darling
made manifest that this was a mistake, and applied herself
sedulously to the one-armed Jack.

Jack of the Smithies was a trencherman of the very first order, and
being well wedded (with a promise already of young soldiers to
come), it behooved him to fill all his holes away from home, and
spare his own cupboard for the sake of Mistress Smithies.  He
perceived the duty, and performed it, according to the discipline
of the British army.

But Insie was fretting in the conscience of her heart to get the
young Lancelot fed and dismissed before the return of her great
wild brother.  Not that he would hurt their guest, though
unwelcome; or even show any sort of rudeness to him; but more than
ever now, since she heard of Pet's furious onslaught upon the old
soldier--which made her begin to respect him a little--she longed
to prevent any meeting between this gallant and the rough Maunder.
And that anxiety led her to look at Pet with a melancholy kindness.
Then Jack of the Smithies cut things short.

"Off's the word," he said, "if ever I expects to see home afore
daylight.  All of these moors is known to me, and many's the time I
have tracked them all in sleep, when the round world was betwixt
us.  But without any moon it is hard to do 'em waking; and the loss
of my arm sends me crooked in the dark.  And as for young folk,
they be all abroad to once.  With your leave, Master Bert, I'll be
off immediate, after getting all I wants, as the manner of the
world is.  My good missus will be wondering what is come of me."

"You have spoken well," his host replied; "and I think we shall
have a heavy fall to-night.  But this young gentleman must not go
home alone.  He is not robust, and the way is long and rough.  I
have seen him shivering several times.  I will fetch my staff, and
march with him."

"No, sir, I will not have such a thing done," the veteran answered,
sturdily.  "If the young gentleman is a gentleman, he will not be
afraid for me to take him home, in spite of what he hath done to
me.  Speak up, young man, are you frightened of me?"

"Not if you are not afraid of me," said Pet, who had now forgotten
all about that Maunder, and only longed to stay where he was, and
set up a delicious little series of glances.  For the room, and the
light, and the tenor of the place, began more and more to suit such
uses.  And most and best of all, his Insie was very thankful to him
for his good behavior; and he scarcely could believe that she
wanted him to go.  To go, however, was his destiny; and when he had
made a highly laudable and far-away salute, it happened--in the
shift of people, and of light, and clothing, which goes on so much
in the winter-time--that a little hand came into his, and rose to
his lips, with ground of action, not for assault and battery, but
simply for assumpsit.



CHAPTER XL

STORMY GAP


Snowy weather now set in, and people were content to stay at home.
Among the scaurs and fells and moors the most perturbed spirit was
compelled to rest, or try to do so, or at any rate not agitate its
body out-of-doors.  Lazy folk were suited well with reason good for
laziness; and gentle minds, that dreaded evil, gladly found its
communication stopped.

Combined excitement and exertion, strong amazement, ardent love,
and a cold of equal severity, laid poor Pet Carnaby by the heels,
and reduced him to perpetual gruel.  He was shut off from external
commune, and strictly blockaded in his bedroom, where his only
attendants were his sweet mother, and an excellent nurse who
stroked his forehead, and called him "dear pet," till he hated her,
and, worst of all, that Dr. Spraggs, who lived in the house,
because the weather was so bad.

"We have taken a chill, and our mind is a little unhinged," said
the skillful practitioner: "careful diet, complete repose, a warm
surrounding atmosphere, absence of undue excitement, and, above
all, a course of my gentle alteratives regularly administered--
these are the very simple means to restore our beloved patient.  He
is certainly making progress; but I assure you, my dear madam, or
rather I need not tell a lady of such wonderfully clear perception,
that remedial measures must be slow to be truly efficacious.  With
lower organizations we may deal in a more empiric style; but no
experiments must be tried here--"

"Dr. Spraggs, I should hope not, indeed.  You alarm me by the mere
suggestion."

"Gradation, delicately pursued, adapted subtly, discriminated
nicely by the unerring diagnosis of extensive medical experience,
combined with deep study of the human system, and a highly
distinguished university career--such, madam, are, in my humble
opinion, the true elements of permanent amelioration.  At the same
time we must not conceal from ourselves that our constitution is by
no means one of ordinary organization.  None of your hedger and
ditcher class, but delicate, fragile, impulsive, sensitive, liable
to inopine derangements from excessive activity of mind--"

"Oh, Dr. Spraggs, he has been reading poetry, which none of our
family ever even dreamed of doing--it is a young man, over your way
somewhere.  Possibly you may have heard of him."

"That young man has a great deal to answer for.  I have traced a
very bad case of whooping-cough to him.  That explains many
symptoms which I could not quite make out.  We will take away this
book, madam, and give him Dr. Watts--the only wholesome poet that
our country has produced; though even his opinions would be better
expressed in prose."

But the lad, in spite of all this treatment, slowly did recover,
and then obtained relief, which set him on his nimble legs again.
For his aunt Philippa, one snowy morning, went into the room
beneath that desperately sick chamber, to see whether wreaths of
snow had entered, as they often did, between the loose joints of
the casement.  She walked very carefully, for fear of making a
noise that might be heard above, and disturb the repose of the poor
invalid.  But, to her surprise, there came loud thumps from above,
and a quivering of the ceiling, and a sound as of rushing steps,
and laughter, and uproarious jollity.

"What can it be?  I am perfectly amazed," said Mistress Yordas to
herself.  "I must inquire into this."

She knew that her sister was out of the way, and the nurse in the
kitchen, having one of her frequent feeds and agreeable discourses.
So she went to a mighty ring in her own room, as large as an
untaxed carriage wheel, and from it (after due difficulty) took the
spare key of the passage door that led the way to Lancelot.

No sooner had she passed this door than she heard a noise a great
deal worse than the worst imagination--whiz, and hiss, and crack,
and smash, and rolling of hollow things over hollow places, varied
with shouts, and the flapping of skirts, and jingling of money upon
heart of oak; these and many other travails of the air (including
strong language) amazed the lady.  Hastening into the sick-room,
she found the window wide open, with the snow pouring in, a dozen
of phial bottles ranged like skittles, some full and some empty,
and Lancelot dancing about in his night-gown, with Divine Songs
poised for another hurl.

"Two for a full, and one for an empty.  Seven to me, and four to
you.  No cheating, now, or I'll knock you over," he was shouting to
Welldrum's boy, who had clearly been smuggled in at the window for
this game.  "There's plenty more in old Spraggs's chest.  Holloa,
here's Aunt Philippa!"

Mistress Yordas was not displeased with this spirited application
of pharmacy; she at once flung wide the passage door, and Pet was
free of the house again, but upon parole not to venture out of
doors.  The first use he made of his liberty was to seek the
faithful Jordas, who possessed a little private sitting-room, and
there hold secret council with him.

The dogman threw his curly head back, when he had listened to his
young lord's tale (which contained the truth, and nothing but the
truth, yet not by any means the whole truth, for the leading figure
was left out), and a snort from his broad nostrils showed contempt
and strong vexation.

"Just what I said would come o' such a job," he muttered, without
thought of Lancelot; "to let in a traitor, and spake him fair, and
make much of him.  I wish you had knocked his two eyes out, Master
Lance, instead of only blacking of 'un.  And a fortnight lost
through that pisonin' Spraggs!  And the weather going on, snow and
thaw, snow and thaw.  There's scarcely a dog can stand, let alone a
horse, and the wreaths getting deeper.  Most onlucky!  It hath come
to pass most ontoimely."

"But who is Sir Duncan?  And who is Mr. Bert?  I have told you
everything, Jordas; and all you do is to tell me nothing."

"What more can I tell you, sir?  You seem to know most about 'em.
And what was it as took you down that way, sir, if I may make so
bold to ask?"

"Jordas, that is no concern of yours; every gentleman has his own
private affairs, which can not in any way concern a common man.
But I wish you particularly to find out all that can be known about
Mr. Bert--what made him come here, and why does he live so, and how
much has he got a year?  He seems to be quite a gentleman--"

"Then his private affairs, sir, can not concern a common man.  You
had better ways go yourself and ask him; or ask his friend with the
two black eyes.  Now just you do as I bid you, Master Lance.  Not a
word of all this here to my ladies; but think of something as you
must have immediate from Middleton.  Something as your health
requires"--here Jordas indulged in a sarcastic grin--"something as
must come, if the sky come down, or the day of Judgment was to-
morrow."

"I know, yes, I am quite up to you, Jordas.  Let me see: last time
it was a sweet-bread.  That would never do again.  It shall be a
hundred oysters; and Spraggs shall command it, or be turned out."

"Jordas, I really can not bear," said the kind Mrs. Carnaby, an
hour afterward, "that you should seem almost to risk your life by
riding to Middleton in such dreadful weather.  Are you sure that it
will not snow again, and quite sure that you can get through all
the wreaths?  If not, I would on no account have you go.  Perhaps,
after all, it is but the fancy of a poor fantastic invalid, though
Dr. Spraggs feels that it is so important, and may be the turning-
point in his sad illness.  It seems such a long way in such
weather; and selfish people, who can never understand, might say
that it was quite unkind of us.  But if you have made up your mind
to go, in spite of all remonstrance, you must be sure to come back
to-night; and do please to see that the oysters are round, and have
not got any of their lids up."

The dogman knew well that he jeopardized his life in either half of
the journey; no little in going, and tenfold as much in returning
through the snows of night.  Though the journey in the first place
had been of his own seeking, and his faithful mind was set upon it,
some little sense of bitterness was in his heart, that his life was
not thought more of.  He made a low bow, and turned away, that he
might not meet those eyes so full of anxiety for another, and of
none for him.  And when he came to think of it, he was sorry
afterward for indulging in a little bit of two-edged satire.

"Will you please to ask my lady if I may take Marmaduke?  Or
whether she would be afeared to risk him in such weather?"

"I think it is unkind of you to speak like that.  I need not ask my
sister, as you ought to know.  Of course you may take Marmaduke.  I
need not tell you to be careful of him."

After that, if he had chosen for himself, he would not have taken
Marmaduke.  But he thought of the importance of his real purpose,
and could trust no other horse to get him through it.

In fine summer weather, when the sloughs were in, and the water-
courses low or dry, and the roads firm, wherever there were any, a
good horse and rider, well acquainted with the track, might go from
Scargate Hall to Middleton in about three hours, nearly all of the
journey being well down hill.  But the travel to come back was a
very different thing; four hours and a half was quick time for it,
even in the best state of earth and sky, and the Royal Mail pony
was allowed a good seven, because his speed (when first established)
had now impaired his breathing.  And ever since the snow set in,
he had received his money for the journey, but preferred to stay
in stable; for which everybody had praised him, finding letters
give them indigestion.

Now Jordas roughed Marmaduke's shoes himself; for the snow would be
frozen in the colder places, and ball wherever any softness was--
two things which demand very different measures.  Also he fed him
well, and nourished himself, and took nurture for the road; so that
with all haste he could not manage to start before twelve of the
day.  Travelling was worse than he expected, and the snow very deep
in places, especially at Stormy Gap, about a league from Scargate.
Moreover, he knew that the strength of his horse must be carefully
husbanded for the return; and so it was dusk of the winter evening,
and the shops of the little town were being lit with hoops of
candles, when Jordas, followed by Saracen, came trotting through
the unpretending street.

That ancient dog Saracen, the largest of the blood-hounds, had
joined the expedition as a volunteer, craftily following and
crouching out of sight, until he was certain of being too far from
home to be sent back again.  Then he boldly appeared, and cantered
gayly on in front of Marmaduke, with his heavy dewlaps laced with
snow.

Jordas put up at a quiet old inn, and had Saracen chained strongly
to a ringbolt in the stable; then he set off afoot to see Mr.
Jellicorse, and just as he rang the office bell a little fleecy
twinkle fell upon one of his eyelashes, and looking sharply up, he
saw that a snowy night was coming.

The worthy lawyer received him kindly, but not at all as if he
wished to see him; for Christmas-tide was very nigh at hand, and
the weather made the ink go thick, and only a clerk who was working
for promotion would let his hat stay on its peg after the drum and
fife went by, as they always did at dusk of night, to frighten
Bonyparty.

"There are only two important facts in all you have told me,
Jordas," Mr. Jellicorse said, when he had heard him out: "one that
Sir Duncan is come home, of which I was aware some time ago; and
the other that he has been consulting an agent of the name of
Mordacks, living in this county.  That certainly looks as if he
meant to take some steps against us.  But what can he do more than
might have been done five-and-twenty years ago?"  The lawyer took
good care to speak to none but his principals concerning that
plaguesome deed of appointment.

"Well, sir, you know best, no doubt.  Only that he hath the money
now, by all accounts; and like enough he hath labored for it a'
purpose to fight my ladies.  If your honor knew as well as I do
what a Yordas is for fighting, and for downright stubbornness--"

"Perhaps I do," replied the lawyer, with a smile; "but if he has no
children of his own, as I believe is the case with him, it seems
unlikely that he would risk his substance in a rash attempt to turn
out those who are his heirs."

"He is not so old but what he might have children yet, if he hath
none now to hand.  Anyways it was my duty to tell you my news
immediate."

"Jordas, I always say that you are a model of a true retainer--
a character becoming almost extinct in this faithless and
revolutionary age.  Very few men would have ridden into town
through all those dangerous unmade roads, in weather when even the
Royal Mail is kept, by the will of the Lord, in stable."

"Well, sir," said Jordas, with his brave soft smile, "the smooth
and the rough of it comes in and out, accordin'.  Some days I does
next to nought; and some days I earns my keepin'.  Any more
commands for me, Lawyer Jellicoose?  Time cometh on rather late for
starting."

"Jordas, you amaze me!  You never mean to say that you dream of
setting forth again on such a night as this is?  I will find you a
bed; you shall have a hot supper.  What would your ladies think of
me, if I let you go forth among the snow again?  Just look at the
window-panes, while you and I were talking!  And the feathers of
the ice shooting up inside, as long as the last sheaf of quills I
opened for them.  Quills, quills, quills, all day!  And when I buy
a goose unplucked, if his quills are any good, his legs won't
carve, and his gizzard is full of gravel-stones!  Ah, the world
grows every day in roguery."

"All the world agrees to that, sir; ever since I were as high as
your table, never I hear two opinions about it; and it maketh a man
seem to condemn himself.  Good-night, sir, and I hope we shall have
good news so soon as his Royal Majesty the king affordeth a pony as
can lift his legs."

Mr. Jellicorse vainly strove to keep the man in town that night.
He even called for his sensible wife and his excellent cook to
argue, having no clerk left to make scandal of the scene.  The cook
had a turn of mind for Jordas, and did think that he would stop for
her sake; and she took a broom to show him what the depth of snow
was upon the red tiles between the brew-house and the kitchen.  An
icicle hung from the lip of the pump, and new snow sparkled on the
cook's white cap, and the dark curly hair which she managed to let
fall; the brew-house smelled nice, and the kitchen still nicer; but
it made no difference to Jordas.  If he had told them the reason of
this hurry, they would have said hard things about it, perhaps;
Mrs. Jellicorse especially (being well read in the Scriptures, and
fond of quoting them against all people who had grouse and sent her
none) would have called to mind what David said, when the three
mighty men broke through the host, and brought water from the well
of Bethlehem.  So Jordas only answered that he had promised to
return, and a trifle of snow improved the travelling.

"A willful man must have his way," said Mr. Jellicorse at last.
"We can not put him in the pound, Diana; but the least we can do is
to provide him for a coarse, cold journey.  If I know anything of
our country, he will never see Scargate Hall to-night, but his
blanket will be a snowdrift.  Give him one of our new whitneys to
go behind his saddle, and I will make him take two things.  I am
your legal adviser, Jordas, and you are like all other clients.
Upon the main issue, you cast me off; but in small matters you must
obey me."

The hardy dogman was touched with this unusual care for his
welfare.  At home his services were accepted as a due, requiring
little praise and less of gratitude.  It was his place to do this
and that, and be thankful for the privilege.  But his comfort was
left for himself to study; and if he had studied it much, reproach
would soon have been the chief reward.  It never would do, as his
ladies said, to make too much of Jordas.  He would give himself
airs, and think that people could not get on without him.

Marmaduke looked fresh and bold when he came out of stable; he had
eaten with pleasure a good hot dinner, or supper perhaps he
considered it, liking to have his meals early, as horses generally
do.  And he neighed and capered for the homeward road, though he
knew how full it was of hardships; for never yet looked horse
through bridle, without at least one eye resilient toward the charm
of headstall.  And now he had both eyes fixed with legitimate aim
in that direction; and what were a few tiny atoms of snow to keep a
big horse from his household?

Merrily, therefore, he set forth, with a sturdy rider on his back;
his clear neigh rang through the thick dull streets, and kind
people came to their white blurred windows, and exclaimed, as they
glanced at the party-colored horseman rushing away into the dreary
depths, "Well, rather him than me, thank God!"

"You keep the dog," Master Jordas had said to the hostler, before
he left the yard; "he is like a lamb, when you come to know him.  I
can't be plagued with him to-night.  Here's a half crown for his
victuals; he eats precious little for the size of him.  A bullock's
liver every other day, and a pound and a half the between times.
Don't be afeared of him.  He looks like that, to love you, man."

Instead of keeping on the Durham side of Tees, as he would have
done in fair weather for the first six miles or so, Jordas crossed
by the old town bridge into his native county.  The journey would
be longer thus, but easier in some places, and the track more plain
to follow, which on a snowy night was everything.  For all things
now were in one indiscriminate pelt and whirl of white; the Tees
was striped with rustling floes among the black moor-water; and the
trees, as long as there were any, bent their shrouded forms and
moaned.

But with laborious plunges, and broad scatterings of obstruction,
the willing horse ploughed out his way, himself the while wrapped
up in white, and caked in all his tufty places with a crust that
flopped up and down.  The rider, himself piled up with snow, and
bearded with a berg of it, from time to time, with his numb right
hand, fumbled at the frozen clouts that clogged the poor horse's
mane and crest.

"How much longer will a' go, I wonder?" said Jordas to himself for
the twentieth time.  "The Lord in heaven knows where we be; but
horse knows better than the Lord a'most.  Two hour it must be since
ever I 'tempted to make head or tail of it.  But Marmaduke knoweth
when a' hath his head; these creatures is wiser than Christians.
Save me from the witches, if I ever see such weather!  And I wish
that Master Lance's oysters wasn't quite so much like him."

For, broad as his back was, perpetual thump of rugged and
flintified knobs and edges, through the flag basket strapped over
his neck, was beginning to tell upon his stanch but jolted spine;
while his foot in the northern stirrup was numbed, and threatening
to get frost-bitten.

"The Lord knoweth where we be," he said once more, growing in piety
as the peril grew.  "What can old horse know, without the Lord hath
told 'un?  And likely he hath never asked, no more than I did.  We
mought 'a come twelve moiles, or we mought 'a come no more than
six.  What ever is there left in the world to judge by?  The hills,
or the hollows, or the boskies, all is one, so far as the power of
a man's eyes goes.  Howsomever, drive on, old Dukie."

Old Dukie drove on with all his might and main, and the stout
spirit which engenders strength, till he came to a white wall
reared before him, twice as high as his snow-capped head, and
swirling like a billow of the sea with drift.  Here he stopped
short, for he had his own rein, and turned his clouted neck, and
asked his master what to make of it.

"We must 'a come at last to Stormy Gap: it might be worse, and it
might be better.  Rocks o' both sides, and no way round.  No choice
but to get through it, or to spend the night inside of it.  You and
I are a pretty good weight, old Dukie.  We'll even try a charge for
it, afore we knock under.  We can't have much more smother than
we've gotten already.  My father was taken like this, I've heard
tell, in the service of old Squire Philip; and he put his nag at
it, and scumbled through.  But first you get up your wind, old
chap."

Marmaduke seemed to know what was expected of him; for he turned
round, retreated a few steps, and then stood panting.  Then Jordas
dismounted, as well as he could with his windward leg nearly
frozen.  He smote himself lustily, with both arms swinging, upon
his broad breast, and he stamped in the snow till he felt his
tingling feet again.  Then he took up the skirt of his thick heavy
coat, and wiped down the head, mane, and shoulders of the horse,
and the great pile of snow upon the crupper.  "Start clear is a
good word," he said.

For a moment he stopped to consider the forlorn hope of his last
resolution.  "About me, there is no such great matter," he thought;
"but if I was to kill Dukie, who would ever hear the last of it?
And what a good horse he have been, to be sure!  But if I was to
leave him so, the crows would only have him.  We be both in one
boat; we must try of it."  He said a little prayer, which was all
he knew, for himself and a lass he had a liking to, who lived in a
mill upon the river Lune; and then he got into the saddle again,
and set his teeth hard, and spoke to Marmaduke, a horse who would
never be touched with a spur.  "Come on, old chap," was all he
said.

The horse looked about in the thick of the night, as the head of
the horse peers out of the cloak, in Welsh mummery, at Christmas-
tide.  The thick of the night was light and dark, with the dense
intensity of down-pour; light in itself, and dark with shutting out
all sight of everything--a close-at-hand confusion, and a distance
out of measure.  The horse, with his wise snow-crusted eyes, took
in all the winnowing of light among the draff, and saw no
possibility of breaking through, but resolved to spend his life as
he was ordered.  No power of rush or of dash could he gather,
because of the sinking of his feet; the main chance was of bulk and
weight; and his rider left him free to choose.  For a few steps he
walked, nimbly picking up his feet, and then, with a canter of the
best spring he could compass, hurled himself into the depth of the
drift, while Jordas lay flat along his neck, and let him plunge.
For a few yards the light snow flew before him, like froth of the
sea before a broad-bowed ship, and smothered as he was, he fought
onward for his life.  But very soon the power of his charge was
gone, his limbs could not rise, and his breath was taken from him;
the hole that he had made was filled up behind him; fresh volumes
from the shaken height came pouring down upon him; his flanks and
his back were wedged fast in the cumber, and he stood still and
trembled, being buried alive.

Jordas, with a great effort, threw himself off, and put his hat
before his mouth, to make himself a breathing space.  He scarcely
knew whether he stood or lay; but he kicked about for want of air,
and the more he kicked the worse it was, as in the depth of
nightmare.  Blindness, choking, smothering, and freezing fell in a
lump upon his poor body now, and the shrieking of the horse and the
panting of his struggles came, by some vibration, to him.

But just as he began to lose his wits, sink away backward, and gasp
for breath, a gleam of light broke upon his closing eyes; he
gathered the remnant of his strength, struck for it, and was in a
space of free air.  After several long pants he looked around, and
found that a thicket of stub oak jutting from the crag of the gap
had made a small alcove with billows of snow piled over it.  Then
the brave spirit of the man came forth.  "There is room for Dukie
as well as me," he gasped; "with God's help, I will fetch him in."

Weary as he was, he cast himself back into the wall of snow, and
listened.  At first he heard nothing, and made sure that all was
over; but presently a faint soft gurgle, like a dying sob, came
through the murk.  With all his might he dashed toward the sound,
and laid hold of a hairy chin just foundering.  "Rise up, old
chap," he tried to shout, and he gave the horse a breath or two
with the broad-brimmed hat above his nose.  Then Marmaduke rallied
for one last fight, with the surety of a man to help him.  He
staggered forward to the leading of the hand he knew so well, and
fell down upon his knees; but his head was clear, and he drew long
breaths, and his heart was glad, and his eyes looked up, and he
gave a feeble whinny.



CHAPTER XLI

BAT OF THE GILL


Upon that same evening the cottage in the gill was well snowed up,
as befell it every winter, more or less handsomely, according to
the wind.  The wind was in the right way to do it truly now, with
just enough draught to pile bountiful wreaths, and not enough of
wild blast to scatter them again.  "Bat of the Gill," as Mr. Bert
was called, sat by the fire, with his wife and daughter, and
listened very calmly to the whistle of the wind, and the sliding of
the soft fall that blocked his window-panes.

Insie was reading, Mrs. Bert was knitting stockings, and Mr. Bert
was thinking of his own strange life.  It never once occurred to
him that great part of its strangeness sprang from the oddities of
his own nature, any more than a man who has been in a quarrel
believes that he could have kept out of it.  "Matters beyond my own
control have forced me to do this and that," is the sure belief of
every man whose life has run counter to his fellows, through his
own inborn diversity.  In this man's nature were two strange
points, sure (if they are strong enough to survive experience) to
drive anybody into strange ways: he did not care for money, and he
contemned rank.

How these two horrible twists got into his early composition is
more than can be told, and in truth it does not matter.  But being
quite incurable, and meeting with no sympathy, except among people
who aspired to them only, and failed--if they ever got the chance
of failing--these depravations from the standard of mankind drove
Christopher Bert from the beaten tracks of life.  Providence
offered him several occasions of return into the ordinary course;
for after he had cast abroad a very nice inheritance, other two
fortunes fell to him, but found him as difficult as ever to stay
with.  Not that he was lavish upon luxury of his own, for no man
could have simpler tastes, but that he weakly believed in the duty
of benevolence, and the charms of gratitude.  Of the latter it is
needless to say that he got none, while with the former he produced
some harm.  When all his bread was cast upon the waters, he set out
to earn his own crust as best he might.

Hence came a chapter of accidents, and a volume of motley incidents
in various climes, and upon far seas.  Being a very strong, active
man, with gift of versatile hand and brain, and early acquaintance
with handicrafts, Christopher Bert could earn his keep, and make in
a year almost as much as he used to give away, or lend without
redemption, in a general day of his wealthy time.  Hard labor tried
to make him sour, but did not succeed therein.

Yet one thing in all this experience vexed him more than any
hardship, to wit, that he never could win true fellowship among his
new fellows in the guild of labor.  Some were rather surly, others
very pleasant (from a warm belief that he must yet come into
money); but whatsomever or whosoever they were, or of whatever
land, they all agreed that Christopher Bert was not of their
communion.  Manners, appearance, education, freedom from prejudice,
and other wide diversities marked him as an interloper, and perhaps
a spy, among the enlightened working-men of the period.  Over and
over again he strove to break down this barrier; but thrice as hard
he might have striven, and found it still too strong for him.  This
and another circumstance at last impressed him with the superior
value of his own society.  Much as he loved the working-man--in
spite of all experience of him--that worthy fellow would not have
it, but felt a truly and piously hereditary scorn for "a gentleman
as took a order, when, but for being a blessed fool, he might have
stood there giving it."

The other thing that helped to drive him from this very dense array
was his own romantic marriage, and the copious birth of children.
After the sensitive age was past, and when the sensibles ought to
reign--for then he was past five-and-thirty--he fell (for the first
time of his life) into a violent passion of love for a beautiful
Jewish maid barely turned seventeen; Zilpah admired him, for he was
of noble aspect, rich with variety of thoughts and deeds.  With
women he had that peculiar power which men of strong character
possess; his voice was like music, and his words as good as poetry,
and he scarcely ever seemed to contradict himself.  Very soon
Zilpah adored him; and then he gave notice to her parents that she
was to be his wife.  These stared considerably, being very wealthy
people, of high Jewish blood (and thus the oldest of the old), and
steadfast most--where all are steadfast--to their own race of
religion.  Finding their astonishment received serenely, they
locked up their daughter, with some strong expressions; which they
redoubled when they found the door wide open in the morning.
Zilpah was gone, and they scratched out her name from the surface
of their memories.

Christopher Bert, being lawfully married--for the local restrictions
scorned the case of a foreigner and a Jewess--crossed the Polish
frontier with his mules and tools, and drove his little covered
cart through Austria.  And here he lit upon, and helped in some
predicament of the road, a spirited young Englishman undergoing the
miseries of the grand tour, the son and heir of Philip Yordas.
Duncan was large and crooked of thought--as every true Yordas must
be--and finding a mind in advance of his own by several years of
such sallyings, and not yet even swerving toward the turning goal
of corpulence, the young man perceived that he had hit upon a
prophet.

For Bert scarcely ever talked at all of his generous ideas.  A
prophet's proper mantle is the long cloak of Harpocrates, and his
best vaticinations are inspired more than uttered.  So it came
about that Duncan Yordas, difficult as he was to lead, largely
shared the devious courses of Christopher Bert the workman, and
these few months of friendship made a lasting mark upon the younger
man.

Soon after this a heavy blow befell the ingenious wanderer.  Among
his many arts and trades, he had some knowledge of engineering, or
at any rate much boldness of it; which led him to conceive a brave
idea concerning some tributary of the Po.  The idea was sound and
fine, and might have led to many blessings; but Nature, enjoying
her bad work best, recoiled upon her improver.  He left an oozy
channel drying (like a glanderous sponge) in August; and virulent
fever came into his tent.  All of his eight children died except
his youngest son Maunder; his own strong frame was shaken sadly;
and his loving wife lost all her strength and buxom beauty.  He
gathered the remnants of his race, and stricken but still
unconquered, took his way to a long-forgotten land.  "The residue
of us must go home," he said, after all his wanderings.

In London, of course, he was utterly forgotten, although he had
spent much substance there, in the days of sanguine charity.
Durham was his native county, where he might have been a leading
man, if more like other men.  "Cosmopolitan" as he was, and strong
in his own opinions still, the force of years, and sorrow, and long
striving, told upon him.  He had felt a longing to mend the kettles
of the house that once was his; but when he came to the brink of
Tees his stout heart failed, and he could not cross.

Instead of that he turned away, to look for his old friend Yordas;
not to be patronized by him--for patronage he would have none--but
from hankering after a congenial mind, and to touch upon kind
memories.  Yordas was gone, as pure an outcast as himself, and his
name almost forbidden there.  He thought it a part of the general
wrong, and wandered about to see the land, with his eyes wide open
as usual.

There was nothing very beautiful in the land, and nothing at all
attractive, except that it commanded length of view, and was noble
in its rugged strength.  This, however, pleased him well, and here
he resolved to set up his staff, if means could be found to make it
grow.  From the higher fells he could behold (whenever the weather
encouraged him) the dromedary humps of certain hills, at the tail
whereof he had been at school--a charming mist of retrospect.  And
he felt, though it might have been hard to make him own it, a
deeply seated joy that here he should be long lengths out of reach
of the most highly illuminated working-man.  This was an
inconsistent thing, but consistent forever in coming to pass.

Where the will is, there the way is, if the will be only wise.
Bert found out a way of living in this howling wilderness, as his
poor wife would have called it, if she had been a bad wife.
Unskillful as he had shown himself in the matter of silver and
gold, he had won great skill in the useful metals, especially in
steel--the type of truth.  And here in a break of rock he
discovered a slender vein of a slate-gray mineral, distinct from
cobalt, but not unlike it, such as he had found in the Carpathian
Mountains, and which in metallurgy had no name yet, for its value
was known to very few.  But a legend of the spot declared that the
ancient cutlers of Bilbao owed much of their fame to the use of
this mineral in the careful process of conversion.

"I can make a living out of it, and that is all I want," said Bert,
who was moderately sanguine still.  "I know a manufacturer who has
faith in me, and is doing all he can against the supremacy of
Sheffield.  If I can make arrangements with him, we will settle
here, and keep to our own affairs for the future."

He built him a cottage in lonely snugness, far in the waste, and
outside even of the range of title-deeds, though he paid a small
rent to the manor, to save trouble, and to satisfy his conscience
of the mineral deposit.  By right of discovery, lease, and user,
this became entirely his, as nobody else had ever heard of it.  So
by the fine irony of facts it came to pass, first, that the
squanderer of three fortunes united his lot with a Jewess; next,
that a great "cosmopolitan" hugged a strict corner of jealous
monopoly; and again, that a champion of communism insisted upon his
exclusive right to other people's property.  However, for all that,
it might not be easy to find a more consistent man.

Here Maunder, the surviving son, grew up, and Insie, their last
child, was born; and the land enjoyed peace for twenty years,
because it was of little value.  A man who had been about the world
so loosely must have found it hard to be boxed up here, except for
the lowering of strength and pride by sorrow of affection, and sore
bodily affliction.  But the air of the moorland is good for such
troubles.  Bert possessed a happy nature; and perhaps it was well
that his children could say, "We are nine; but only two to feed."

It must have been the whistling wind, a long memorial sound, which
sent him, upon this snowy December night, back among the echoes of
the past; for he always had plenty of work to do, even in the
winter evenings, and was not at all given to folded arms.  And
before he was tired of his short warm rest, his wife asked, "Where
is Maunder?"

"I left him doing his work," he replied; "he had a great heap still
to clear.  He understands his work right well.  He will not go to
bed till he has done it.  We must not be quite snowed up, my dear."

Mrs. Bert shook her head: having lost so many children, she was
anxious about the rest of them.  But before she could speak again,
a heavy leap against the door was heard; the strong latch rattled,
and the timbers creaked.  Insie jumped up to see what it meant, but
her father stopped her, and went himself.  When he opened the door,
a whirl of snow flew in, and through the glitter and the flutter a
great dog came reeling, and rolled upon the floor, a mighty lump of
bristled whiteness.  Mrs. Bert was terrified, for she thought it
was a wolf, not having found it in her power to believe that there
could be such a desert place without wolves in the winter-time.

"Why, Saracen!" said Insie; "I declare it is!  You poor old dog,
what can have brought you out this weather?"

Both her parents were surprised to see her sit down on the floor
and throw her arms around the neck of this self-invited and very
uncouth visitor.  For the girl forgot all of her trumpery
concealments in the warmth of her feeling for a poor lost dog.

Saracen looked at her, with a view to dignity.  He had only seen
her once before, when Pet brought him down (both for company and
safeguard), and he was not a dog who would dream of recognizing a
person to whom he had been rashly introduced.  And he knew that he
was in a mighty difficulty now, which made self-respect all the
more imperative.  However, on the whole, he had been pleased with
Insie at their first interview, and had patronized her--for she had
an honest fragrance, and a little taste of salt--and now with a
side look he let her know that he did not wish to hurt her
feelings, although his business was not with her.  But if she
wanted to give him some refreshment, she might do so, while he was
considering.

The fact was, though he could not tell it, and would scorn to do so
if he could, that he had not had one bit to eat for more hours than
he could reckon.  That wicked hostler at Middleton had taken his
money and disbursed it upon beer, adding insult to injury by
remarking, in the hearing of Saracen (while strictly chained), that
he was a deal too fat already.  So vile a sentiment had deepened
into passion the dog's ever dominant love of home; and when the
darkness closed upon him in an unknown hungry hole, without even a
horse for company, any other dog would have howled; but this dog
stiffened his tail with self-respect.  He scraped away all the
straw to make a clear area for his experiment, and then he stood up
like a pillar, or a fine kangaroo, and made trial of his weight
against the chain.  Feeling something give, or show propensity
toward giving, he said to himself that here was one more triumph
for him over the presumptuous intellect of man.  The chain might be
strong enough to hold a ship, and the great leathern collar to
secure a bull; but the fastening of chain to collar was unsound, by
reason of the rusting of a rivet.

Retiring to the manger for a better length of rush, he backed
against the wall for a fulcrum to his spring, while the roll of his
chest and the breadth of his loins quivered with tight muscle.
Then off like the charge of a cannon he dashed, the loop of the
collar flew out of the rivet, and the chain fell clanking on the
paving-bricks.  With grim satisfaction the dog set off in the track
of the horse for Scargate Hall.  And now he sat panting in the
cottage of the gill, to tell his discovery and to crave for help.

"Where do you come from, and what do you want?" asked Bert, as the
dog, soon beginning to recover, looked round at the door, and then
back again at him, and jerked up his chin impatiently, "Insie, you
seem to know this fine fellow.  Where have you met him?  And whose
dog is he?  Saracen!  Why, that is the name of the dog who is
everybody's terror at Scargate."

"I gave him some water one day," said Insie, "when he was terribly
thirsty.  But he seems to know you, father, better than me.  He
wants you to do something, and he scorns me."

For Saracen, failing of articulate speech, was uttering volumes of
entreaty with his eyes, which were large, and brown, and full of
clear expression under eyebrows of rich tan; and then he ran to the
door, put up one heavy paw and shook it, and ran back, and pushed
the master with his nozzle, and then threw back his great head and
long velvet ears, and opening his enormous jaws, gave vent to a
mighty howl which shook the roof.

"Oh, put him out, put him out! open the door!" exclaimed Mrs. Bert,
in fresh terror.  "If he is not a wolf, he is a great deal worse."

"His master is out in the snow," cried Bert; "perhaps buried in the
snow, and he is come to tell us.  Give me my hat, child, and my
thick coat.  See how delighted he is, poor fellow!  Oh, here comes
Maunder!  Now lead the way, my friend.  Maunder, go and fetch the
other shovel.  There is somebody lost in the snow, I believe.  We
must follow this dog immediately."

"Not till you both have had much plenty food," the mother said:
"out upon the moors, this bad, bad night, and for leagues possibly
to travel.  My son and my husband are much too good.  You bad dog,
why did you come, pestilent?  But you shall have food also.  Insie,
provide him.  While I make to eat your father and your brother."

Saracen would hardly wait, starving as he was; but seeing the men
prepare to start, he made the best of it, and cleared out a
colander of victuals in a minute.

"Put up what is needful for a starving traveller," Mr. Bert said to
the ladies.  "We shall want no lantern; the snow gives light
enough, and the moon will soon be up.  Keep a kettle boiling, and
some warm clothes ready.  Perhaps we shall be hours away; but have
no fear.  Maunder is the boy for snow-drifts."

The young man being of a dark and silent nature, quite unlike his
father's, made no reply, nor even deigned to give a smile, but
seemed to be wonderfully taken with the dog, who in many ways
resembled him.  Then he cast both shovels on his shoulder at the
door, and strode forth, and stamped upon the path that he had
cleared.  His father took a stout stick, the dog leaped past them,
and led them out at once upon the open moor.

"We are in for a night of it," said Mr. Bert, and his son did not
contradict him.

"The dog goes first, then I, then you," he said to his father, with
his deep slow tone.  And the elderly man, whose chief puzzle in
life--since he had given up the problem of the world--was the
nature of his only son, now wondered again, as he seldom ceased
from wondering, whether this boy despised or loved him.  The young
fellow always took the very greatest care of his father, as if he
were a child to be protected, and he never showed the smallest sign
of disrespect.  Yet Maunder was not the true son of his father, but
of some ancestor, whose pride sprang out of dust at the outrageous
idea of a kettle-mending Bert, and embodied itself in this Maunder.

The large-minded father never dreamed of such a trifle, but felt in
such weather, with the snow above his leggings, that sometimes it
is good to have a large-bodied son.



CHAPTER XLII

A CLEW OF BUTTONS


When Jack o' the Smithies met his old commander, as related by
himself, at the house of Mr. Mordacks, everything seemed to be
going on well for Sir Duncan, and badly for his sisters.  The
general factor, as he hinted long ago, possessed certain knowledge
which the Middleton lawyer fondly supposed to be confined to
himself and his fair clients.  Sir Duncan refused to believe that
the ladies could ever have heard of such a document as that which,
if valid, would simply expel them; for, said he, "If they know of
it, they are nothing less than thieves to conceal it and continue
in possession.  Of a lawyer I could fancy it, but never of a lady."

"My good sir," answered the sarcastic Mordacks, "a lady's
conscience is not the same as a gentleman's, but bears more
resemblance to a lawyer's.  A lady's honor is of the very highest
standard; but the standard depends upon her state of mind; and
that, again, depends upon the condition of her feelings.  You must
not suppose me to admit the faintest shadow of disrespect toward
your good sisters; but ladies are ladies, and facts are facts; and
the former can always surmount the latter; while a man is
comparatively helpless.  I know that Mr. Jellicorse, their man of
law, is thoroughly acquainted with this interesting deed; his first
duty was to apprise them of it; and that, you may be quite sure, he
has done."

"I hope not.  I am sure not.  A lawyer does not always employ hot
haste in an unwelcome duty."

"True enough, Sir Duncan.  But the duty here was welcome.  Their
knowledge of that deed, and of his possession of it, would make him
their master, if he chose to be so.  Not that old Jellicorse would
think of such a thing.  He is a man of high principle like myself,
of a lofty conscience, and even sentimental.  But lawyers are just
like the rest of mankind.  Their first consideration is their bread
and cheese; though some of them certainly seem ready to accept it
even in the toasted form."

"You may say what you like, Mordacks, my sister Philippa is far too
upright, and Eliza too good, for any such thing to be possible.
However, that question may abide.  I shall not move until I have
some one to do it for.  I have no great affection for a home which
cast me forth, whether it had a right to do so or not.  But if we
succeed in the more important matter, it will be my duty to recover
the estates, for the benefit of another.  You are sure of your
proofs that it is the boy?"

"As certain as need be.  And we will make it surer when you meet me
there the week after next.  For the reasons I have mentioned, we
must wait till then.  Your yacht is at Yarmouth.  You have followed
my advice in approaching by sea, and not by land, and in hiring at
Yarmouth for the purpose.  But you never should have come to York,
Sir Duncan; this is a very great mistake of yours.  They are almost
sure to hear of it.  And even your name given in our best inn!  But
luckily they never see a newspaper at Scargate."

"I follow the tactics with which you succeed--all above-board, and
no stratagems.  Your own letter brought me; but perhaps I am too
old to be so impatient.  Where shall I meet you, and on what day?"

"This day fortnight, at the Thornwick Inn, I shall hope to be with
you at three o'clock, and perhaps bring somebody with me.  If I
fixed an earlier day, I should only disappoint you.  For many
things have to be delicately managed; and among them, the running
of a certain cargo, without serious consequence.  For that we may
trust a certain very skillful youth.  For the rest you must trust
to a clumsier person, your humble land-agent and surveyor--titles
inquired into and verified, at a tenth of solicitors' charges."

"Well," said Sir Duncan, "you shall verify mine, as soon as you
have verified my son, and my title to him.  Good-by, Mordacks.  I
am sure you mean me well, but you seem to be very long about it."

"Hot climates breed impatience, sir.  A true son of Yorkshire is
never in a hurry.  The general complaint of me is concerning my
wild rapidity."

"You are like the grocer, whose goods, if they have any fault at
all, have the opposite one to what the customer finds in them.
Well, good-by, Mordacks.  You are a trusty friend, and I thank
you."

These words from Sir Duncan Yordas were not merely of commonplace.
For he was a man of great self-reliance, quick conclusion, and
strong resolve.  These had served him well in India, and insured
his fortune; while early adversity and bitter losses had tempered
the arrogance of his race.  After the loss of his wife and child,
and the breach with all his relatives, he had led a life of peril
and hard labor, varied with few pleasures.  When first he learned
from Edinburgh that the ship conveying his only child to the care
of the mother's relatives was lost, with all on board, he did all
in his power to make inquiries.  But the illness and death of his
wife, to whom he was deeply attached, overwhelmed him.  For while
with some people "one blow drives out another," with some the
second serves only to drive home, deepen, and aggravate the first.
For years he was satisfied to believe both losses irretrievable.
And so he might still have gone on believing, except for a queer
little accident.

Being called to Calcutta upon government business, he happened to
see a pair of English sailors, lazily playing, in a shady place by
the side of the road, at hole-penny.  One of them seemed to have
his pocket cleared out, for just as Sir Duncan was passing, he
cried, "Here, Jack, you give me change of one of them, and I'll
have at you again, my boy.  As good as a guinea with these blessed
niggers.  Come back to their home, I b'lieve they are, same as I
wish I was; rale gold--ask this gen'leman."

The other swore that they were "naught but brass, and not worth a
copper farden"; until the tars, being too tipsy for much fighting,
referred the question to Sir Duncan.

Three hollow beads of gold were what they showed him, and he knew
them at once for his little boy's buttons, the workmanship being
peculiar to one village of his district, and one family thereof.
The sailor would thankfully have taken one rupee apiece for them;
but Sir Duncan gave him thirty for the three--their full metallic
value--upon his pledging honor to tell all he knew about them, and
make affidavit, if required.  Then he told all he knew, to the best
of his knowledge, and swore to it when sober, accepted a refresher,
and made oath to it again, with some lively particulars added.  And
the facts that he deposed to, and deposited, were these:

Being down upon his luck, about a twelvemonth back, he thought of
keeping company with a nice young woman, and settling down until a
better time turned up; and happening to get a month's wages from a
schooner of ninety-five tons at Scarborough, he strolled about the
street a bit, and kept looking down the railings for a servant-girl
who might have got her wages in her work-box.  Clean he was, and
taut, and clever, beating up street in Sunday rig, keeping sharp
look-out for a consort, and in three or four tacks he hailed one.
As nice a young partner as a lad could want, and his meaning was to
buckle to for the winter.  But the night before the splicing-day,
what happened to him he never could tell after.  He was bousing up
his jib, as a lad is bound to do, before he takes the breakers.
And when he came to, he was twenty leagues from Scarborough, on
board of his Majesty's recruiting brig the Harpy.  He felt in his
pocket for the wedding-ring, and instead of that, there were these
three beads.

Sir Duncan was sorry for his sad disaster, and gave him ten more
rupees to get over it.  And then he discovered that the poor
forsaken maiden's name was Sally Watkins.  Sally was the daughter
of a rich pawnbroker, whose frame of mind was sometimes out of
keeping with its true contents.  He had very fine feelings, and
real warmth of sympathy; but circumstances seemed sometimes to lead
them into the wrong channel, and induced him to kick his children
out of doors.  In the middle of the family he kicked out Sally,
almost before her turn was come; and she took a place at 4 pounds
a year, to disgrace his memory--as she said--carrying off these
buttons, and the jacket, which he had bestowed upon her, in a
larger interval.

There was no more to be learned than this from the intercepted
bridegroom.  He said that he might have no objection to go on with
his love again, as soon as the war was over, leastways, if it was
made worth his while; but he had come across another girl, at the
Cape of Good Hope, and he believed that this time the Lord was in
it, for she had been born in a caul, and he had got it.  With such
a dispensation Sir Duncan Yordas saw no right to interfere, but
left the course of true love to itself, after taking down the
sailor's name--"Ned Faithful."

However, he resolved to follow out the clew of beads, though
without much hope of any good result.  Of the three in his
possession he kept one, and one he sent to Edinburgh, and the third
to York, having heard of the great sagacity, vigor, and strict
integrity of Mr. Mordacks, all of which he sharpened by the promise
of a large reward upon discovery.  Then he went back to his work,
until his time of leave was due, after twenty years of arduous and
distinguished service.  In troublous times, no private affairs,
however urgent, should drive him from his post.

Now, eager as he was when in England once again, he was true to his
character and the discipline of life.  He had proof that the matter
was in very good hands, and long command had taught him the
necessity of obedience.  Any previous Yordas would have kicked
against the pricks, rushed forward, and scattered everything.  But
Sir Duncan was now of a different fibre.  He left York at once, as
Mordacks advised, and posted to Yarmouth, before the roads were
blocked with snow, and while Jack o' the Smithies was returning to
his farm.  And from Yarmouth he set sail for Scarborough, in a
sturdy little coaster, which he hired by the week.  From
Scarborough he would run down to Bridlington--not too soon, for
fear of setting gossip going, but in time to meet Mordacks at
Flamborough, as agreed upon.

That gentleman had other business in hand, which must not be
neglected; but he gave to this matter a very large share of his
time, and paid five-and-twenty pounds for the trusty roadster, who
liked the taste of Flamborough pond, and the salt air on the oats
of Widow Tapsy's stable, and now regularly neighed and whisked his
tail as soon as he found himself outside Monk Bar.  By favor of
this horse and of his own sword and pistols, Mordacks spent nearly
as much time now at Flamborough as he did in York; but unluckily he
had been obliged to leave on the very afternoon before the run was
accomplished, and Carroway slain so wickedly; for he hurried home
to meet Sir Duncan, and had not heard the bad news when he met him.

That horrible murder was a sad blow to him, not only as a man of
considerable kindness and desire to think well of every one--so far
as experience allows it--but also because of the sudden apparition
of the law rising sternly in front of him.  Justice in those days
was not as now: her truer name was Nemesis.  After such an outrage
to the dignity of the realm, an example must be made, without much
consideration whether it were the right one.  If Robin Lyth were
caught, there would be the form of trial, but the principal point
would be to hang him.  Like the rest of the world, Mr. Mordacks at
first believed entirely in his guilt; but unlike the world, he did
not desire to have him caught, and brought straightway to the
gallows.  Instead of seeking him, therefore, he was now compelled
to avoid him, when he wanted him most; for it never must be said
that a citizen of note had discoursed with such a criminal, and
allowed him to escape.  On the other hand, here he had to meet Sir
Duncan, and tell him that all those grand promises were shattered,
that in finding his only son all he had found was a cowardly
murderer flying for his life, and far better left at the bottom of
the sea.  For once in a way, as he dwelt upon all this, the general
factor became down-hearted, his vigorous face lost the strong lines
of decision, and he even allowed his mouth to open without anything
to put into it.

But it was impossible for this to last.  Nature had provided
Mordacks with an admirably high opinion of himself, enlivened by a
sprightly good-will toward the world, whenever it wagged well with
him.  He had plenty of business of his own, and yet could take an
amateur delight in the concerns of everybody; he was always at
liberty to give good advice, and never under duty to take it; he
had vigor of mind, of memory, of character, and of digestion; and
whenever he stole a holiday from self-denial, and launched out
after some favorite thing, there was the cash to do it with, and
the health to do it pleasantly.

Such a man is not long depressed by a sudden misadventure.  Dr.
Upround's opinion in favor of Robin did not go very far with him;
for he looked upon the rector as a man who knew more of divine than
of human nature.  But that fault could scarcely be found with a
woman; or at any rate with a widow encumbered with a large family
hanging upon the dry breast of the government.  And though Mr.
Mordacks did not invade the cottage quite so soon as he should have
done, if guided by strict business, he thought himself bound to get
over that reluctance, and press her upon a most distressing
subject, before he kept appointment with his principal.

The snow, which by this time had blockaded Scargate, impounded
Jordas, and compelled Mr. Jellicorse to rest and be thankful for a
hot mince-pie, although it had visited this eastern coast as well,
was not deep enough there to stop the roads.  Keeping head-quarters
at the "Hooked Cod" now, and encouraging a butcher to set up again
(who had dropped all his money, in his hurry to get on), Geoffrey
Mordacks began to make way into the outer crust of Flamborough
society.  In a council of the boats, upon a Sunday afternoon, every
boat being garnished for its rest upon the flat, and every master
fisherman buttoned with a flower--the last flowers of the year, and
bearing ice-marks in their eyes--a resolution had been passed that
the inland man meant well, had naught to do with Revenue, or
Frenchmen either, or what was even worse, any outside fishers, such
as often-time came sneaking after fishing grounds of Flamborough.
Mother Tapsy stood credit for this strange man, and he might be
allowed to go where he was minded, and to take all the help he
liked to pay for.

Few men could have achieved such a triumph, without having married
a Flamborough lass, which must have been the crown of all human
ambition, if difficulty crowns it.  Even to so great a man it was
an added laurel, and strengthened him much in his opinion of
himself.  In spite of all disasters, he recovered faith in fortune,
so many leading Flamborough men began to touch their hats to him!
And thus he set forth before a bitter eastern gale, with the head
of his seasoned charger bent toward the melancholy cot at
Bridlington.

Having granted a new life of slaughter to that continually
insolvent butcher, who exhibited the body of a sheep once more,
with an eye to the approach of Christmas, this universal factor
made it a point of duty to encourage him.  In either saddle-bag he
bore a seven-pound leg of mutton--a credit to a sheep of that
district then--and to show himself no traitor to the staple of the
place, he strapped upon his crupper, in some oar-weed and old
netting, a twenty-pound cod, who found it hard to breathe his last
when beginning to enjoy horse-exercise.

"There is a lot of mouths to fill," said Mr. Mordacks, with a sigh,
while his landlady squeezed a brown loaf of her baking into the
nick of his big sword-strap; "and you and I are capable of entering
into the condition of the widow and the fatherless."

"Hoonger is the waa of them, and victuals is the cure for it.  Now
mind you coom home afore dark," cried the widow, to whom he had
happened to say, very sadly, that he was now a widower.  "To my
moind, a sight o' more snaw is a-coomin'; and what mah sard or goon
foight again it?  Captain Moordocks, coom ye home arly.  T' hare
sha' be doon to a toorn be fi' o'clock.  Coom ye home be that
o'clock, if ye care for deener,"

"I must have made a tender impression on her heart," Mr. Mordacks
said to himself, as he kissed his hand to the capacious hostess.
"Such is my fortune, to be loved by everybody, while aiming at the
sternest rectitude.  It is sweet, it is dangerously sweet; but what
a comfort!  How that large-hearted female will baste my hare!"



CHAPTER XLIII

A PLEASANT INTERVIEW


Cumbered as he was of body, and burdened with some cares of mind,
the general factor ploughed his way with his usual resolution.  A
scowl of dark vapor came over the headlands, and under-ran the
solid snow-clouds with a scud, like bonfire smoke.  The keen wind
following the curves of land, and shaking the fringe of every
white-clad bush, piped (like a boy through a comb) wherever stock
or stub divided it.  It turned all the coat of the horse the wrong
way, and frizzed up the hair of Mr. Mordacks, which was as short as
a soldier's, and tossed up his heavy riding cape, and got into him
all up the small of his back.  Being fond of strong language, he
indulged in much; but none of it warmed him, and the wind whistled
over his shoulders, and whirled the words out of his mouth.

When he came to the dip of the road, where it crosses the Dane's
Dike, he pulled up his horse for a minute, in the shelter of
shivering fir-trees.  "What a cursed bleak country!  My fish is
frozen stiff, and my legs are as dead as the mutton in the saddle-
bags.  Geoffrey, you are a fool," he said.  "Charity is very fine,
and business even better; but a good coal fire is the best of all.
But in for a penny of it, in for a pound.  Hark!  I hear some
fellow-fool equally determined to be frozen.  I'll go at once and
hail him; perhaps the sight of him will warm me."

He turned his horse down a little lane upon the left, where snow
lay deep, with laden bushes overhanging it, and a rill of water
bridged with bearded ice ran dark in the hedge-trough.  And here he
found a stout lusty man, with shining red cheeks and keen blue
eyes, hacking and hewing in a mighty maze of brambles.

"My friend, you seem busy.  I admire your vast industry," Mr.
Mordacks exclaimed, as the man looked at him, but ceased not from
swinging his long hedge-hook.  "Happy is the land that owns such
men."

"The land dothn't own me; I own the land.  I shall be pleased to
learn what your business is upon it."

Farmer Anerley hated chaff, as a good agriculturist should do.
Moreover, he was vexed by many little griefs to-day, and had not
been out long enough to work them off.  He guessed pretty shrewdly
that this sworded man was "Moreducks"--as the leading wags of
Flamborough were gradually calling him--and the sight of a sword
upon his farm (unless of an officer bound to it) was already some
disquietude to an English farmer's heart.  That was a trifle; for
fools would be fools, and might think it a grand thing to go about
with tools they were never born to the handling of; but a fellow
who was come to take up Robin Lyth's case, and strive to get him
out of his abominable crime, had better go back to the rogue's
highway, instead of coming down the private road to Anerley.

"Upon my word I do believe," cried Mordacks, with a sprightly joy,
"that I have the pleasure of meeting at last the well-known Captain
Anerley!  My dear sir, I can not help commending your prudence in
guarding the entrance to your manor; but not in this employment of
a bill-hook.  From all that I hear, it is a Paradise indeed.  What
a haven in such weather as the present!  Now, Captain Anerley, I
entreat you to consider whether it is wise to take the thorn so
from the rose.  If I had so sweet a place, I would plant brambles,
briers, blackthorn, furze, crataegus, every kind of spinous growth,
inside my gates, and never let anybody lop them.  Captain, you are
too hospitable."

Farmer Anerley gazed with wonder at this man, who could talk so
fast for the first time of seeing a body.  Then feeling as if his
hospitality were challenged, and desiring more leisure for
reflection, "You better come down the lane, sir," he said.

"Am I to understand that you invite me to your house, or only to
the gate where the dogs come out?  Excuse me: I always am a most
plain-spoken man."

"Our dogs never bite nobody but rogues."

"In that case, Captain Anerley, I may trust their moral estimate.
I knew a farmer once who was a thorough thief in hay; a man who
farmed his own land, and trimmed his own hedges; a thoroughly
respectable and solid agriculturist.  But his trusses of hay were
always six pounds short, and if ever anybody brought a sample truss
to steelyard, he had got a little dog, just seven pounds weight,
who slipped into the core of it, being just a good hay-color.  He
always delivered his hay in the twilight, and when it swung the
beam, he used to say, 'Come, now, I must charge you for overweight.'
Now, captain, have you got such an honest dog as that?"

"I would have claimed him, that I would, if such a clever dog were
weighed to me.  But, sir, you have got the better of me.  What a
man for stories you be, for sure!  Come in to our fire-place."
Farmer Anerley was conquered by this tale, which he told fifty
times every year he lived thereafter, never failing to finish with,
"What rogues they be, up York way!"

Master Mordacks was delighted with this piece of luck on his side.
Many times he had been longing to get in at Anerley, not only from
the reputation of good cheer there, but also from kind curiosity to
see the charming Mary, who was now becoming an important element of
business.  Since Robin had given him the slip so sadly--a thing it
was impossible to guard against--the best chance of hearing what
became of him would be to get into the good graces of his
sweetheart.

"We have been very sadly for a long time now," said the farmer, as
he knocked at his own porch door with the handle of his bill-hook.
"There used to be one as was always welcome here; and a pleasure it
was to see him make himself so pleasant, sir.  But ever since the
Lord took him home from his family, without a good-by, as a man
might say, my wife hath taken to bar the doors whiles I am away and
out of sight."  Stephen Anerley knocked harder, as he thus
explained the need of it; for it grieved him to have his house shut
up.

"Very wise of them all to bar out such weather," said Mordacks, who
read the farmer's thoughts like print, "Don't relax your rules,
sir, until the weather changes.  Ah, that was a very sad thing
about the captain.  As gallant an officer, and as single-minded, as
ever killed a Frenchman in the best days of our navy."

"Single-minded is the very word to give him, sir.  I sought about
for it ever since I heard of him coming to an end like that, and
doing of his duty in the thick of it.  If I could only get a
gentleman to tell me, or an officer's wife would be better still,
what the manners is when a poor lady gets her husband shot, I'll be
blest if I wouldn't go straight and see her, though they make such
a distance betwixt us and the regulars.--Oh, then, ye've come at
last!  No thief, no thief."

"Father," cried Mary, bravely opening all the door, of which the
ruffian wind made wrong by casting her figure in high relief--and
yet a pardonable wrong--"father, you are quite wise to come home,
before your dear nose is quite cut off.--Oh, I beg your pardon,
sir; I never saw you."

"My fate in life is to be overlooked," Mr. Mordacks answered, with
a martial stride; "but not always, young lady, with such exquisite
revenge.  What I look at pays fiftyfold for being overlooked."

"You are an impudent, conceited man," thought Mary to herself, with
gross injustice; but she only blushed and said, "I beg your pardon,
sir."

"You see, sir," quoth the farmer, with some severity, tempered,
however, with a smile of pride, "my daughter, Mary Anerley."

"And I take off my hat," replied audacious Mordacks, among whose
faults was no false shame, "not only to salute a lady, sir, but
also to have a better look."

"Well, well," said the farmer, as Mary ran away; "your city ways
are high polite, no doubt, but my little lass is strange to them.
And I like her better so, than to answer pert with pertness.  Now
come you in, and warm your feet a bit.  None of us are younger than
we used to be."

This was not Master Anerley's general style of welcoming a guest,
but he hated new-fangled Frenchified manners, as he told his good
wife, when he boasted by-and-by how finely he had put that old
coxcomb down.  "You never should have done it," was all the praise
he got.  "Mr. Mordacks is a business man, and business men always
must relieve their minds."  For no sooner now was the general
factor introduced to Mistress Anerley than she perceived clearly
that the object of his visit was not to make speeches to young
chits of girls, but to seek the advice of a sensible person, who
ought to have been consulted a hundred times for once that she even
had been allowed to open her mouth fairly.  Sitting by the fire, he
convinced her that the whole of the mischief had been caused by
sheer neglect of her opinion.  Everything she said was so exactly
to the point that he could not conceive how it should have been so
slighted, and she for her part begged him to stay and partake of
their simple dinner.

"Dear madam, it can not be," he replied; "alas! I must not think of
it.  My conscience reproaches me for indulging, as I have done, in
what is far sweeter than even one of your dinners--a most sensible
lady's society.  I have a long bitter ride before me, to comfort
the fatherless and the widow.  My two legs of mutton will be thawed
by this time in the genial warmth of your stable.  I also am
thawed, warmed, feasted I may say, by happy approximation to a mind
so bright and congenial.  Captain Anerley, madam, has shown true
kindness in allowing me the privilege of exclusive speech with you.
Little did I hope for such a piece of luck this morning.  You have
put so many things in a new and brilliant light, that my road
becomes clear before me.  Justice must be done; and you feel quite
sure that Robin Lyth committed this atrocious murder because poor
Carroway surprised him so when making clandestine love, at your
brother Squire Popplewell's, to a beautiful young lady who shall be
nameless.  And deeply as you grieve for the loss of such a
neighbor, the bravest officer of the British navy, who leaped from
a strictly immeasurable height into a French ship, and scattered
all her crew, and has since had a baby about three months old, as
well as innumerable children, you feel that you have reason to be
thankful sometimes that the young man's character has been so
clearly shown, before he contrived to make his way into the bosom
of respectable families in the neighborhood."

"I never thought it out quite so clear as that, sir; for I feel so
sorry for everybody, and especially those who have brought him up,
and those he has made away with."

"Quite so, my dear madam; such are your fine feelings, springing
from the goodness of your nature.  Pardon my saying that you could
have no other, according to my experience of a most benevolent
countenance.  Part of my duty, and in such a case as yours, one of
the pleasantest parts of it, is to study the expression of a truly
benevolent--"

"I am not that old, sir, asking of your pardon, to pretend to be
benevolent.  All that I lay claim to is to look at things
sensible."

"Certainly, yet with a tincture of high feeling.  Now if it should
happen that this poor young man were of very high birth, perhaps
the highest in the county, and the heir to very large landed
property, and a title, and all that sort of nonsense, you would
look at him from the very same point of view?"

"That I would, sir, that I would.  So long as he was proclaimed for
hanging.  But naturally bound, of course, to be more sorry for
him."

"Yes, from sense of all the good things he must lose.  There seems,
however, to be strong ground for believing--as I may tell you, in
confidence, Dr. Upround does--that he had no more to do with it
than you or I, ma'am.  At first I concluded as you have done.  I am
going to see Mrs. Carroway now.  Till then I suspend my judgment."

"Now that is what nobody should do, Mr. Mordacks.  I have tried,
but never found good come of it.  To change your mind is two words
against yourself; and you go wrong both ways, before and after."

"Undoubtedly you do, ma'am.  I never thought of that before.  But
you must remember that we have not the gift of hitting--I might say
of making--the truth with a flash or a dash, as you ladies have.
May I be allowed to come again?"

"To tell you the truth, sir, I am heartily sorry that you are going
away at all.  I could have talked to you all the afternoon; and how
seldom I get the chance now, Lord knows.  There is that in your
conversation which makes one feel quite sure of being understood;
not so much in what you say, sir--if you understand my meaning--as
in the way you look, quite as if my meaning was not at all too
quick for you.  My good husband is of a greater mind than I am,
being nine-and-forty inches round the chest; but his mind seems
somehow to come after mine, the same as the ducks do, going down to
our pond."

"Mistress Anerley, how thankful you should be!  What a picture of
conjugal felicity!  But I thought that the drake always led the
way?"

"Never upon our farm, sir.  When he doth, it is a proof of his
being crossed with wild-ducks.  The same as they be round
Flamborough."

"Oh, now I see the truth.  How slow I am!  It improves their
flavor, at the expense of their behavior.  But seriously, madam,
you are fit to take the lead.  What a pleasant visit I have had!  I
must brace myself up for a very sad one now--a poor lady, with none
to walk behind her."

"Yes, to be sure!  It is very fine of me to talk.  But if I was
left without my husband, I should only care to walk after him.
Please to give her my kind love, sir; though I have only seen her
once.  And if there is anything that we can do--"

"If there is anything that we can do," said the farmer, coming out
of his corn-chamber, "we won't talk about it, but we'll do it, Mr.
Moreducks."

The factor quietly dispersed this rebuke, by waving his hand at his
two legs of mutton and the cod, which had thawed in the stable.  "I
knew that I should be too late," he said; "her house will be full
of such little things as these, so warm is the feeling of the
neighborhood.  I guessed as much, and arranged with my butcher to
take them back in that case; and he said they would eat all the
better for the ride.  But as for the cod, perhaps you will accept
him.  I could never take him back to Flamborough."

"Ride away, sir, ride away," said the farmer, who had better not
have measured swords with Mordacks.  "I were thinking of sending a
cart over there, so soon as the weather should be opening of the
roads up.  But the children might be hankerin' after meat, the
worse for all the snow-time."

"It is almost impossible to imagine such a thing.  Universally
respected, suddenly cut off, enormous family with hereditary
hunger, all the neighbors well aware of straitened circumstances,
the kindest-hearted county in Great Britain--sorrow and abundance
must have cloyed their appetites, as at a wealthy man's funeral.
What a fool I must have been not to foresee all that!"

"Better see than foresee," replied the farmer, who was crusty from
remembering that he had done nothing.  "Neighbors likes to wait for
neighbors to go in; same as two cows staring at a new-mown meadow."



CHAPTER XLIV

THE WAY OF THE WORLD


Cliffs snow-mantled, and storm-ploughed sands, and dark gray
billows frilled with white, rolling and roaring to the shrill east
wind, made the bay of Bridlington a very different sight from the
smooth fair scene of August.  Scarcely could the staggering
colliers, anchored under Flamborough Head (which they gladly would
have rounded if they could), hold their own against wind and sea,
although the outer spit of sand tempered as yet the full violence
of waves.

But if everything looked cold and dreary, rough, and hard, and bare
of beauty, the cottage of the late lieutenant, standing on the
shallow bluff, beaten by the wind, and blinded of its windows from
within, of all things looked the most forlorn, most desolate, and
freezing.  The windward side was piled with snow, on the crest of
which foam pellets lay, looking yellow by comparison, and melting
small holes with their brine.  At the door no foot-mark broke the
drift; and against the vaporous sky no warmer vapor tufted the
chimney-pots.

"I am pretty nearly frozen again," said Mordacks; "but that place
sends another shiver down my back.  All the poor little devils must
be icicles at least."

After peeping through a blind, he turned pale betwixt his blueness,
and galloped to the public-house abutting on the quay.  Here he
marched into the parlor, and stamped about, till a merry-looking
landlord came to him.  "Have a glass of hot, sir; how blue your
nose is!" the genial master said to him.  The reply of the factor
can not be written down in these days of noble language.  Enough
that it was a terse malediction of the landlord, the glass of hot,
and even his own nose.  Boniface was no Yorkshireman, else would he
have given as much as he got, at least in lingual currency.  As it
was, he considered it no affair of his if a guest expressed his
nationality.  "You must have better orders than that to give, I
hope, sir."

"Yes, sir, I have.  And you have got the better of me; which has
happened to me three times this day already, because of the
freezing of my wits, young man.  Now you go in to your best locker,
and bring me your very best bottle of Cognac--none of your
government stuff, you know, but a sample of your finest bit of
smuggling.  Why did I swear at a glass of hot?  Why, because you
are all such a set of scoundrels.  I want a glass of hot as much as
man ever did.  But how can I drink it, when women and children are
dying--perhaps dead, for all I know--for want of warmth and
victuals?  Your next-door neighbors almost, and a woman, whose
husband has just been murdered!  And here you are swizzling, and
rattling your coppers.  Good God, sir!  The Almighty from heaven
would send orders to have His own commandment broken."

Mr. Mordacks was excited, and the landlord saw no cause for it.
"What makes you carry on like this?" he said; "it was only last
night we was talking in the tap-room of getting a subscription up,
downright liberal.  I said I was good for a crown, and take it out
of the tick they owes me.  And when you come to think of these hard
times--"

"Take that, and then tell me if you find them softer."  Suiting the
action to the word, the universal factor did something omitted on
his card in the list of his comprehensive functions.  As the fat
host turned away, to rub his hands, with a phosphoric feeling of
his future generosity, a set of highly energetic toes, prefixed
with the toughest York leather, and tingling for exercise, made him
their example.  The landlord flew up among his own pots and
glasses, his head struck the ceiling, which declined too long a
taste of him, and anon a silvery ring announced his return to his
own timbers.

"Accept that neighborly subscription, my dear friend, and
acknowledge its promptitude," said Mr. Mordacks; "and now be quick
about your orders, peradventure a second flight might be less
agreeable.  Now don't show any airs; you have been well treated,
and should be thankful for the facilities you have to offer.  I
know a poor man without any legs at all, who would be only too glad
if he could do what you have done."

"Then his taste must be a queer one," the landlord replied, as he
illustrated sadly the discovery reserved for a riper age--that
human fingers have attained their present flexibility, form, and
skill by habit of assuaging, for some millions of ages, the woes of
the human body.

"Now don't waste my time like that," cried Mordacks; and seeing him
draw near again, his host became right active.  "Benevolence must
be inculcated," continued the factor, following strictly in
pursuit.  "I have done you a world of good, my dear friend; and
reflection will compel you to heap every blessing on me."

"I don't know about that," replied the landlord.  It is certain,
however, that this exhibition of philanthropic vigor had a fine
effect.  In five minutes all the resources of the house were at the
disposal of this rapid agent, who gave his orders right and left,
clapped down a bag of cash, and took it up again, and said, "Now
just you mind my horse, twice as well as you mind your fellow-
creatures.  Take a leg of mutton out, and set it roasting.  Have
your biggest bed hot for a lot of frozen children.  By the Lord, if
you don't look alive, I'll have you up for murder."  As he spoke, a
stout fish-woman came in from the quay; and he beckoned to her, and
took her with him.

"You can't come in," said a little weak voice, when Mr. Mordacks,
having knocked in vain, began to prise open the cottage door.
"Mother is so poorly; and you mustn't think of coming in.  Oh,
whatever shall I do, if you won't stop when I tell you?"

"Where are all the rest of you?  Oh, in the kitchen, are they?  You
poor little atomy, how many of you are dead?"

"None of us dead, sir; without it is the baby;" here Geraldine
burst into a wailing storm of tears.  "I gave them every bit," she
sobbed--"every bit, sir, but the rush-lights; and them they
wouldn't eat, sir, or I never would have touched them.  But mother
is gone off her head, and baby wouldn't eat it."

"You are a little heroine," said Mordacks, looking at her--the
pinched face, and the hollow eyes, and the tottering blue legs of
her.  "You are greater than a queen.  No queen forgets herself in
that way."

"Please, sir, no; I ate almost a box of rush-lights, and they were
only done last night.  Oh, if baby would have took to them!"

"Hot bread and milk in this bottle; pour it out; feed her first,
Molly," Mr. Mordacks ordered.  "The world can't spare such girls as
this.  Oh, you won't eat first!  Very well; then the others shall
not have a morsel till your mouth is full.  And they seem to want
it bad enough.  Where is the dead baby?"

In the kitchen, where now they stood, not a spark of fire was
lingering, but some wood-ash still retained a feeble memory of
warmth; and three little children (blest with small advance from
babyhood) were huddling around, with hands, and faces, and sharp
grimy knees poking in for lukewarm corners; while two rather senior
young Carroways were lying fast asleep, with a jack-towel over
them.  But Tommy was not there; that gallant Tommy, who had ridden
all the way to Filey after dark, and brought his poor father to the
fatal place.

Mordacks, with his short, bitter-sweet smile, considered all these
little ones.  They were not beautiful, nor even pretty; one of them
was too literally a chip of the old block, for he had reproduced
his dear father's scar; and every one of them wanted a "wash and
brush up," as well as a warming and sound victualling.  Corruptio
optimi pessima.  These children had always been so highly scrubbed,
that the great molecular author of existence, dirt, resumed
parental sway, with tenfold power of attachment and protection, the
moment soap and flannel ceased their wicked usurpation.

"Please, sir, I couldn't keep them clean, I couldn't," cried
Geraldine, choking, both with bread and milk, and tears.  "I had
Tommy to feed through the coal-cellar door; and all the bits of
victuals in the house to hunt up; and it did get so dark, and it
was so cold.  I am frightened to think of what mother will say for
my burning up all of her brushes, and the baskets.  But please,
sir, little Cissy was a-freezing at the nose."

The three little children at the grate were peeping back over the
pits in their shoulders, half frightened at the tall, strange man,
and half ready to toddle to him for protection; while the two on
the floor sat up and stared, and opened their mouths for their
sister's bread and milk.  Then Jerry flew to them, and squatted on
the stones, and very nearly choked them with her spoon and basin.

"Molly, take two in your apron, and be off," said the factor to the
stout fish-woman--who was simply full of staring, and of crying out
"Oh lor!"--"pop them into the hot bed at once; they want warmth
first, and victuals by-and-by.  Our wonderful little maid wants
food most.  I will come after you with the other three.  But I must
see my little queen fill her own stomach first."

"But, please, sir, won't you let our Tommy out first?" cried Jerry,
as the strong woman lapped up the two youngest in her woolsey apron
and ran off with them.  "He has been so good, and he was too proud
to cry so soon as ever he found out that mother couldn't hear him.
And I gave him the most to eat of anybody else, because of him
being the biggest, sir.  It was all as black as ink, going under
the door; but Tommy never minded."

"Wonderful merit!  While you were eating tallow!  Show me the coal-
cellar, and out he comes.  But why don't you speak of your poor
mother, child?"

The child, who had been so brave, and clever, self-denying,
laborious, and noble, avoided his eyes, and began to lick her
spoon, as if she had had enough, starving though she was.  She
glanced up at the ceiling, and then suddenly withdrew her eyes, and
the blue lids trembled over them.  Mordacks saw that it was
childhood's dread of death.  "Show me where little Tommy is," he
said; "we must not be too hard upon you, my dear.  But what made
your mother lock you up, and carry on so?"

"I don't know at all, sir," said Geraldine.

"Now don't tell a story," answered Mr. Mordacks.  "You were not
meant for lies; and you know all about it.  I shall just go away if
you tell stories."

"Then all I know is this," cried Jerry, running up to him, and
desperately clutching at his riding coat; "the very night dear
father was put into the pit-hole--oh, hoo, oh, hoo, oh, hoo!"

"Now we can't stop for that," said the general factor, as he took
her up and kissed her, and the tears, which had vainly tried to
stop, ran out of young eyes upon well-seasoned cheeks; "you have
been a wonder; I am like a father to you.  You must tell me
quickly, or else how can I cure it?  We will let Tommy out then,
and try to save your mother."

"Mother was sitting in the window, sir," said the child, trying
strongly to command herself, "and I was to one side of her, and
Tommy to the other, and none of us was saying anything.  And then
there came a bad, wicked face against the window, and the man said,
'What was it you said to-day, ma'am?'  And mother stood up--she was
quite right then--and she opened the window, and she looked right
at him, and she said, 'I spoke the truth, John Cadman.  Between you
and your God it rests.'  And the man said, 'You shut your black
mouth up, or you and your brats shall all go the same way.  Mind
one thing--you've had your warning.'  Then mother fell away, for
she was just worn out; and she lay upon the floor, and she kept on
moaning, 'There is no God! there is no God!' after all she have
taught us to say our prayers to.  And there was nothing for baby to
draw ever since."

For once in his life Mr. Mordacks held his tongue; and his face,
which was generally fiercer than his mind, was now far behind it
in ferocity.  He thought within himself, "Well, I am come to
something, to have let such things be going on in a matter which
pertains to my office--pigeon-hole 100!  This comes of false
delicacy, my stumbling-block perpetually!  No more of that.  Now
for action."

Geraldine looked up at him, and said, "Oh, please, sir."  And then
she ran off, to show the way toward little Tommy.

The coal-cellar flew open before the foot of Mordacks; but no Tommy
appeared, till his sister ran in.  The poor little fellow was quite
dazzled with the light; and the grime on his cheeks made the inrush
of fresh air come like wasps to him.  "Now, Tommy, you be good,"
said Geraldine; "trouble enough has been made about you."

The boy put out his under lip, and blinked with great amazement.
After such a quantity of darkness and starvation, to be told to be
good was a little too bad.  His sense of right and wrong became
fluid with confusion; he saw no sign of anything to eat; and the
loud howl of an injured heart began to issue from the coaly rampart
of neglected teeth.

"Quite right, my boy," Mr. Mordacks said.  "You have had a bad
time, and are entitled to lament.  Wipe your nose on your sleeve,
and have at it again."

"Dirty, dirty things I hear.  Who is come into my house like this?
My house and my baby belong to me.  Go away all of you.  How can I
bear this noise?"

Mrs. Carroway stood in the passage behind them, looking only fit to
die.  One of her husband's watch-coats hung around her, falling
nearly to her feet; and the long clothes of her dead baby, which
she carried, hung over it, shaking like a white dog's tail.  She
was standing with her bare feet well apart, and that swing of hip
and heel alternate which mothers for a thousand generations have
supposed to lull their babies into sweet sleep.

For once in his life the general factor had not the least idea of
the proper thing to do.  Not only did he not find it, but he did
not even seek for it, standing aside rather out of the way, and
trying to look like a calm spectator.  But this availed him to no
account whatever.  He was the only man there, and the woman
naturally fixed upon him.

"You are the man," she said, in a quiet and reasonable voice, and
coming up to Mordacks with the manner of a lady; "you are the
gentleman, I mean, who promised to bring back my husband.  Where is
he?  Have you fulfilled your promise?"

"My dear madam, my dear madam, consider your children, and how cold
you are.  Allow me to conduct you to a warmer place.  You scarcely
seem to enter into the situation."

"Oh yes, I do, sir; thoroughly, thoroughly.  My husband is in his
grave; my children are going after him; and the best place for
them.  But they shall not be murdered.  I will lock them up, so
that they never shall be murdered."

"My dear lady, I agree with you entirely.  You do the very wisest
thing in these bad times.  But you know me well.  I have had the
honor of making your acquaintance in a pleasant manner.  I feel for
your children, quite as if I was--I mean, ma'am, a very fine old
gentleman's affection.  Geraldine, come and kiss me, my darling.
Tommy, you may have the other side; never mind the coal, my boy;
there is a coal-wharf quite close to my windows at home."

These children, who had been hiding behind Mr. Mordacks and Molly
(who was now come back), immediately did as he ordered them; or
rather Jerry led the way, and made Tommy come as well, by a signal
which he never durst gainsay.  But while they saluted the general
factor (who sat down upon a box to accommodate them), from the
corners of their eyes they kept a timid, trembling, melancholy
watch upon their own mother.

Poor Mrs. Carroway was capable of wondering.  Her power of judgment
was not so far lost as it is in a dream--where we wonder at
nothing, but cast off skeptic misery--and for the moment she seemed
to be brought home from the distance of roving delusion, by looking
at two of her children kissing a man who was hunting in his pocket
for his card.

"Circumstances, madam," said Mr. Mordacks, "have deprived me of the
pleasure of producing my address.  It should be in two of my
pockets; but it seems to have strangely escaped from both of them.
However, I will write it down, if required.  Geraldine dear, where
is your school slate?  Go and look for it, and take Tommy with
you."

This surprised Mrs. Carroway, and began to make her think.  These
were her children--she was nearly sure of that--her own poor
children, who were threatened from all sides with the likelihood of
being done away with.  Yet here was a man who made much of them,
and kissed them; and they kissed him without asking her permission!

"I scarcely know what it is about," she said; "and my husband is
not here to help me."

"You have hit the very point, ma'am.  You must take it on yourself.
How wonderfully clever the ladies always are!  Your family is
waiting for a government supply; everybody knows that everybody in
the world may starve before government thinks of supplying supply.
I do not belong to the government--although if I had my deserts I
should have done so--but fully understanding them, I step in to
anticipate their action.  I see that the children of a very noble
officer, and his admirable wife, have been neglected, through the
rigor of the weather and condition of the roads.  I am a very large
factor in the neighborhood, who make a good thing out of all such
cases.  I step in; circumstances favor me; I discover a good stroke
of business; my very high character, though much obscured by
diffidence, secures me universal confidence.  The little dears take
to me, and I to them.  They feel themselves safe under my
protection from their most villainous enemies.  They are pleased to
kiss a man of strength and spirit, who represents the government."

Mrs. Carroway scarcely understood a jot of this.  Such a rush of
words made her weak brain go round, and she looked about vainly for
her children, who had gladly escaped upon the chance afforded.  But
she came to the conclusion she was meant to come to--that this
gentleman before her was the government.

"I will do whatever I am told," she said, looking miserably round,
as if for anything to care about; "only I must count my children
first, or the government might say there was not the proper
number."

"Of all points that is the very one that I would urge," Mordacks
answered, without dismay.  "Molly, conduct this good lady to her
room.  Light a good fire, as the Commissioners have ordered; warm
the soup sent from the arsenal last night, but be sure that you put
no pepper in it.  The lady will go with you, and follow our
directions.  She sees the importance of having all her faculties
perfectly clear when we make our schedule, as we shall do in a few
hours' time, of all the children; every one, with the date of their
birth, and their Christian names, which nobody knows so well as
their own dear mother.  Ah, how very sweet it is to have so many of
them; and to know the pride, the pleasure, the delight, which the
nation feels in providing for the welfare of every little darling!"



CHAPTER XLV

THE THING IS JUST


"Was there ever such a man?" said Mr. Mordacks to himself, as he
rode back to Flamborough against the bitter wind, after "fettling"
the affairs of the poor Carroways, as well as might be for the
present.  "As if I had not got my hands too full already, now I am
in for another plaguesome business, which will cost a lot of money,
instead of bringing money in.  How many people have I now to look
after?  In the first place, two vile wretches--Rickon Goold, the
ship-scuttler, and John Cadman, the murderer--supposing that Dr.
Upandown and Mrs. Carroway are right.  Then two drunken tars, with
one leg between them, who may get scared of the law, and cut and
run.  Then an outlawed smuggler, who has cut and run already; and a
gentleman from India, who will be wild with disappointment through
the things that have happened since I saw him last.  After that a
lawyer, who will fight tooth and nail of course, because it brings
grist to his mill.  That makes seven; and now to all these I have
added number eight, and that the worst of all--not only a woman,
but a downright mad one, as well as seven starving children.
Charity is a thing that pays so slowly!  That this poor creature
should lose her head just now is most unfortunate.  I have nothing
whatever to lay before Sir Duncan, when I tell him of this vile
catastrophe, except the boy's own assertion, and the opinion of Dr.
Upandown.  Well, well, 'faint heart,' etc.  I must nurse the people
round; without me they would all have been dead.  Virtue is its own
reward.  I hope the old lady has not burned my hare to death."

The factor might well say that without his aid that large family
must have perished.  Their neighbors were not to be blamed for
this, being locked out of the house, and having no knowledge of the
frost and famine that prevailed within.  Perhaps, when the little
ones began to die, Geraldine might heave escaped from a window, and
got help in time to save some of them, if she herself had any
strength remaining; but as it was, she preferred to sacrifice
herself, and obey her mother.  "Father always told me," she had
said to Mr. Mordacks, when he asked her how so sharp a child could
let things come to such a pitch, "that when he was out of the way,
the first thing I was to mind always was to do what mother told me;
and now he can't come back no more, to let me off from doing it."

By this time the "Cod with the Hook in his Gills" was as much at
the mercy of Mr. Mordacks as if he had landed and were crimping
him.  Widow Precious was a very tough lady to get over, and she
liked to think the worst she could of everybody--which proves in
the end the most charitable course, because of the good-will
produced by explanation--and for some time she had stood in the
Flamburian attitude of doubt toward the factor.  But even a
Flamburian may at last be pierced; and then (as with other
pachydermatous animals) the hole, once made, is almost certain to
grow larger.  So by dint of good offices here and there, kind
interest, and great industry among a very simple and grateful race,
he became the St. Oswald of that ancient shrine (as already has
been hinted), and might do as he liked, even on the Sabbath-day.
And as one of the first things he always liked to do was to enter
into everybody's business, he got into an intricacy of little
knowledge too manifold even for his many-fibred brain.  But some of
this ran into and strengthened his main clew, leading into the
story he was laboring to explore, and laying before him, as bright
as a diamond, even the mystery of ear-rings.

"My highly valued hostess and admirable cook," he said to Widow
Precious, after making noble dinner, which his long snowy ride and
work at Bridlington had earned, "in your knowledge of the annals of
this interesting town, happen you to be able to recall the name of
a certain man, John Cadman?"

"Ah, that ah deah," Widow Tapsy answered, with a heavy sigh, which
rattled all the dishes on the waiter; "and sma' gude o' un, sma'
gude, whativer.  Geroot wi' un!"

The landlady shut her firm lips with a smack, which Mordacks well
knew by this time though seldom foreclosed by it now, as he had
been before he became a Danish citizen.  He was sure that she had
some good reason for her silence; and the next day he found that
the girl who had left her home, through Cadman's villainy, was akin
by her mother's side to Mistress Precious.  But he had another
matter to discuss with her now, which caused him some misgivings,
yet had better be faced manfully.  In the safe philosophical
distance of York from this strong landlady he had (for good reasons
of his own) appointed the place of meeting with Sir Duncan Yordas
at the rival hostelry, the inn of Thornwick.  Widow Precious had a
mind of uncommonly large type, so lofty and pure of all petty
emotions, that if any one spoke of the Thornwick Inn, even upon her
back premises, her dignity stepped in and said, "I can't abide the
stinkin' naam o' un."

Of this persistently noble regard of a lower institution Mr.
Mordacks was well aware; and it gave him pause, in his deep anxiety
to spare a tender heart, and maintain the high standard of his
breakfast kidneys.  "Madam," he began, and then he rubbed his mouth
with the cross-cut out of the jack-towel by the sink, newly set on
table, to satisfy him for a dinner napkin--"madam, will you listen,
while I make an explanation?"

The landlady looked at him with dark suspicions gathering.

"Joost spak' oot," she said, "whativer's woorkin' i' thah mahnd."

"I am bound to meet a gentleman near Flamborough to-morrow," Mr.
Mordacks continued, with the effrontery of guilt, "who will come
from the sea.  And as it would not suit him to walk far inland, he
has arranged for the interview at a poor little place called the
Thorny Wick, or the Stubby Wick, or something of that sort.  I
thought it was due to you, madam, to explain the reason of my
entering, even for a moment--"

"Ah dawn't care.  Sitha--they mah fettle thee there, if thow's
fondhead enew."

Without another word she left the room, clattering her heavy shoes
at the door; and Mordacks foresaw a sad encounter on the morrow,
without a good breakfast to "fettle" him for it.  It was not in his
nature to dread anything much, and he could not see where he had
been at all to blame; but gladly would he have taken ten per cent
off his old contract, than meet Sir Duncan Yordas with the news he
had to tell him.

One cause of the righteous indignation felt by the good mother
Tapsy, was her knowledge that nobody could land just now in any
cove under the Thornwick Hotel.  With the turbulent snow-wind
bringing in the sea, as now it had been doing for several days,
even the fishermen's cobles could not take the beach, much less any
stranger craft.  Mr. Mordacks was sharp; but an inland factor is
apt to overlook such little facts marine.

Upon the following day he stood in the best room of the Thornwick
Inn--which even then was a very decent place to any eyes uncast
with envy--and he saw the long billows of the ocean rolling before
the steady blowing of the salt-tongued wind, and the broad white
valleys that between them lay, and the vaporous generation of great
waves.  They seemed to have little gift of power for themselves,
and no sign of any heed of purport; only to keep at proper distance
from each other, and threaten to break over long before they meant
to do it.  But to see what they did at the first opposition of
reef, or crag, or headland bluff, was a cure for any delusion about
them, or faith in their liquid benevolence.  For spouts of wild
fury dashed up into the clouds; and the shore, wherever any sight
of it was left, weltered in a sadly frothsome state, like the chin
of a Titan with a lather-brush at work.

"Why, bless my heart!" cried the keen-eyed Mordacks; "this is a
check I never thought of.  Nobody could land in such a surf as
that, even if he had conquered all India.  Landlord, do you mean to
tell me any one could land?  And if not, what's the use of your inn
standing here?"

"Naw, sir, nawbody cud laun' joost neaw.  Lee-ast waas, nut to ca'
fur naw yell to dry hissen."

The landlord was pleased with his own wit--perhaps by reason of its
scarcity--and went out to tell it in the tap-room while fresh; and
Mordacks had made up his mind to call for something--for the good
of the house and himself--and return with a sense of escape to his
own inn, when the rough frozen road rang with vehement iron, and a
horse was pulled up, and a man strode in.  The landlord having told
his own joke three times, came out with the taste of it upon his
lips; but the stern dark eyes looking down into his turned his
smile into a frightened stare.  He had so much to think of that he
could not speak--which happens not only at Flamborough--but his
visitor did not wait for the solution of his mental stutter.
Without any rudeness he passed the mooning host, and walked into
the parlor, where he hoped to find two persons.

Instead of two, he found one only, and that one standing with his
back to the door, and by the snow-flecked window, intent upon the
drizzly distance of the wind-struck sea.  The attitude and fixed
regard were so unlike the usual vivacity of Mordacks, that the
visitor thought there must be some mistake, till the other turned
round and looked at him.

"You see a defeated but not a beaten man," said the factor, to get
through the worst of it.  "Thank you, Sir Duncan, I will not shake
hands.  My ambition was to do so, and to put into yours another
hand, more near and dear to it.  Sir, I have failed.  It is open to
you to call me by any hard name that may occur to you.  That will
do you good, be a hearty relief, and restore me rapidly to self-
respect, by arousing my anxiety to vindicate myself."

"It is no time for joking; I came here to meet my son.  Have you
found him, or have you not?"

Sir Duncan sat down and gazed steadfastly at Mordacks.  His self-
command had borne many hard trials; but the prime of his life was
over now; and strong as he looked, and thought himself, the
searching wind had sought and found weak places in a sun-beaten
frame.  But no man would be of noble aspect by dwelling at all upon
himself.

The quick intelligence of Mordacks--who was of smaller though
admirable type--entered into these things at a flash.  And
throughout their interview he thought less of himself and more of
another than was at all habitual with him, or conducive to good
work.

"You must bear with a very heavy blow," he said; "and it goes to my
heart to have to deal it."

Sir Duncan Yordas bowed, and said, "The sooner the better, my good
friend."

"I have found your son, as I promised you I would," replied
Mordacks, speaking rapidly; "healthy, active, uncommonly clever; a
very fine sailor, and as brave as Nelson; of gallant appearance--as
might be expected; enterprising, steadfast, respected, and admired;
benevolent in private life, and a public benefactor.  A youth of
whom the most distinguished father might be proud.  But--but--"

"Will you never finish?"

"But by the force of circumstances, over which he had no control,
he became in early days a smuggler, and rose to an eminent rank in
that profession."

"I do not care two pice for that; though I should have been sorry
if he had not risen."

"He rose to such eminence as to become the High Admiral of
smugglers on this coast, and attain the honors of outlawry."

"I look upon that as a pity.  But still we may be able to rescind
it.  Is there anything more against my son?"

"Unluckily there is.  A commander of the Coastguard has been killed
in discharge of his duty; and Robin Lyth has left the country to
escape a warrant."

"What have we to do with Robin Lyth?  I have heard of him
everywhere--a villain and a murderer."

"God forbid that you should say so!  Robin Lyth is your only son."

The man whose word was law to myriads rose without a word for his
own case; he looked at his agent with a stern, calm gaze, and not a
sign of trembling in his lull broad frame, unless, perhaps, his
under lip gave a little soft vibration to the grizzled beard grown
to meet the change of climate.

"Unhappily so it is," said Mordacks, firmly meeting Sir Duncan's
eyes.  "I have proved the matter beyond dispute; and I wish I had
better news for you."

"I thank you, sir.  You could not well have worse.  I believe it
upon your word alone.  No Yordas ever yet had pleasure of a son.
The thing is quite just.  I will order my horse."

"Sir Duncan, allow me a few minutes first.  You are a man of large
judicial mind.  Do you ever condemn any stranger upon rumor?  And
will you, upon that, condemn your son?"

"Certainly not.  I proceed upon my knowledge of the fate between
father and son in our race."

"That generally has been the father's fault.  In this case, you are
the father."

Sir Duncan turned back, being struck with this remark.  Then he sat
down again; which his ancestors had always refused to do, and had
rued it.  He spoke very gently, with a sad faint smile.

"I scarcely see how, in the present case, the fault can be upon the
father's side."

"Not as yet, I grant you.  But it would be so if the father refused
to hear out the matter, and joined in the general outcry against
his son, without even having seen him, or afforded him a chance of
self-defense."

"I am not so unjust or unnatural as that, sir.  I have heard much
about this--sad occurrence in the cave.  There can be no question
that the smugglers slew the officer.  That--that very unfortunate
young man may not have done it himself--I trust in God that he did
not even mean it.  Nevertheless, in the eye of the law, if he were
present, he is as guilty as if his own hand did it.  Can you
contend that he was not present?"

"Unhappily I can not.  He himself admits it; and if he did not, it
could be proved most clearly."

"Then all that I can do," said Sir Duncan, rising with a heavy
sigh, and a violent shiver caused by the chill of his long bleak
ride, "is first to require your proofs, Mr. Mordacks, as to the
identity of my child who sailed from India with this--this
unfortunate youth; then to give you a check for 5000 pounds, and
thank you for skillful offices, and great confidence in my honor.
Then I shall leave with you what sum you may think needful for the
defense, if he is ever brought to trial.  And probably after that--
well, I shall even go back to end my life in India."

"My proofs are not arranged yet, but they will satisfy you.  I
shall take no 5000 pounds from you, Sir Duncan, though strictly
speaking I have earned it.  But I will take one thousand to cover
past and future outlay, including the possibility of a trial.  The
balance I shall live to claim yet, I do believe, and you to
discharge it with great pleasure.  For that will not be until I
bring you a son, not only acquitted, but also guiltless; as I have
good reason for believing him to be.  But you do not look well; let
me call for something."

"No, thank you.  It is nothing.  I am quite well, but not quite
seasoned to my native climate yet.  Tell me your reasons for
believing that."

"I can not do that in a moment.  You know what evidence is a
hundred times as well as I do.  And in this cold room you must not
stop.  Sir Duncan, I am not a coddler any more than you are.  And I
do not presume to dictate to you.  But I am as resolute a man as
yourself.  And I refuse to go further with this subject, until you
are thoroughly warmed and refreshed."

"Mordacks, you shall have your way," said his visitor, after a
heavy frown, which produced no effect upon the factor.  "You are as
kind-hearted as you are shrewd.  Tell me once more what your
conviction is; and I will wait for your reasons, till--till you are
ready."

"Then, sir, my settled conviction is that your son is purely
innocent of this crime, and that we shall be able to establish
that."

"God bless you for thinking so, my dear friend.  I can bear a great
deal; and I would do my duty.  But I did love that boy's mother
so."

The general factor always understood his business; and he knew that
no part of it compelled him now to keep watch upon the eyes of a
stern, proud man.

"Sir, I am your agent, and I magnify mine office," he said, as he
took up his hat to go forth.  "One branch of my duty is to fettle
your horse; and in Flamborough they fettle them on stale fish."
Mr. Mordacks strode with a military tramp, and a loud shout for the
landlord, who had finished his joke by this time, and was paying
the penalties of reaction.  "Gil Beilby, thoo'st nobbut a
fondhead," he was saying to himself.  "Thoo mun hev thy lahtel
jawk, thof it crack'th thy own pure back."  For he thought that he
was driving two great customers away, by the flashing independence
of too brilliant a mind; and many clever people of his native place
had told him so.  "Make a roaring fire in that room," said
Mordacks.



CHAPTER XLVI

STUMPED OUT


"I think, my dear, that you never should allow mysterious things to
be doing in your parish, and everybody full of curiosity about
them, while the only proper person to explain their meaning is
allowed to remain without any more knowledge than a man locked up
in York Castle might have.  In spite of all the weather, and the
noise the sea makes, I feel quite certain that important things,
which never have any right to happen in our parish, are going on
here, and you never interfere; which on the part of the rector, and
the magistrate of the neighborhood, to my mind is not a proper
course of action.  I am sure that I have not the very smallest
curiosity; I feel very often that I should have asked questions,
when it has become too late to do so, and when anybody else would
have put them at the moment, and not had to be sorry afterward."

"I understand that feeling," Dr. Upround answered, looking at his
wife for the third cup of coffee to wind up his breakfast as usual,
"and without hesitation I reply that it naturally arises in
superior natures.  Janetta, you have eaten up that bit of broiled
hake that I was keeping for your dear mother!"

"Now really, papa, you are too crafty.  You put my mother off with
a wretched generality, because you don't choose to tell her
anything; and to stop me from coming to the rescue, you attack me
with a miserable little personality.  I perceive by your face,
papa, every trick that rises; and without hesitation I reply that
they naturally arise in inferior natures."

"Janetta, you never express yourself well."  Mrs. Upround insisted
upon filial respect.  "When I say 'well,' I mean--Well, well, well,
you know quite well what I mean, Janetta."

"To be sure, mamma, I always do.  You always mean the very best
meaning in the world; but you are not up to half of papa's tricks
yet."

"This is too bad!" cried the father, with a smile.

"A great deal too bad!" said the mother, with a frown.  "I am sure
I would never have asked a word of anything, if I could ever have
imagined such behavior.  Go away, Janetta, this very moment; your
dear father evidently wants to tell me something.  Now, my dear,
you were too sleepy last night; but your peace of mind requires you
to unburden itself at once of all these very mysterious goings on."

"Well, perhaps I shall have no peace of mind unless I do," said the
rector, with a slight sarcasm, which missed her altogether; "only
it might save trouble, my dear, if you would first specify the
points which oppress your--or rather I should say, perhaps, my mind
so much."

"In the first place, then," began Mrs. Upround, drawing nearer to
the doctor, "who is that highly distinguished stranger who can not
get away from the Thornwick Inn?  What made him come to such a
place in dreadful weather; and if he is ill, why not send for Dr.
Stirbacks?  Dr. Stirbacks will think it most unkind of you; and
after all he did for dear Janetta.  And then, again, what did the
milkman from Sewerby mean by the way he shook his head this
morning, about something in the family at Anerley Farm?  And what
did that most unaccountable man, who calls himself Mr. Mordacks--
though I don't believe that is his name at all--"

"Yes, it is, my dear; you never should say such things.  He is well
known at York, and for miles around; and I entertain very high
respect for him."

"So you may, Dr. Upround.  You do that too freely; but Janetta
quite agrees with me about him.  A man with a sword, that goes
slashing about, and kills a rat, that was none of his business!  A
more straightforward creature than himself, I do believe, though he
struts like a soldier with a ramrod.  And what did he mean, in such
horrible weather, by dragging you out to take a deposition in a
place even colder than Flamborough itself--that vile rabbit-warren
on the other side of Bempton?  Deposition of a man who had drunk
himself to death--and a Methodist too, as you could not help
saying."

"I said it, I know; and I am ashamed of saying it.  I was miserably
cold, and much annoyed about my coat."

"You never say anything to be ashamed of.  It is when you do not
say things that you should rather blame yourself.  For instance, I
feel no curiosity whatever, but a kind-hearted interest, in the
doings of my neighbors.  We very seldom get any sort of excitement;
and when exciting things come all together, quite within the
hearing of our stable bell, to be left to guess them out, and
perhaps be contradicted, destroys one's finest feelings, and
produces downright fidgets."

"My dear, my dear, you really should endeavor to emancipate
yourself from such small ideas."

"Large words shall never divert me from my duty.  My path of duty
is distinctly traced; and if a thwarting hand withdraws me from it,
it must end in a bilious headache."

This was a terrible menace to the household, which was always
thrown out of its course for three days when the lady became thus
afflicted.

"My first duty is to my wife," said the rector.  "If people come
into my parish with secrets, which come to my knowledge without my
desire, and without official obligation, and the faithful and
admirable partner of my life threatens to be quite unwell--"

"Ill, dear, very ill--is what would happen to me."

"--then I consider that my duty is to impart to her everything that
can not lead to mischief."

"How could you have any doubt of it, my dear?  And as to the
mischief, I am the proper judge of that."

Dr. Upround laughed in his quiet inner way; and then, as a matter
of form, he said, "My dear, you must promise most faithfully to
keep whatever I tell you as the very strictest secret."

Mrs. Upround looked shocked at the mere idea of her ever doing
otherwise; which indeed, as she said, was impossible.  Her husband
very nearly looked as if he quite believed her; and then they went
into his snug sitting-room, while the maid took away the breakfast
things.

"Now don't keep me waiting," said the lady.

"Well, then, my dear," the rector began, after crossing stout legs
stoutly, "you must do your utmost not to interrupt me, and, in
short--to put it courteously--you must try to hold your tongue, and
suffer much astonishment in silence.  We have a most distinguished
visitor in Flamborough setting up his staff at the Thornwick
Hotel."

"Lord Nelson!  I knew it must be.  Janetta is so quick at things."

"Janetta is too quick at things; and she is utterly crazy about
Nelson.  No; it is the famous Sir Duncan Yordas."

"Sir Duncan Yordas!  Why, I never heard of him."

"You will find that you have heard of him when you come to think,
my dear.  Our Harry is full of his wonderful doings.  He is one of
the foremost men in India, though perhaps little heard of in this
country yet.  He belongs to an ancient Yorkshire family, and is, I
believe, the head of it.  He came here looking for his son, but has
caught a most terrible chill, instead of him; and I think we ought
to send him some of your rare soup."

"How sensible you are!  It will be the very thing.  But first of
all, what character does he bear?  They do such things in India."

"His character is spotless; I might say too romantic.  He is a man
of magnificent appearance, large mind, and lots of money."

"My dear, my dear, he must never stay there.  I shudder to think of
it, this weather.  A chill is a thing upon the kidneys always.  You
know my electuary; and if we bring him round, it is high time for
Janetta to begin to think of settling."

"My dear!" said Dr. Upround; "well, how suddenly you jump!  I must
put on my spectacles to look at you.  This gentleman must be
getting on for fifty!"

"Janetta should have a man of some discretion, somebody she would
not dare to snap at.  Her expressions are so reckless, that a young
man would not suit her.  She ought to have some one to look up to;
and you know how she raves about fame, and celebrity, and that.
She really seems to care for very little else."

"Then she ought to have fallen in love with Robin Lyth, the most
famous man in all this neighborhood."

"Dr. Upround, you say things on purpose to provoke me when my
remarks are unanswerable.  Robin Lyth indeed!  A sailor, a
smuggler, a common working-man!  And under that terrible
accusation!"

"An objectionable party altogether; not even desirable as a
grandson.  Therefore say nothing more of Janetta and Sir Duncan."

"Sometimes, my dear, the chief object of your existence seems to be
to irritate me.  What can poor Robin have to do with Sir Duncan
Yordas?"

"Simply this.  He is his only son.  The proofs were completed, and
deposited with me for safe custody, last night, by that very active
man of business, Geoffrey Mordacks, of York city."

"Well!" cried Mrs. Upround, with both hands lifted, and a high
color flowing into her unwrinkled cheeks; "from this day forth I
shall never have any confidence in you again.  How long--if I may
dare to put any sort of question--have you been getting into all
this very secret knowledge?  And why have I never heard a word of
it till now?  And not even now, I do believe, through any proper
urgency of conscience on your part, but only because I insisted
upon knowing.  Oh, Dr. Upround, for shame! for shame!"

"My dear, you have no one but yourself to blame," her husband
replied, with a sweet and placid smile.  "Three times I have told
you things that were to go no further, and all three of them went
twenty miles within three days.  I do not complain of it; far less
of you.  You may have felt it quite as much your duty to spread
knowledge as I felt it mine to restrict it.  And I never should
have let you get all this out of me now, if it had been at all
incumbent upon me to keep it quiet."

"That means that I have never got it out of you at all.  I have
taken all this trouble for nothing."

"No, my dear, not at all.  You have worked well, and have promised
not to say a word about it.  You might not have known it for a week
at least, except for my confidence in you."

"Much of it I thank you for.  But don't be cross, my dear, because
you have behaved so atrociously.  You have not answered half of my
questions yet."

"Well, there were so many, that I scarcely can remember them.  Let
me see:  I have told you who the great man is, and the reason that
brought him to Flamborough.  Then about the dangerous chill he has
taken; it came through a bitter ride from Scarborough; and if Dr.
Stirbacks came, he would probably make it still more dangerous.  At
least so Mordacks says; and the patient is in his hands, and out of
mine; so that Stirbacks can not be aggrieved with us.  On the other
hand, as to the milkman from Sewerby.  I really do not know why he
shook his head.  Perhaps he found the big pump frozen.  He is not
of my parish, and may shake his head without asking my permission.
Now I think that I have answered nearly all your questions."

"Not at all; I have not had time to ask them yet, because I feel so
much above them.  But if the milkman meant nothing, because of his
not belonging to our parish, the butcher does, and he can have no
excuse.  He says that Mr. Mordacks takes all the best meanings of a
mutton-sheep every other day to Burlington."

"I know he does.  And it ought to put us to the blush that a
stranger should have to do so.  Mordacks is finding clothes, food,
and firing for all the little creatures poor Carroway left, and
even for his widow, who has got a wandering mind.  Without him
there would not have been one left.  The poor mother locked in all
her little ones, and starved them, to save them from some quite
imaginary foe.  The neighbors began to think of interfering, and
might have begun to do it when it was all over.  Happily, Mordacks
arrived just in time.  His promptitude, skill, and generosity saved
them.  Never say a word against that man again."

"My dear, I will not," Mrs. Upround answered, with tears coming
into her kindly eyes.  "I never heard of anything more pitiful.  I
had no idea Mr. Mordacks was so good.  He looks more like an evil
spirit.  I always regarded him as an evil spirit; and his name
sounds like it, and he jumps about so.  But he ought to have gone
to the rector of the parish."

"It is a happy thing that he can jump about.  The rector of the
parish can not do so, as you know; and he lives two miles away from
them, and had never even heard of it.  People always talk about the
rector of a parish as if he could be everywhere and see to
everything.  And few of them come near him in their prosperous
times.  Have you any other questions to put to me, my dear?"

"Yes, a quantity of things which I can not think of now.  How it
was that little boy--I remember it like yesterday--came ashore
here, and turned out to be Robin Lyth; or at least to be no Robin
Lyth at all, but the son of Sir Duncan Yordas.  And what happened
to the poor man in Bempton Warren."

"The poor man died a most miserable death, but I trust sincerely
penitent.  He had led a sad, ungodly life, and he died at last of
wooden legs.  He was hunted to his grave, he told us, by these
wooden legs; and he recognized in them Divine retribution, for the
sin of his life was committed in timber.  No sooner did any of
those legs appear--and the poor fellow said they were always
coming--than his heart began to patter, and his own legs failed
him, and he tried to stop his ears, but his conscience would not
let him."

"Now there!" cried Mrs. Upround; "what the power of conscience is!
He had stolen choice timber, perhaps ready-made legs."

"A great deal worse than that, my dear; he had knocked out a knot
as large as my shovel-hat from the side of a ship home bound from
India, because he was going to be tried for mutiny upon their
arrival at Leith, it was, I think.  He and his partners had been in
irons, but unluckily they were just released.  The weather was
magnificent, a lovely summer's night, soft fair breeze, and every
one rejoicing in the certainty of home within a few short hours.
And they found home that night, but it was in a better world."

"You have made me creep all over.  And you mean to say that a
wretch like that has any hope of heaven!  How did he get away
himself?"

"Very easily.  A little boat was towing at the side.  There were
only three men upon deck, through the beauty of the weather, and
two of those were asleep.  They bound and gagged the waking one,
lashed the wheel, and made off in the boat wholly unperceived.
There was Rickon Goold, the ringleader, and four others, and they
brought away a little boy who was lying fast asleep, because one of
them had been in the service of his father, and because of the
value of his Indian clothes, which his ayah made him wear now in
his little cot for warmth.  The scoundrels took good care that none
should get away to tell the tale.  They saw the poor Golconda sink
with every soul on board, including the captain's wife and babies;
then they made for land, and in the morning fog were carried by the
tide toward our North Landing.  One of them knew the coast as well
as need be; but they durst not land until their story was
concocted, and everything fitted in to suit it.  The sight of the
rising sun, scattering the fog, frightened them, as it well might
do; and they pulled into the cave, from which I always said, as you
may now remember, Robin must have come--the cave which already
bears his name.

"Here they remained all day, considering a plausible tale to
account for themselves, without making mention of any lost ship,
and trying to remove every trace of identity from the boat they had
stolen.  They had brought with them food enough to last three days,
and an anker of rum from the steward's stores; and as they grew
weary of their long confinement, they indulged more freely than
wisely in the consumption of that cordial.  In a word, they became
so tipsy that they frightened the little helpless boy; and when
they began to fight about his gold buttons, which were claimed by
the fellow who had saved his life, he scrambled from the side of
the boat upon the rock, and got along a narrow ledge, where none of
them could follow him.  They tried to coax him back; but he stamped
his feet, and swore at them, being sadly taught bad language by the
native servants, I dare say.  Rickon Goold wanted to shoot him, for
they had got a gun with them, and he feared to leave him there.
But Sir Duncan's former boatman would not allow it; and at dark
they went away and left him there.  And the poor little fellow, in
his dark despair, must have been led by the hand of the Lord
through crannies too narrow for a man to pass.  There is a well-
known land passage out of that cave; but he must have crawled out
by a smaller one, unknown even to our fishermen, slanting up the
hill, and having outlet in the thicket near the place where the
boats draw up.  And so he was found by Robin Cockscroft in the
morning.  They had fed the child with biscuit soaked in rum, which
accounts for his heavy sleep and wonderful exertions, and may have
predisposed him for a contraband career."

"And perhaps for the very bad language which he used," said Mrs.
Upround, thoughtfully.  "It is an extraordinary tale, my dear.  But
I suppose there can be no doubt of it.  But such a clever child
should have known his own name.  Why did he call himself
'Izunsabe'?"

"That is another link in the certainty of proof.  On board that
unfortunate ship, and perhaps even before he left India, he was
always called the 'Young Sahib,' and he used, having proud little
ways of his own, to shout, if anybody durst provoke him, 'I'se
young Sahib, I'se young Sahib;' which we rendered into 'Izunsabe.'
But his true name is Wilton Bart Yordas, I believe, and the
initials can be made out upon his gold beads, Mr. Mordacks tells
me, among heathen texts."

"That seems rather shocking to good principles, my dear.  I trust
that Sir Duncan is a Christian at least; or he shall never set foot
in this house."

"My dear, I can not tell.  How should I know?  He may have lapsed,
of course, as a good many of them do, from the heat of the climate,
and bad surroundings.  But that happens mostly from their marrying
native women.  And this gentleman never has done that, I do
believe."

"They tell me that he is a very handsome man, and of most
commanding aspect--the very thing Janetta likes so much.  But what
became of those unhappy sadly tipsy sailors?"

"Well, they managed very cleverly, and made success of tipsiness.
As soon as it was dark that night, and before the child had crawled
away, they pushed out of the cave, and let the flood-tide take them
round the Head.  They meant to have landed at Bridlington Quay,
with a tale of escape from a Frenchman; but they found no necessity
for going so far.  A short-handed collier was lying in the roads;
and the skipper, perceiving that they were in liquor, thought it a
fine chance, and took some trouble to secure them.  They told him
that they had been trying to run goods, and were chased by a
revenue boat, and so on.  He was only too glad to be enabled to
make sail, and by dawn they were under way for the Thames; and that
was the end of the Golconda."

"What an awful crime!  But you never mean to tell me that the Lord
let those men live and prosper?"

"That subject is beyond our view, my dear.  There were five of
them, and Rickon Goold believed himself the last of them.  But
being very penitent, he might have exaggerated.  He said that one
was swallowed by a shark, at least his head was, and one was hanged
for stealing sheep, and one for a bad sixpence; but the fate of the
other (too terrible to tell you) brought this man down here, to be
looking at the place, and to divide his time between fasting, and
drinking, and poaching, and discoursing to the thoughtless.  The
women flocked to hear him preach, when the passion was upon him;
and he used to hint at awful sins of his own, which made him
earnest.  I hope that he was so, and I do believe it.  But the
wooden-legged sailors, old Joe and his son, who seem to have been
employed by Mordacks, took him at his own word for a 'miserable
sinner'--which, as they told their master, no respectable man would
call himself--and in the most business-like manner they set to to
remove him to a better world; and now they have succeeded."

"Poor man!  After all, one must be rather sorry for him.  If old
Joe came stumping after me for half an hour, I should have no
interest in this life left."

"My dear, they stumped after him the whole day long, and at night
they danced a hornpipe outside his hut.  He became convinced that
the Prince of Evil was come, in that naval style, to fetch him; and
he drank everything he could lay hands on, to fortify him for the
contest.  The end, as you know, was extremely sad for him, but
highly satisfactory to them, I fear.  They have signified their
resolution to attend his funeral; and Mordacks has said, with
unbecoming levity, that if they never were drunk before--which
seems to me an almost romantic supposition--that night they shall
be drunk, and no mistake."

"All these things, my dear," replied Mrs. Upround, who was gifted
with a fine vein of moral reflection, "are not as we might wish if
we ordered them ourselves.  But still there is this to be said in
their favor, that they have a large tendency toward righteousness."



CHAPTER XLVII

A TANGLE OF VEINS


Human resolution, energy, experience, and reason in its loftiest
form may fight against the doctor; but he beats them all, maintains
at least his own vitality, and asserts his guineas.  Two more
resolute men than Mr. Mordacks and Sir Duncan Yordas could scarcely
be found in those resolute times.  They sternly resolved to have no
sort of doctor; and yet within three days they did have one; and,
more than that, the very one they had positively vowed to abstain
from.

Dr. Stirbacks let everybody know that he never cared two flips of
his thumb for anybody.  If anybody wanted him, they must come and
seek him, and be thankful if he could find time to hear their
nonsense.  For he understood not the system only, but also the
nature of mankind.  The people at the Thornwick did not want him.
Very good, so much the better for him and for them; because the
more they wanted him, the less would he go near them.  Tut! tut!
tut! he said; what did he want with crack-brained patients?

All this compelled him, with a very strong reluctance, to be
dragged into that very place the very same day; and he saw that he
was not come an hour too soon.  Sir Duncan was lying in a bitterly
cold room, with the fire gone out, and the spark of his life not
very far from following it.  Mr. Mordacks was gone for the day upon
business, after leaving strict orders that a good fire must be
kept, and many other things attended to.  But the chimney took to
smoking, and the patient to coughing, and the landlady opened the
window wide, and the fire took flight into the upper air.  Sir
Duncan hated nothing more than any fuss about himself.  He had sent
a man to Scarborough for a little chest of clothes, for his saddle-
kit was exhausted; and having promised Mordacks that he would not
quit the house, he had nothing to do except to meditate and shiver.

Gil Beilby's wife Nell, coming up to take orders for dinner, "got a
dreadful turn" from what she saw, and ran down exclaiming that the
very best customer that ever drew their latch was dead.  Without
waiting to think, the landlord sent a most urgent message for Dr.
Stirbacks.  That learned man happened to be round the corner,
although he lived at Bempton; he met the messenger, cast to the
winds all sense of wrong, and rushed to the succor of humanity.

That night, when the general factor returned, with the hunger
excited by feeding the hungry, he was met at the door by Dr.
Stirbacks, saying, "Hush, my good sir," before he had time to think
of speaking.  "You!" cried Mr. Mordacks, having met this gentleman
when Rickon Goold was near his last.  "You!  Then it must be bad
indeed!"

"It is bad, and it must have been all over, sir, but for my being
providentially at the cheese shop.  I say nothing to wound any
gentleman's feelings who thinks that he understands everything; but
our poor patient, with the very best meaning, no doubt, has been
all but murdered."

"Dr. Stirbacks, you have got him now, and of course you will make
the best of him.  Don't let him slip through your fingers, doctor;
he is much too good for that."

"He shall not slip through my fingers," said the little doctor,
with a twinkle of self-preservation.  "I have got him, sir, and I
shall keep him, sir; and you ought to have put him in my hands long
ago."

The sequel of this needs no detail.  Dr. Stirbacks came three times
a day; and without any disrespect to the profession, it must be
admitted that he earned his fees.  For Sir Duncan's case was a very
strange one, and beyond the best wisdom of the laity.  If that
chill had struck upon him when his spirit was as usual, he might
have cast it off, and gone on upon his business.  But coming as it
did, when the temperature of his heart was lowered by nip of
disappointment, it went into him, as water on a duck's back is not
cast away when his rump gland is out of order.

"A warm room, good victuals, and cheerful society--these three are
indispensable," said Dr. Stirbacks to Mr. Mordacks, over whom he
began to try to tyrannize; "and admirable as you are, my good sir,
I fear that your society is depressing.  You are always in a fume
to be doing something--a stew, I might say, without exaggeration--a
wonderful pattern of an active mind.  But in a case of illness we
require the passive voice.  Everything suggestive of rapid motion
must be removed, and never spoken of.  You are rapid motion itself,
my dear sir.  We get a relapse every time you come in."

"You want me out of the way.  Very well.  Let me know when you have
killed my friend.  I suppose your office ends with that.  I will
come down and see to his funeral."

"Mr. Mordacks, you may be premature in such prevision.  Your own
may come first, sir.  Look well at your eyes the next time you
shave, and I fear you will descry those radiant fibres in the iris
which always co-exist with heart-disease.  I can tell you fifty
cases, if you have time to listen."

"D--n your prognostics, sir!" exclaimed the factor, rudely; but he
seldom lathered himself thenceforth without a little sigh of self-
regard.  "Now, Dr. Stirbacks," he continued, with a rally, "you may
find my society depressing, but it is generally considered to be
elevating; and that, sir, by judges of the highest order, and men
of independent income.  The head of your profession in the northern
half of England, who takes a hundred guineas for every one you
take, rejoices, sir--rejoices is not too strong a word to use--in
my very humble society.  Of course he may be wrong; but when he
hears that Mr. Stirbacks, of Little Under-Bempton--is that the
right address, sir?--speaks of my society as depressing--"

"Mr. Mordacks, you misunderstood my meaning.  I spoke with no
reference to you whatever, but of all male society as enervating--
if you dislike the word 'depressing'--relaxing, emollient,
emasculating, from want of contradictory element; while I was
proceeding to describe the need of strictly female society.  The
rector offers this; he was here just now.  His admiration for you
is unbounded.  He desires to receive our distinguished patient,
with the vast advantage of ladies' society, double-thick walls, and
a southern aspect, if you should consider it advisable."

"Undoubtedly I do.  If the moving can be done without danger; and
of that you are the proper judge, of course."

Thus they composed their little disagreement, with mutual respect,
and some approaches to good-will; and Sir Duncan Yordas, being
skillfully removed, spent his Christmas (without knowing much about
it) in the best and warmest bedroom in the rectory.  But Mordacks
returned, as an honest man should do, to put the laurel and the
mistletoe on his proper household gods.  And where can this be
better done than in that grand old city, York?  But before leaving
Flamborough, he settled the claims of business and charity, so far
as he could see them, and so far as the state of things permitted.

Foiled as he was in his main object by the murder of the revenue
officer, and the consequent flight of Robin Lyth, he had thoroughly
accomplished one part of his task, the discovery of the Golconda's
fate, and the history of Sir Duncan's child.  Moreover, his trusty
agents, Joe of the Monument, and Bob his son, had relieved him of
one thorny care, by the zeal and skill with which they worked.  It
was to them a sweet instruction to watch, encounter, and drink down
a rogue who had scuttled a ship, and even defeated them at their
own weapons, and made a text of them to teach mankind.  Dr. Upround
had not exaggerated the ardor with which they discharged their
duty.

But Mordacks still had one rogue on hand, and a deeper one than
Rickon Goold.  In the course of his visits to Bridlington Quay, he
had managed to meet John Cadman, preferring, as he always did, his
own impressions to almost any other evidence.  And his own
impressions had entirely borne out the conviction of Widow
Carroway.  But he saw at once that this man could not be plied with
coarse weapons, like the other worn-out villain.  He reserved him
as a choice bit for his own skill, and was careful not to alarm him
yet.  Only two things concerned him, as immediate in the matter--to
provide against Cadman's departure from the scene, and to learn all
the widow had to tell about him.

The widow had a great deal to say about that man; but had not said
it yet, from want of power so to do.  Mordacks himself had often
stopped her, when she could scarcely stop herself; for until her
health should be set up again, any stir of the mind would be
dangerous.  But now, with the many things provided for her, good
nursing, and company, and the kindness of the neighbors (who
jealously rushed in as soon as a stranger led the way), and the
sickening of Tommy with the measles--which he had caught in the
coal-cellar--she began to be started in a different plane of life;
to contemplate the past as a golden age (enshrining a diamond
statue of a revenue officer in full uniform), and to look upon the
present as a period of steel, when a keen edge must be kept against
the world, for a defense of all the little seed of diamonds.

Now the weather was milder, as it generally is at Christmas time,
and the snow all gone, and the wind blowing off the land again, to
the great satisfaction of both cod and conger.  The cottage, which
had looked such a den of cold and famine, with the blinds drawn
down, and the snow piled up against the door, and not a single
child-nose against the glass, was now quite warm again, and almost
as lively as if Lieutenant Carroway were coming home to dinner.
The heart of Mr. Mordacks glowed with pride as he said to himself
that he had done all this; and the glow was reflected on the cheeks
of Geraldine, as she ran out to kiss him, and then jumped upon his
shoulder.  For, in spite of his rigid aspect and stern nose, the
little lass had taken kindly to him; while he admired her for
eating candles.

"If you please, you can come in here," said Jerry.  "Oh, don't
knock my head against the door."

Mrs. Carroway knew what he was come for; and although she had tried
to prepare herself for it, she could not help trembling a little.
The factor had begged her to have some friend present, to encourage
and help her in so grievous an affair; but she would not hear of
it, and said she had no friend.

Mr. Mordacks sat down, as he was told to do, in the little room
sacred to the poor lieutenant, and faithful even yet to the pious
memory of his pipe.  When the children were shut out, he began to
look around, that the lady might have time to cry.  But she only
found occasion for a little dry sob.

"It is horrible, very, very horrible," she murmured, with a
shudder, as her eyes were following his; "but for his sake I endure
it."

"A most sad and bitter trial, ma'am, as ever I have heard of.  But
you are bound to bear in mind that he is looking down on you."

"I could not put up with it, without the sense of that, sir.  But I
say to myself how much he loved it; and that makes me put up with
it."

"I am quite at a loss to understand you, madam.  We seem to be at
cross-purposes.  I was speaking of--of a thing it pains me to
mention; and you say how much he loved--"

"Dirt, sir, dirt.  It was his only weakness.  Oh, my darling
Charles, my blessed, blessed Charley!  Sometimes I used to drive
him almost to his end about it; but I never thought his end would
come; I assure you I never did, sir.  But now I shall leave
everything as he would like to see it--every table and every chair,
that he could write his name on it.  And his favorite pipe with the
bottom in it.  That is what he must love to see, if the Lord allows
him to look down.  Only the children mustn't see it, for the sake
of bad example."

"Mrs. Carroway, I agree with you most strictly.  Children must be
taught clean ways, even while they revere their father.  You should
see my daughter Arabella, ma'am.  She regards me with perfect
devotion.  Why?  Because I never let her do the things that I
myself do.  It is the only true principle of government for a
nation, a parish, a household.  How beautifully you have trained
pretty Geraldine!  I fear that you scarcely could spare her for a
month, in the spring, and perhaps Tommy after his measles; but a
visit to York would do them good, and establish their expanding
minds, ma'am."

"Mr. Mordacks, I know not where we may be then.  But anything that
you desire is a law to us."

"Well said!  Beautifully said!  But I trust, my dear madam, that
you will be here.  Indeed, it would never do for you to go away.
Or rather, I should put it thus--for the purposes of justice, and
for other reasons also, it is most important that you should not
leave this place.  At least you will promise me that, I hope?
Unless, of course, unless you find the memories too painful.  And
even so, you might find comfort in some inland house, not far."

"Many people might not like to stop," the widow answered, simply;
"but to me it would be a worse pain to go away.  I sit, in the
evening, by the window here.  Whenever there is light enough to
show the sea, and the beach is fit for landing on, it seems to my
eyes that I can see the boat, with my husband standing up in it.
He had a majestic way of standing, with one leg more up than the
other, sir, through one of his daring exploits; and whenever I see
him, he is just like that; and the little children in the kitchen
peep and say, 'Here's daddy coming at last; we can tell by mammy's
eyes;' and the bigger ones say, 'Hush!  You might know better.'
And I look again, wondering which of them is right; and then there
is nothing but the clouds and sea.  Still, when it is over, and I
have cried about it, it does me a little good every time.  I seem
to be nearer to Charley, as my heart falls quietly into the will of
the Lord."

"No doubt of it whatever.  I can thoroughly understand it, although
there is not a bit of resignation in me.  I felt that sort of
thing, to some extent, when I lost my angelic wife, ma'am, though
naturally departed to a sphere more suited for her.  And I often
seem to think that still I hear her voice when a coal comes to
table in a well-dish.  Life, Mrs. Carroway, is no joke to bandy
back, but trouble to be shared.  And none share it fairly but the
husband and the wife, ma'am."

"You make it very hard for me to get my words," she said, without
minding that her tears ran down, so long as she spoke clearly.  "I
am not of the lofty sort, and understand no laws of things; though
my husband was remarkable for doing so.  He took all the trouble of
the taxes off, though my part was to pay for them.  And in every
other way he was a wonder, sir; not at all because now he is gone
above.  That would be my last motive."

"He was a wonder, a genuine wonder," Mordacks replied, without
irony.  "He did his duty, ma'am, with zeal and ardor; a shining
example upon very little pay.  I fear that it was his integrity and
zeal, truly British character and striking sense of discipline,
that have so sadly brought him to--to the condition of an example."

"Yes, Mr. Mordacks, it was all that.  He never could put up with a
lazy man, as anybody, to live, must have to do.  He kept all his
men, as I used to do our children, to word of command, and no
answer.  Honest men like it; but wicked men fly out.  And all along
we had a very wicked man here."

"So I have heard from other good authority--a deceiver of women, a
skulk, a dog.  I have met with many villains; and I am not hot.
But my tendency is to take that fellow by the throat with both
hands, and throttle him.  Having thoroughly accomplished that, I
should prepare to sift the evidence.  Unscientific, illogical,
brutal, are such desires, as you need not tell me.  And yet, madam,
they are manly.  I hate slow justice; I like it quick--quick, or
none at all, I say, so long as it is justice.  Creeping justice is,
to my mind, little better than slow revenge.  My opinions are not
orthodox, but I hope they do not frighten you."

"They do indeed, sir; or at least your face does; though I know how
quick and just you are.  He is a bad man--too well I know it--but,
as my dear husband used to say, he has a large lot of children."

"Well, Mrs. Carroway, I admire you the more, for considering what
he has not considered.  Let us put aside that.  The question is--
guilty or not guilty?  If he is guilty, shall he get off, and
innocent men be hanged for him?  Six men are in jail at this
present moment for the deed which we believe he did.  Have they no
wives, no fathers and mothers, no children--not to speak of their
own lives?  The case is one in which the Constitution of the realm
must be asserted.  Six innocent men must die unless the crime is
brought home to the guilty one.  Even that is not all as regards
yourself.  You may not care for your own life, but you are bound to
treasure it seven times over for the sake of your seven children.
While John Cadman is at large, and nobody hanged instead of him,
your life is in peril, ma'am.  He knows that you know him, and have
denounced him.  He has tried to scare you into silence; and the
fright caused your sad illness.  I have reason to believe that he,
by scattering crafty rumors, concealed from the neighbors your sad
plight, and that of your dear children.  If so, he is worse than
the devil himself.  Do you see your duty now, and your interest
also?"

Mrs. Carroway nodded gently.  Her strength of mind was not come
back yet, after so much illness.  The baby lay now on its father's
breast, and the mother's had been wild for it.

"I am sorry to have used harsh words," resumed Mordacks; "but I
always have to do so.  They seem to put things clearer; and without
that, where would business be?  Now I will not tire you if I can
help it, nor ask a needless question.  What provocation had this
man?  What fanciful cause for spite, I mean?"

"Oh, none, Mr. Mordacks, none whatever.  My husband rebuked him for
being worthless, and a liar, and a traitor; and he threatened to
get him removed from the force; and he gave him a little throw down
from the cliff--but what little was done was done entirely for his
good."

"Yes, I see.  And, after that, was Cadman ever heard to threaten
him?"

"Many times, in a most malicious way, when he thought that he was
not heeded.  The other men may fear to bear witness.  But my
Geraldine has heard him."

"There could be no better witness.  A child, especially a pretty
little girl, tells wonderfully with a jury.  But we must have a
great deal more than that.  Thousands of men threaten, and do
nothing, according to the proverb.  A still more important point
is--how did the muskets in the boat come home?  They were all
returned to the station, I presume.  Were they all returned with
their charges in them?"

"I am sure I can not say how that was.  There was nobody to attend
to that.  But one of them had been lost altogether."

"One of the guns never came back at all!" Mordacks almost shouted.
"Whose gun was it that did not come back?"

"How can we say?  There was such confusion.  My husband would never
let them nick the guns, as they do at some of the stations, for
every man to know his own.  But in spite of that, each man had his
own, I believe.  Cadman declares that he brought home his; and
nobody contradicted him.  But if I saw the guns, I should know
whether Cadman's is among them."

"How can you possibly pretend to know that, ma'am?  English ladies
can do almost anything.  But surely you never served out the guns?"

"No, Mr. Mordacks.  But I have cleaned them.  Not the inside, of
course; that I know nothing of; and nobody sees that, to be
offended.  But several times I have observed, at the station, a
disgraceful quantity of dust upon the guns--dust and rust and
miserable blotches, such as bad girls leave in the top of a fish-
kettle; and I made Charley bring them down, and be sure to have
them empty; because they were so unlike what I have seen on board
of the ship where he won his glory, and took the bullet in his
nineteenth rib."

"My dear madam, what a frame he must have had!  But this is most
instructive.  No wonder Geraldine is brave.  What a worthy wife for
a naval hero!  A lady who could handle guns!"

"I knew, sir, quite from early years, having lived near a very
large arsenal, that nothing can make a gun go off unless there is
something in it.  And I could trust my husband to see to that; and
before I touched one of them I made him put a brimstone match to
the touch-hole.  And I found it so pleasant to polish them, from
having such wicked things quite at my mercy.  The wood was what I
noticed most, because of understanding chairs.  One of them had a
very curious tangle of veins on the left cheek behind the trigger;
and I just had been doing for the children's tea what they call
'crinkly-crankly'--treacle trickled (like a maze) upon the bread;
and Tommy said, 'Look here! it is the very same upon this gun.'
And so it was; just the same pattern on the wood!  And while I was
doing it Cadman came up, in his low surly way, and said, 'I want my
gun, missus; I never shoot with no other gun than that.  Captain
says I may shoot a sea-pye, for the little ones.'  And so I always
called it 'Cadman's gun.'  I have not been able to think much yet.
But if that gun is lost, I shall know who it was that lost a gun
that dreadful night."

"All this is most strictly to the purpose," answered Mordacks, "and
may prove most important.  We could never hope to get those six men
off, without throwing most grave suspicion elsewhere; and unless we
can get those six men off, their captain will come and surrender
himself, and be hanged, to a dead certainty.  I doubted his
carrying the sense of right so far, until I reflected upon his
birth, dear madam.  He belongs, as I may tell you now, to a very
ancient family, a race that would run their heads into a noose out
of pure obstinacy, rather than skulk off.  I am of very ancient
race myself, though I never take pride in the matter, because I
have seen more harm than good of it.  I always learned Latin at
school so quickly through being a grammatical example of descent.
According to our pedigree, Caius Calpurnius Mordax Naso was the
Governor of Britain under Pertinax.  My name means 'biting'; and
bite I can, whether my dinner is before me, or my enemy.  In the
present case I shall not bite yet, but prepare myself for doing so.
I watch the proceedings of the government, who are sure to be slow,
as well as blundering.  There has been no appointment to this
command as yet, because of so many people wanting it.  This
patched-up peace, which may last about six months (even if it is
ever signed), is producing confusion everywhere.  You have an old
fool put in charge of this station till a proper successor is
appointed."

"He is not like Captain Carroway, sir.  But that concerns me little
now.  But I do wish, for my children's sake, that they would send a
little money."

"On no account think twice of that.  That question is in my hands,
and affords me one of the few pleasures I derive from business.
You are under no sort of obligation about it.  I am acting under
authority.  A man of exalted position and high office--but never
mind that till the proper time comes; only keep your mind in
perfect rest, and attend to your children and yourself.  I am
obliged to proceed very warily, but you shall not be annoyed by
that scoundrel.  I will provide for that before I leave; also I
will see the guns still in store, without letting anybody guess my
motive.  I have picked up a very sharp fellow here, whose heart is
in the business thoroughly; for one of the prisoners is his twin
brother, and he lost his poor sweetheart through Cadman's villainy--
a young lass who used to pick mussels, or something.  He will see
that the rogue does not give us the slip, and I have looked out for
that in other ways as well.  I am greatly afraid of tiring you, my
dear madam; but have you any other thing to tell me of this
Cadman?"

"No, Mr. Mordacks, except a whole quantity of little things that
tell a great deal to me, but to anybody else would have no sense.
For instance, of his looks, and turns, and habits, and tricks of
seeming neither the one thing nor the other, and jumping all the
morning, when the last man was hanged--"

"Did he do that, madam?  Are you quite sure?"

"I had it on the authority of his own wife.  He beats her, but
still she can not understand him.  You may remember that the man to
be suspended was brought to the place where--where--"

"Where he earned his doom.  It is quite right.  Things of that sort
should be done upon a far more liberal scale.  Example is better
than a thousand precepts.  Let us be thankful that we live in such
a country.  I have brought some medicine for brave Tommy from our
Dr. Stirbacks.  Be sure that you stroke his throat when he takes
it.  Boys are such rogues--"

"Well, Mr. Mordacks, I really hope that I know how to make my
little boy take medicine!"



CHAPTER XLVIII

SHORT SIGHS, AND LONG ONES


Now it came to pass that for several months this neighborhood,
which had begun to regard Mr. Mordacks as its tutelary genius--so
great is the power of bold energy--lost him altogether; and with
brief lamentation began to do very well without him.  So fugitive
is vivacious stir, and so well content is the general world to jog
along in its old ruts.  The Flamborough butcher once more subsided
into a piscitarian; the postman, who had been driven off his legs,
had time to nurse his grain again; Widow Tapsy relapsed into the
very worst of taps, having none to demand good beverage; and a new
rat, sevenfold worse than the mighty net-devourer (whom Mordacks
slew; but the chronicle has been cut out, for the sake of brevity),
took possession of his galleries, and made them pay.  All
Flamborough yearned for the "gentleman as did things," itself being
rather of the contemplative vein, which flows from immemorial
converse with the sea.  But the man of dry hand-and-heel activity
came not, and the lanes forgot the echo of his Roman march.

The postman (with a wicked endeavor of hope to beget faith from
sweet laziness) propagated a loose report that Death had claimed
the general factor, through fear of any rival in activity.  The
postman did not put it so, because his education was too good for
long words to enter into it; but he put his meaning in a shorter
form than a smattering of distant tongues leaves to us.  The
butcher (having doubt of death, unless by man administered) kicked
the postman out of his expiring shop, where large hooks now had no
sheep for bait; and Widow Tapsy, filled with softer liquid form of
memory, was so upset by the letter-man's tale that she let off a
man who owed four gallons, for beating him as flat as his own bag.
To tell of these things may take time, but time is thoroughly well
spent if it contributes a trifle toward some tendency, on anybody's
part, to hope that there used to be, even in this century, such a
thing as gratitude.

But why did Mr. Mordacks thus desert his favorite quest and
quarters, and the folk in whom he took most delight--because so
long inaccessible?  The reason was as sound as need be: important
business of his own had called him away into Derbyshire.  Like
every true son of stone and crag, he required an annual scratch
against them, and hoped to rest among them when the itch of life
was over.  But now he had hopes of even more than that--of owning a
good house and fair estate, and henceforth exerting his remarkable
powers of agency on his own behalf.  For his cousin, Calpurnius
Mordacks, the head of the family, was badly ailing, and having lost
his only son in the West Indies, had sent for this kinsman to
settle matters with him.  His offer was generous and noble; to wit,
that Geoffrey should take, not the property alone, but also his
second cousin, fair Calpurnia, though not without her full consent.
Without the lady, he was not to have the land, and the lady's
consent must be secured before her father ceased to be a sound
testator.

Now if Calpurnia had been kept in ignorance of this arrangement, a
man possessing the figure, decision, stature, self-confidence, and
other high attributes of our Mordacks, must have triumphed in a
week at latest.  But with that candor which appears to have been so
strictly entailed in the family, Colonel Calpurnius called them in;
and there (in the presence of the testator and of each other) they
were fully apprised of this rather urgent call upon their best and
most delicate emotions.  And the worst of it was (from the
gentleman's point of view), that the contest was unequal.  The
golden apples were not his to cast, but Atalanta's.  The lady was
to have the land, even without accepting love.  Moreover, he was
fifty per cent beyond her in age, and Hymen would make her a mamma
without invocation of Lucina.  But highest and deepest woe of all,
most mountainous of obstacles, was the lofty skyline of his nose,
inherited from the Roman.  If the lady's corresponding feature had
not corresponded--in other words, if her nose had been chubby,
snub, or even Greek--his bold bridge must have served him well, and
even shortened access to rosy lips and tender heart.  But, alas!
the fair one's nose was also of the fine imperial type, truly
admirable in itself, but (under one of nature's strictest laws) coy
of contact with its own male expression.  Love, whose joy and
fierce prank is to buckle to the plated pole ill-matched forms and
incongruous spirits, did not fail of her impartial freaks.  Mr.
Mordacks had to cope with his own kin, and found the conflict so
severe that not a breath of time was left him for anybody's
business but his own.

If luck was against him in that quarter (although he would not own
it yet), at York and Flamborough it was not so.  No crisis arose to
demand his presence; no business went amiss because of his having
to work so hard at love.  There came, as there sometimes does in
matters pressing, tangled, and exasperating, a quiet period, a
gentle lull, a halcyon time when the jaded brain reposes, and the
heart may hatch her own mares'-nests.  Underneath that tranquil
spell lay fond Joe and Bob (with their cash to spend), Widow
Precious (with her beer laid in), and Widow Carroway, with a dole
at last extorted from the government; while Anerley Farm was
content to hearken the creak of wagon and the ring of flail, and
the rector of Flamborough once more rejoiced in the bloodless war
that breeds good-will.

For Sir Duncan Yordas was a fine chess-player, as many Indian
officers of that time were; and now that he was coming to his
proper temperature (after three months of barbed stab of cold, and
the breach of the seal of the seventy-seventh phial of Dr.
Stirbacks), in gratitude for that miraculous escape, he did his
very best to please everybody.  To Dr. Upround he was an agreeable
and penetrative companion; to Mrs. Upround, a gallant guest, with a
story for every slice of bread and butter; to Janetta, a deity
combining the perfections of Jupiter, Phoebus, Mars, and Neptune
(because of his yacht), without any of their drawbacks; and to
Flamborough, more largely speaking, a downright good sort of
gentleman, combining a smoke with a chaw--so they understood
cigars--and not above standing still sometimes for a man to say
some sense to him.

But before Mr. Mordacks left his client under Dr. Upround's care,
he had done his best to provide that mischief should not come of
gossip; and the only way to prevent that issue is to preclude the
gossip.  Sir Duncan Yordas, having lived so long in a large
commanding way, among people who might say what they pleased of
him, desired no concealment here, and accepted it unwillingly.  But
his agent was better skilled in English life, and rightly foresaw a
mighty buzz of nuisance--without any honey to be brought home--from
the knowledge of the public that the Indian hero had begotten the
better-known apostle of free trade.  Yet it might have been hard to
persuade Sir Duncan to keep that great fact to himself, if his son
had been only a smuggler, or only a fugitive from a false charge of
murder.  But that which struck him in the face, as soon as he was
able to consider things, was the fact that his son had fled and
vanished, leaving his underlings to meet their fate.  "The
smuggling is a trifle," exclaimed the sick man; "our family never
was law-abiding, and used to be large cattle-lifters; even the
slaying of a man in hot combat is no more than I myself have done,
and never felt the worse for it.  But to run away, and leave men to
be hanged, after bringing them into the scrape himself, is not the
right sort of dishonor for a Yordas.  If the boy surrenders, I
shall be proud to own him.  But until he does that, I agree with
you, Mordacks, that he does not deserve to know who he is."

This view of the case was harsh, perhaps, and showed some ignorance
of free-trade questions, and of English justice.  If Robin Lyth had
been driven, by the heroic view of circumstances, to rush into
embrace constabular, would that have restored the other six men to
family sinuosities?  Not a chance of it.  Rather would it treble
the pangs of jail--where they enjoyed themselves--to feel that
anxiety about their pledges to fortune from which the free Robin
relieved them.  Money was lodged and paid as punctual as the bank
for the benefit of all their belongings.  There were times when the
sailors grumbled a little because they had no ropes to climb; but
of any unfriendly rope impending they were too wise to have much
fear.  They knew that they had not done the deed, and they felt
assured that twelve good men would never turn round in their box to
believe it.

Their captain took the same view of the case.  He had very little
doubt of their acquittal if they were defended properly; and of
that a far wealthier man than himself, the Chancellor of the
Exchequer of free trade, Master Rideout of Malton, would take good
care, if the money left with Dr. Upround failed.  The surrender of
Robin would simply hurt them, unless they were convicted, and in
that case he would yield himself.  Sir Duncan did not understand
these points, and condemned his son unjustly.  And Mordacks was no
longer there to explain such questions in his sharp clear way.

Being in this sadly disappointed state, and not thoroughly
delivered from that renal chill (which the northeast wind, coming
over the leather of his valise, had inflicted), this gentleman,
like a long-pendulous grape with the ventilators open, was exposed
to the delicate insidious billing of little birds that love
something good.  It might be wrong--indeed, it must be wrong, and a
foul slur upon fair sweet love--to insinuate that Indian gold, or
rank, or renown, or vague romance, contributed toward what came to
pass.  Miss Janetta Upround, up to this time of her life, had
laughed at all the wanton tricks of Cupid; and whenever the married
women told her that her time would be safe to come, and then she
might understand their behavior, they had always been ordered to go
home and do their washing.  And this made it harder for her to be
mangled by the very tribulation she had laughed at.

Short little sighs were her first symptom, and a quiet way of going
up the stairs--which used to be a noisy process with her--and then
a desire to know something of history, and a sudden turn of mind
toward soup.  Sir Duncan had a basin every day at twelve o'clock,
and Janetta had orders to see him do it, by strict institution of
Stirbacks.  Those orders she carried out with such zeal that she
even went so far as to blow upon the spoon; and she did look nice
while doing it.  In a word--as there is no time for many--being
stricken, she did her best to strike, as the manner of sweet women
is.

Sir Duncan Yordas received it well.  Being far on toward her
futurity in years, and beyond her whole existence in experience and
size, he smiled at her ardor and short vehemence to please him, and
liked to see her go about, because she turned so lightly.  Then the
pleasant agility of thought began to make him turn to answer it;
and whenever she had the best of him in words, her bright eyes
fell, as if she had the worst.  "She doesn't even know that she is
clever," said the patient to himself, "and she is the first person
I have met with yet who knows which side of the line Calcutta is."

The manner of those benighted times was to keep from young ladies
important secrets which seemed to be no concern of theirs.  Miss
Upround had never been told what brought this visitor to
Flamborough, and although she had plenty of proper curiosity, she
never got any reward for it.  Only four Flamburians knew that Sir
Duncan was Robin Lyth's papa--or, as they would put it (having
faster hold of the end of the stick next to them), that Robin Lyth
was the son of Sir Duncan.  And those four were, by force of
circumstance, Robin Cockscroft and Joan his wife, the rector and
the rectoress.  Even Dr. Stirbacks (organically inquisitive as he
was, and ill content to sniff at any bottle with the cork tied
down), by mastery of Mordacks and calm dignity of rector, was able
to suspect a lot of things, but to be sure of none of them; and
suspicion, according to its usual manner, never came near the truth
at all.  Miss Upround, therefore, had no idea that if she became
Lady Yordas, which she very sincerely longed to be, she would, by
that event, be made the step-mother of a widely celebrated
smuggler; while her Indian hero, having no idea of her flattering
regard as yet, was not bound to enlighten her upon that point.

At Anerley Farm the like ignorance prevailed; except that Mistress
Anerley, having a quick turn for romance, and liking to get her
predictions confirmed, recalled to her mind (and recited to her
husband in far stronger language) what she had said, in the clover-
blossom time, to the bravest man that ever lived, the lamented
Captain Carroway.  Captain Carroway's dauntless end, so thoroughly
befitting his extraordinary exploits, for which she even had his
own authority, made it the clearest thing in all the world that
every word she said to him must turn out Bible-true.  And she had
begged him--and one might be certain that he had told it, as a good
man must, to his poor dear widow--not to shoot at Robin Lyth;
because he would get a thousand pounds, instead of a hundred for
doing it.  She never could have dreamed to find her words come true
so suddenly; but here was an Indian Prince come home, who employed
the most pleasant-spoken gentleman; and he might know who it was he
had to thank that even in the cave the captain did not like to
shoot that long-lost heir; and from this time out there was no
excuse for Stephen if he ever laughed at anything that his wife
said.  Only on no account must Mary ever hear of it; for a bird in
the hand was worth fifty in the bush; and the other gone abroad,
and under accusation, and very likely born of a red Indian mother.
Whereas Harry Tanfield's father, George, had been as fair as a
foal, poor fellow; and perhaps if the church books had been as he
desired, he might have kept out of the church-yard to this day.

"And me in it," the farmer answered, with a laugh--"dead for love
of my wife, Sophy; as wouldn't 'a been my wife, nor drawn nigh upon
fi' pounds this very week for feathers, fur, and ribbon stuff.
Well, well, George would 'a come again, to think of it.  How many
times have I seen him go with a sixpence in the palm of 's hand,
and think better of the king upon it, and worser of the poor chap
as were worn out, like the tail of it!  Then back go the sixpence
into George's breeches; and out comes my shilling to the starving
chap, on the sly, and never mentioned.  But for all that, I think,
like enow, old George mought 'a managed to get up to heaven."

"Stephen, I wish to hear nothing of that.  The question concerns
his family, not ours, as Providence has seen fit to arrange.  Now
what is your desire to have done with Mary?  William has made his
great discovery at last; and if we should get the 10,000 pounds,
nobody need look down on us."

"I should like to see any one look down on me," Master Anerley
said, with his back set straight; "a' mought do so once, but a'
would be sorry afterward.  Not that I would hinder him of 's own
way; only that he better keep out of mine.  Sometimes, when you go
thinking of your own ideas, you never seem to bear in mind what my
considerations be."

"Because you can not follow out the quickness of the way I think.
You always acknowledge that, my dear."

"Well, well.  Quick churn spoileth butter.  Like Willie with his
perpetual motion.  What good to come of it, if he hath found out?
And a' might, if ever a body did, from the way he goeth jumping
about forever, and never hold fast to anything.  A nice thing
'twould be for the fools to say, perpetual motion come from Anerley
Farm!"

"You never will think any good of him, Stephen, because his mind
comes from my side.  But wait till you see the 10,000 pounds."

"That I will; and thank the Lord to live so long.  But, to come to
common-sense--how was Mary and Harry a-carrying on this afternoon?"

"Not so very bad, father; and nothing good to speak of.  He kept on
very well from the corners of his eyes; but she never corresponded,
so to speak--same as--you know."

"The same as you used to do when you was young.  Well, manners may
be higher stylish now.  Did he ask her about the hay-rick?"

"That he did.  Three or four times over; exactly as you said it to
him.  He knew that was how you got the upper hand of me, according
to your memory, but not mine; and he tried to do it the very same
way; but the Lord makes a lot of change in thirty years of time.
Mary quite turned her nose up at any such riddle, and he pulled his
spotted handkerchief out of that new hat of his, and the fagot
never saw fit to heed even the color of his poor red cheeks.
Stephen, you would have marched off for a week if I had behaved to
you so."

"And the right way too; I shall put him up to that.  Long sighs
only leads to turn-up noses.  He plays too knuckle-down at it.  You
should go on with your sweetheart very mild at first; just a-
feeling for her finger-tips; and emboldening of her to believe that
you are frightened, and bringing her to peep at you as if you was a
blackbird, ready to pop out of sight.  That makes 'em wonderful
curious and eager, and sticks you into 'em, like prickly spinach.
But you mustn't stop too long like that.  You must come out large,
as a bull runs up to gate; and let them see that you could smash it
if you liked, but feel a goodness in your heart that keeps you out
of mischief.  And then they comes up, and they says, 'poor
fellow!'"

"Stephen, I do not approve of such expressions, or any such low
opinions.  You may know how you went on.  Such things may have
answered once; because of your being--yourself, you know.  But
Mary, although she may not have my sense, must have her own
opinions.  And the more you talk of what we used to do--though I
never remember your trotting up, like a great bull roaring, to any
kind of gate--the less I feel inclined to force her.  And who is
Harry Tanfield, after all?"

"We know all about him," the farmer answered; "and that is
something to begin with.  His land is worth fifteen shillings an
acre less than ours, and full of kid-bine.  But, for all that, he
can keep a family, and is a good home-dweller.  However, like the
rest of us, in the way of women, he must bide his bolt, and bode
it."

"Father," the mistress of the house replied, "I shall never go one
step out of my way to encourage a young man who makes you speak so
lightly of those you owe so much to.  Harry Tanfield may take his
chance for me."

"So a' may for me, mother--so a' may for me.  If a' was to have our
Mary, his father George would be coming up between us, out of his
peace in churchyard, more than he doth a'ready; and a' comes too
much a'ready.--Why, poppet, we were talking of you--fie, fie,
listening!"

"No, now, father," Mary Anerley answered, with a smile at such a
low idea; "you never had that to find fault with me, I think.  And
if you are plotting against me for my good--as mother loves to put
it--it would be the best way to shut me out before you begin to do
it."

"Why, bless my heart and soul," exclaimed the farmer, with a most
crafty laugh--for he meant to kill two birds with one stone--"if
the lass hathn't got her own dear mother's tongue, and the very
same way of turning things!  There never hath been such a time as
this here.  The childer tell us what to do, and their mothers tell
us what not to do.  Better take the business off my hands, and sell
all they turnips as is rotting.  Women is cheats, and would warrant
'em sound, with the best to the top of the bury.  But mind you one
thing--if I retires from business, like Brother Popplewell, I shall
expect to be supported; cheap, but very substantial."

"Mary, you are wicked to say such things," Mistress Anerley began,
as he went out, "when you know that your dear father is such a
substantial silent man."



CHAPTER XLIX

A BOLD ANGLER


As if in vexation at being thwarted by one branch of the family,
Cupid began to work harder at the other, among the moors and
mountains.  Not that either my lady Philippa or gentle Mistress
Carnaby fell back into the snares of youth, but rather that youth,
contemptuous of age, leaped up, and defied everybody but itself,
and cried tush to its own welfare.

For as soon as the trance of snow was gone, and the world,
emboldened to behold itself again, smiled up from genial places;
and the timid step of peeping spring awoke a sudden flutter in the
breast of buds; and streams (having sent their broken anger to the
sea) were pleased to be murmuring clearly again, and enjoyed their
own flexibility; and even stern mountains and menacing crags
allowed soft light to play with them--at such a time prudence found
very narrow house-room in the breast of young Lancelot, otherwise
"Pet."

"If Prudence be present, no Divinity is absent," according to high
authority; but the author of the proverb must have first excluded
Love from the list of Divinities.  Pet's breast, or at any rate his
chest, had grown under the expansive enormity of love; his liver,
moreover (which, according to poets, both Latin and Greek, is the
especial throne of love), had quickened its proceedings, from the
exercise he took; from the same cause, his calves increased so
largely that even Jordas could not pull the agate buttons of his
gaiters through their holes.  In a word, he gained flesh, muscle,
bone, and digestion, and other great bodily blessings, from the
power believed by the poets to upset and annihilate every one of
them.  However, this proves nothing anti-poetical, for the essence
of that youth was to contradict experience.

Jordas had never, in all his born days, not even in the thick of
the snow-drift, found himself more in a puzzle than now; and he
could not even fly for advice in this matter to Lawyer Jellicorse.
The first great gift of nature, expelled by education, is
gratitude.  A child is full of gratitude, or at least has got the
room for it; but no full-grown mortal, after good education, has
been known to keep the rudiments of thankfulness.  But Jordas had a
stock of it--as much as can remain to any one superior to the
making of a cross.

Now the difficulty of it was that Jordas called to mind, every
morning when he saw snow, and afterward when he saw anything white,
that he must have required a grave, and not got it (in time to be
any good to him), without the hard labor, strong endurance, and
brotherly tendance of the people of the gill.  Even the three grand
fairy gifts of Lawyer Jellicorse himself might scarcely have saved
him, although they were no less than as follows, in virtue: the tip
of a tongue that had never told a lie (because it belonged to a
bullock slain young), a flask of old Scotch whiskey, and a horn
comfit-box of Irish snuff.  All these three had stood him in good
stead, especially the last, which kept him wide-awake, and enabled
him to sneeze a yellow hole in the drift, whenever it threatened to
ingulf his beard.  Without those three he could never have got on;
but, with all the three, he could never have got out, if Bat and
Maunder of the gill had not come to his succor in the very nick of
time.  Not only did they work hard for hours under the guidance of
Saracen (who was ready to fly at them if they left off), but when
at length they came on Jordas, in his last exhaustion, with the
good horse rubbing up his chin to make him warmer, they did a sight
of things, which the good Samaritan, having finer climate, was
enabled to dispense with.  And when they had set him on his legs
again, finding that he could not use them yet, they hoisted him on
the back of Maunder, who was strong; and the whole of that
expedition ended at the little cottage in the gill.  But the
kindness of the inhabitants was only just beginning; for when
Jordas came to himself he found that his off-foot--as Marmaduke
would have called it--the one which had ridden with a northeast
aspect, was frozen as hard as a hammer, and as blue as a pistol
barrel.  Mrs. Bart happened to have seen such cases in her native
country, and by her skillful treatment and never-wearying care, the
poor fellow's foot was saved and cured, though at one time he
despaired of it.  Marmaduke also was restored, and sent home to his
stable some days before his rider was in a condition to mount him.

In return for all these benefits, how could the dogman, without
being worse than a dog, go and say to his ladies that mischief was
breeding between their heir and a poor girl who lived in a corner
of their land?  If he had been ungrateful, or in any way a sneak,
he might have found no trouble in this thing; but being, as he was,
an honest, noble-hearted fellow, he battled severely in his mind to
set up the standard of the proper side to take.  For such matters
Pet cared not one jot.  Crafty as he was, he could never understand
that Jordas and Welldrum were not the same man, one half working
out-of-doors, and the other in.  For him it was enough that Jordas
would not tell, probably because he was afraid to do so, and Pet
resolved to make him useful.  For Lancelot Carnaby was very sharp
indeed in espying what suited his purpose.  His set purpose was to
marry Insie Bart, in whom he had sense enough to perceive his
better, in every respect but money and birth, in which two he was
before her, or at any rate supposed so.  He was proud, as need be,
of his station in life; but he reasoned--if the process of his mind
was reason--that being so exalted, he might please himself; that
his wife would rise to his rank, instead of lowering him; that her
father was a man of education and a gentleman, although he worked
with his own hands; and that Insie was a lady, though she went to
fill a pitcher.

For one happy fact the youth deserved some credit, or rather,
perhaps, his youth deserved it for him.  He was madly in love with
Insie, and his passion could not be of very high spiritual order;
but the idea of obtaining her dishonorably never occurred to his
mind for one moment.  He knew her to be better, purer, and nobler
than himself in every way; and he felt, though he did not want to
feel it, that her nature gave a lift to his.  Insie, on the other
hand, began to like him better, and to despise him less and less;
his reckless devotion to her made its way; and in spite of all her
common-sense, his beauty and his lordly style had attractions for
her young romance.  And at last her heart began to bound, like his,
when they were together.  "With all thy faults, I love thee still,"
was the loose condition of her youthful mind.

Into every combination, however steep and deep be the gill of its
quiet incubation, a number of people and of things peep in, and
will enter, like the cuckoo, at the glimpse of a white feather, or
even without it, unless beak and claw are shown.  And now the
intruder into Pet's love nest had the right to look in, and to pull
him out, neck and crop, unless he sat there legally.  Whether birds
discharge fraternal duty is a question for Notes and Queries even
in the present most positive age.  Sophocles says that the clever
birds feed their parents and their benefactors, and men ascribe
piety to them in fables, as a needful ensample to one another.

Be that as it may, this Maunder Bart, when his rather slow
attention was once aroused, kept a sharp watch upon his young
landlord's works.  It was lucky for Pet that he meant no harm, and
that Maunder had contemptuous faith in him; otherwise Insie's
brother would have shortly taken him up by his gaiters, and softly
beaten his head in against a rock.  For Mr. Bart's son was of
bitter, morose, and almost savage nature, silent, moody, and as
resolute as death.  He resented and darkly repined at the loss of
position and property of which he had heard, and he scorned the
fine sentiments which had led to nothing at all substantial.  It
was not in his power to despise his father, for his mind felt the
presence of the larger one; but he did not love him as a son should
do; neither did he speak out his thoughts to anybody beyond a few
mutters to his mother.  But he loved his gentle sister, and found
in her a goodness which warmed him up to think about getting some
upon his own account.

Such thoughts, however, were fugitive, and Maunder's more general
subject of brooding was the wrong he had suffered through his
father.  He was living and working like a peasant or a miner,
instead of having horses, and dogs, and men, and the right to kick
out inferior people--as that baby Lancelot Carnaby had--for no
other reason, that he could find, than the magnitude of his
father's mind.  He had gone into the subject with his father long
ago--for Mr. Bart felt a noble pride in his convictions--and the
son lamented with all his heart the extent of his own father's
mind.  In his lonely walks, heavy hours, and hard work--which last
he never grudged, for his strength required outlet--he pondered
continually upon one thing, and now he seemed to see a chance of
doing it.  The first step in his upward course would be Insie's
marriage with Lancelot.

Pet, who had no fear of any one but Maunder, tried crafty little
tricks to please him; but instead of earning many thanks, got none
at all, which made him endeavor to improve himself.  Mr. Bart's
opinion of him now began to follow the course of John Smithies's,
and Smithies looked at it in one light only (ever since Pet so
assaulted him, and then trusted his good-will across the dark
moors), and that light was that "when you come to think of him, you
mustn't be too hard upon him, after all."  And one great excellence
of this youth was that he cared not a doit for general opinion, so
long as he got his own special desire.

His desire was, not to let a day go by without sight and touch of
Insie.  These were not to be had at a moment's notice, nor even by
much care; and five times out of six he failed of so much as a
glimpse or a word of her.  For the weather and the time of year
have much to say concerning the course of the very truest love, and
worse than the weather itself too often is the cloudy caprice of
maiden mind.

Insie's father must have known what attraction drew this youth to
such a cold unfurnished spot, and if he had been like other men, he
would either have nipped in the bud this passion, or, for selfish
reasons, fostered it.  But being of large theoretical mind, he
found his due outlet in giving advice.

It is plain at a glance that in such a case the mother is the
proper one to give advice, and the father the one to act
strenuously.  But now Mrs. Bart, who was a very good lady, and had
gone through a world of trouble from the want of money--the which
she had cast away for sake of something better--came to the
forefront of this pretty little business, as Insie's mother,
vigorously.

"Christophare," she said to her husband, "not often do I speak,
between us, of the affairs it is wise to let alone.  But now of our
dear child Inesa it is just that I should insist something.
Mandaro, which you call English Maunder, already is destroyed for
life by the magnitude of your good mind.  It is just that his
sister should find the occasion of reversion to her proper grade of
life.  For you, Christophare, I have abandoned all, and have the
good right to claim something from you.  And the only thing that I
demand is one--let Inesa return to the lady."

"Well," said Mr. Bart, who had that sense of humor without which no
man can give his property away, "I hope that she never has departed
from it.  But, my dear, as you make such a point of it, I will
promise not to interfere, unless there is any attempt to do wrong,
and intrap a poor boy who does not know his own mind.  Insie is his
equal by birth and education, and perhaps his superior in that
which comes foremost nowadays--the money.  Dream not that he is a
great catch, my dear; I know more of that matter than you do.  It
is possible that he may stand at the altar with little to settle
upon his bride except his bright waistcoat and gaiters."

"Tush, Christophare!  You are, to my mind, always an enigma."

"That is as it should be, and keeps me interesting still.  But this
is a mere boy and girl romance.  If it meant anything, my only
concern would be to know whether the boy was good.  If not, I
should promptly kick him back to his own door."

"From my observation, he is very good--to attend to his rights, and
make the utmost of them."

Mr. Bart laughed, for he knew that a little hit at himself was
intended; and very often now, as his joints began to stiffen, he
wished that his youth had been wiser.  He stuck to his theories
still; but his practice would have been more of the practical kind,
if it had come back to be done again.  But his children and his
wife had no claim to bring up anything, because everything was gone
before he undertook their business.  However, he obtained reproach--
as always seems to happen--for those doings of his early days
which led to their existence.  Still, he liked to make the best of
things, and laughed, instead of arguing.

For a short time, therefore, Lancelot Carnaby seemed to have his
own way in this matter, as well as in so many others.  As soon as
spring weather unbound the streams, and enlarged both the spots and
the appetite of trout (which mainly thrive together), Pet became
seized, by his own account, with insatiable love of angling.  The
beck of the gill, running into the Lune, was alive, in those
unpoaching days, with sweet little trout of a very high breed,
playful, mischievous, and indulging (while they provoked) good
hunger.  These were trout who disdained to feed basely on the
ground when they could feed upward, ennobling almost every gulp
with a glimpse of the upper creation.  Mrs. Carnaby loved these
"graceful creatures," as she always called them, when fried well;
and she thought it so good and so clever of her son to tempt her
poor appetite with them.

"Philippa, he knows--perhaps your mind is absent," she said, as she
put the fifth trout on her plate at breakfast one fine morning--"he
feels that these little creatures do me good, and to me it becomes
a sacred duty to endeavor to eat them."

"You seem to succeed very well, Eliza."

"Yes, dear, I manage to get on a little, from a sort of sporting
feeling that appeals to me.  Before I begin to lift the skins of
any of these little darlings, I can see my dear boy standing over
the torrent, with his wonderful boldness, and bright eagle eyes--"

"To pull out a fish of an ounce and a half.  Without any disrespect
to Pet, whose fishing apparel has cost 20 pounds, I believe that
Jordas catches every one of them."

Sad to say, this was even so; Lancelot tried once or twice, for
some five minutes at a time, throwing the fly as he threw a
skittle-ball; but finding no fish at once respond to his
precipitance, down he cast the rod, and left the rest of it to
Jordas.  But inasmuch as he brought back fish whenever he went out
fishing, and looked as brilliant and picturesque as a salmon-fly,
in his new costume, his mother was delighted, and his aunt, being
full of fresh troubles, paid small heed to him.

For as soon as the roads became safe again, and an honest attorney
could enter "horse hire" in his bill without being too chivalrous,
and the ink that had clotted in the good-will time began to form
black blood again, Mr. Jellicorse himself resolved legitimately to
set forth upon a legal enterprise.  The winter had shaken him
slightly--for even a solicitor's body is vulnerable; and well for
the clerk of the weather it is that no action lies against him--and
his good wife told him to be very careful, although he looked as
young as ever.  She had no great opinion of the people he was going
to, and was sure that they would be too high and mighty even to see
that his bed was aired.  For her part, she hoped that the reports
were true which were now getting into every honest person's mouth;
and if he would listen to a woman's common-sense, and at once go
over to the other side, it would serve them quite right, and be the
better for his family, and give a good lift to his profession.  But
his honesty was stout, and vanquished even his pride in his
profession.



CHAPTER L

PRINCELY TREATMENT


"This, then, is what you have to say," cried my lady Philippa, in a
tone of little gratitude, and perhaps not purely free from wrath;
"this is what has happened, while you did nothing?"

"Madam, I assure you," Mr. Jellicorse replied, "that no one point
has been neglected.  And truly I am bold enough--though you may not
perceive it--to take a little credit to myself for the skill and
activity of my proceedings.  I have a most conceited man against
me; no member at all of our honored profession; but rather inclined
to make light of us.  A gentleman--if one may so describe him--of
the name of Mordacks, who lives in a den below a bridge in York,
and has very long harassed the law by a sort of cheap-jack, slap-
dash, low-minded style of doing things.  'Jobbing,' I may call it--
cheap and nasty jobbing--not at all the proper thing, from a
correct point of view.  'A catch-penny fellow,' that's the proper
name for him--I was trying to think of it half the way from
Middleton."

"And now, in your eloquence, you have hit upon it.  I can easily
understand that such a style of business would not meet with your
approbation.  But, Mr. Jellicorse, he seems to me to have proved
himself considerably more active in his way--however objectionable
that may be--than you, as our agent, have shown yourself."

The cheerful, expressive, and innocent face of Mr. Jellicorse
protested now.  By nature he was almost as honest as Geoffrey
Mordacks himself could be; and in spite of a very long professional
career, the original element was there, and must be charged for.

"I can not recall to my memory," he said, "any instance of neglect
on my part.  But if that impression is upon your mind, it would be
better for you to change your legal advisers at an early
opportunity.  Such has been the frequent practice, madam, of your
family.  And but for that, none of this trouble could exist.  I
must beg you either to withdraw the charge of negligence, which I
understand you to have brought, or else to appoint some gentleman
of greater activity to conduct your business."

With the haughtiness of her headstrong race, Miss Yordas had failed
as yet to comprehend that a lawyer could be a gentleman.  And even
now that idea scarcely broke upon her, until she looked hard at Mr.
Jellicorse.  But he, having cast aside all deference for the
moment, met her stern gaze with such courteous indifference and
poise of self-composure that she suddenly remembered that his
grandfather had been the master of a pack of fox-hounds.

"I have made no charge of negligence; you are hasty, and
misunderstand me," she answered, after waiting for him to begin
again, as if he were a rash aggressor.  "It is possible that you
desire to abandon our case, and conceive affront where none is
meant whatever."

"God forbid!" Mr. Jellicorse exclaimed, with his legal state of
mind returning.  "A finer case never came into any court of law.
There is a coarse axiom, not without some truth, that possession is
nine points of the law.  We have possession.  What is even more
important, we have the hostile instrument in our possession."

"You mean that unfortunate and unjust deed, of a by-gone time, that
was so wickedly concealed?  Dishonest transaction from first to
last!"

"Madam, the law is not to blame for that, nor even the lawyers; but
the clients, who kept changing them.  But for that, your admirable
father must have known that the will he dictated to me was waste
paper.  At least as regards the main part of these demesnes."

"What monstrous injustice!  A positive premium upon filial
depravity.  You regard things professionally, I suppose.  But
surely it must have struck you as a flagrant dishonesty, a base and
wicked crime, that a document so vile should be allowed even to
exist."

Miss Yordas had spoken with unusual heat; and the lawyer looked at
her with an air of mild inquiry.  Was it possible that she
suggested to him the destruction of the wicked instrument?  Ladies
had done queer things, within his knowledge; but this lady showed
herself too cautious for that.

"I know what my father would have done in such a case," she
continued, with her tranquil smile recovered: "he would just have
ridden up to his solicitor's office, demanded the implement of
robbery, brought it home, and set it upon the hall fire, in the
presence of the whole of his family and household.  But now we live
in such a strictly lawful age that no crime can be stopped, if only
perpetrated legally.  And you say that Mr. More--something,
'Moresharp,' I think it was, knows of that iniquitous production?"

"Madam, we can not be certain; but I have reason to suspect that
Mr. Mordacks has got wind of that unfortunate deed of appointment."

"Supposing that he has, and that he means to use his knowledge, he
can not force the document from your possession, can he?"

"Not without an order.  But by filing affidavit, after issue of
writ in ejectment, they may compel us to produce, and allow
attested copy to be taken."

"Then the law is disgraceful to the last degree, and it is useless
to own anything.  That deed is in your charge, as our attorney, I
suppose, sir?"

"By no other right, madam: we have twelve chestfuls, any one or all
of which I am bound to render up to your order."

"Our confidence in you is unshaken.  But without shaking it we
might order home any particular chest for inspection?"

"Most certainly, madam, by giving us receipt for it.  For
antiquarian uses, and others, such a thing is by no means
irregular.  And the oldest of all the deeds are in that box--
charters from the crown, grants from corporations, records of assay
by arms--warrants that even I can not decipher."

"A very learned gentleman is likely soon to visit us--a man of
modern family, who spends his whole time in seeking out the stories
of the older ones.  No family in Yorkshire is comparable to ours in
the interest of its annals."

"That is a truth beyond all denial, madam.  The character of your
ancient race has always been a marked one."

"And always honorable, Mr. Jellicorse.  Undeviating principle has
distinguished all my ancestors.  Nothing has ever been allowed to
stand between them and their view of right."

"You could not have put it more clearly, Mistress Yordas.  Their
own view of right has been their guiding star throughout.  And they
never have failed to act accordingly."

"Alas! of how very few others can we say it!  But being of a very
good old family yourself, you are able to appreciate such conduct.
You would like me, perhaps, to sign the order for that box of
ancient--cartularies--is not that the proper word for them?  And it
might be as well to state why they happen to be wanted--for
purposes of family history."

"Madam, I will at once prepare a memorandum for your signature and
your sister's."

The mind of Mr. Jellicorse was much relieved, although the relief
was not untempered with misgivings.  He sat down immediately at an
ancient writing-table, and prepared a short order for delivery, to
their trusty servant Jordas, of a certain box, with the letter C
upon it, and containing title-deeds of Scargate Hall estate.

"I think it might be simpler not to put it so precisely," my lady
Philippa suggested, "but merely to say a box containing the oldest
of the title-deeds, as required for an impending antiquarian
research."

Mr. Jellicorse made the amendment; and then, with the prudence of
long practice, added, "The order should be in your handwriting,
madam; will it give you too much trouble just to copy it?"  "How
can it signify, if it bears our signatures?" his client asked, with
a smile at such a trifle; however, she sat down, and copied it upon
another sheet of paper.  Then Mr. Jellicorse, beautifully bowing,
drew near to take possession of his own handwriting; but the lady,
with a bow of even greater elegance, lifted the cover of the
standing desk, and therein placed both manuscripts; and the lawyer
perceived that he could say nothing.

"How delightful it is to be quit of business!"  The hostess now
looked hospitable.  "We need not recur to this matter, I do hope.
That paper, whatever it is, will be signed by both of us, and
handed over to you, in your legal head-quarters, to-morrow.  We
must have the pleasure of sending you home in the morning, Mr.
Jellicorse.  We have bought a very wonderful vehicle, invented for
such roads as ours, and to supersede the jumping-car.  It is
warranted to traverse any place a horse can travel, with luxurious
ease to the passengers, and safety of no common description.
Jordas will drive you; your horse can trot behind; and you can send
back by it whatever there may be."

Mr. Jellicorse detested new inventions, and objected most strongly
to any experiment made in his own body.  However, he would rather
die than plead his time of life in bar, and his faith in the dogman
was unlimited.  And now the gentle Mrs. Carnaby, who had gracefully
taken flight from "horrid business," returned in an evening dress
and with a sweetly smiling countenance, and very nearly turned the
Jellicorsian head, snowy as it was, with soft attentions and
delicious deference.

"I was treated like a prince," he said next day, when delivered
safe at home, and resting among his rather dingy household gods.
"There never could have been a more absurd idea than that notion of
yours about my being put into wet sheets, Diana.  Why, I even had
my night-cap warmed; and a young woman came, with a blush upon her
face, and a question whether I would be pleased to sleep in a gross
of Naples stockings!  Ah, to my mind, after all, it proves what I
have always said--that there is nothing like old blood."

"Nothing like old blood for being made a fool of," his wife
replied, with a coarseness which made him shiver, after Mrs.
Carnaby.  "They know what they are about, I'll lay a penny.  Some
roguery, no doubt, that they seek to lead you into.  That is what
their night-caps and stockings mean.  How low it is to make a
foreground of them!"

"Hush, my dear!  I can not bear such want of charity.  And what is
even worse, you expose me to an action at law, with heavy damages."

The lawyer had sundry little qualms of conscience, which were
deepened by his wife's sagacious words; and suddenly it struck him
that the new-fangled vehicle which had brought him home so quietly
from Scargate had shown a strange inability to stand still for more
than two minutes at his side door.  So much had he been hurried by
the apparent straits of his charioteer that he ran out with box C
without ever stopping to make an inventory of its contents--as he
intended to do--or even looking whether the all-important deed was
there.  In fact, he had scarcely time to seal up the key in a
separate package, hand it to Jordas, and take the order (now become
a receipt) from the horny fist of the dogman, before Marmaduke,
rendered more dashing by snow-drift, was away like a thunder-bolt--
if such a thing there be, and if it has four legs.

"How could I have helped doing as I have done?" he whispered to
himself, uncomfortably.  "Here are two ladies of high position, and
they send a joint order for their property.  By-the-bye, I will
just have a look at that order, now that there is no horse to jump
over me."  Upon going to the day file, he found the order right,
transcribed from his own amended copy, and bearing two signatures,
as it should do.  But it struck him that the words "Eliza Carnaby"
were written too boldly for that lady's hand; and the more he
looked at them, the more he was convinced of it.  That was no
concern of his, for it was not his duty, under the circumstances of
the case, to verify her signature.  But this conviction drove him
to an uncomfortable conclusion--"Miss Yordas intends to destroy
that deed without her sister's knowledge.  She knows that her
sister's nerve is weaker, and she does not like to involve her in
the job.  A very brave, sisterly feeling, no doubt, and much the
wiser course, if she means to do it.  It is a bold stroke, and well
worthy of a Yordas.  But I hope, with all my heart, that she never
can have thought of it.  And she kept that order in my handwriting
to make it look as if the suggestion came from me!  And I am as
innocent as any lamb is of the frauds that shall come to be written
on his skin.  The duty of attorney toward client prevents me from
opening my lips upon the matter.  But she is a deep woman, and a
bold one too.  May the Lord direct things aright!  I shall retire,
and let Robert have the practice, as soon as Brown's bankruptcy has
worn out captious creditors.  It is the Lord alone that doeth all
things well."

Mr. Jellicorse knew that he had done his best; and though doubtful
of the turn which things had taken, with some exclusion of his
agency, he felt (though his conscience told him not to feel it)
that here was one true source of joy.  That impudent, dashing,
unprofessional man, who was always poking his vile unarticled nose
into legal business, that fellow of the name of Mordacks, now would
have no locus standi left.  At least a hundred and fifty firms, of
good standing in the county, detested that man, and even a judge
would import a scintillula juris into any measure which relieved
the country of him.  Meditating thus, he heard a knock.



CHAPTER LI

STAND AND DELIVER


The day was not far worn as yet; and May month having come at last,
the day could stand a good deal of wear.  With Jordas burning to
exhibit the wonders of the new machine (which had been bought upon
his advice), and with Marmaduke conscious of the new gloss on his
coat, all previous times had been beaten--as the sporting writers
put it; that is to say, all previous times of the journey from
Scargate to Middleton, for any man who sat on wheels.  A rider
would take a shorter cut, and have many other advantages; but for a
driver the time had been the quickest upon record.

Mr. Jellicorse, exulting in his safety, had imprinted the chaste
salute upon his good wife's cheek at ten minutes after one o'clock;
when the clerks in the office with laudable promptitude (not
expecting him as yet) had unanimously cast down pen, and betaken
hand and foot toward knife and fork.  Instead of blaming them, this
good lawyer went upon that same road himself, with the great
advantage that the road to his dinner lay through his own kitchen.
At dinner-time he had much to tell, and many large helps to
receive, of interest and of admiration, especially from his pet
child Emily (who forgot herself so largely as to lick her spoon
while gazing), and after dinner he was not without reasons for
letting perhaps a little of the time slip by.  Therefore, by the
time he had described all dangers, discharged his duty to all
comforts, and held the little confidential talk with his wife and
himself above recorded, the clock had made its way to half past
three.

Mrs. Jellicorse and Emily were gone forth to pay visits; the
clerks, shut away in their own room, were busy, scratching up a
lovely case for nisi prius; the cook had thrown the sifted cinders
on the kitchen fire, and was gone with the maids to exchange just a
few constitutional words with the gardener; and the whole house was
drowsy with that by-time when light and shadow seem to mix
together, and far-away sounds take a faint to and fro, as if they
were the pendulum of silence.

"That is Emily's knock.  Impatient child!  Come back for her
mother's gloves, or something.  All the people are out; I must go
and let her in."

With these words, and a little placid frown--because a soft nap was
impending on his eyelids, and yet they were always glad to open on
his favorite--the worthy lawyer rose, and took a pinch of snuff to
rouse himself; but before he could get to the door, a louder and
more impatient rap almost made him jump.

"What a hurry you are in, my dear!  You really should try to learn
some little patience."

While he was speaking, he opened the door; and behold, there was no
little girl, but a tall and stately gentleman in horseman's dress,
and of strong commanding aspect.

"What is your pleasure, sir?" the lawyer asked, while his heart
began to flutter; for exactly such a visitor had caused him scare
of his life, when stronger by a quarter of a century than now.

"My pleasure, or rather my business, is with Mr. Jellicorse, the
lawyer."

"Then, sir, you have come to the right man for it.  My name is
Jellicorse, and greatly at your service.  Allow me the honor of
inviting you within."

"My name is Yordas--Sir Duncan Yordas," said the stranger, when
seated in the lawyer's private room.  "My father, Philip Yordas,
was a client of yours, and of other legal gentlemen before he came
to you.  Upon the day of his death, in the year 1777, you prepared
his will, which you have since found to be of no effect, except as
regards his personal estate, and about one-eighth part of the
realty.  Of the bulk of the land, including Scargate Hall, he could
not dispose, for the simple reason that it had been strictly
entailed by a deed executed by my grandfather and his wife in 1751.
Under that entail I take in fee, for it could not have been barred
without me; and I never concurred in any disentailing deed, and my
father never knew that such was needful."

"Excuse me, Sir Duncan, but you seem to be wonderfully apt with the
terms of our profession."

"I could scarcely be otherwise, after all that I have had to do
with law, in India.  Our first object is to apply our own laws, and
our second to spread our religion.  But no more of that.  Do you
admit the truth of a matter so stated that you can not fail to
grasp it?"

Sir Duncan Yordas, as he put this question, fixed large, unwavering,
and piercing eyes (against which no spectacles were any shelter)
upon the mild, amiable, and, generally speaking, very honest orbs
of sight which had lighted the path of the elder gentleman to good
repute and competence.  But who may turn a lawyer's hand from the
Heaven-sped legal plough?

"Am I to understand, Sir Duncan Yordas, that your visit to me is
of an amicable nature, and intended (without prejudice to other
interests) to ascertain, so far as may be compatible with
professional rules, how far my clients are acquainted with
documents alleged or imagined to be in existence, and how far their
conduct might be guided by desire to afford every reasonable
facility?"

"You are to understand simply this, that as the proper owner of
Scargate Hall, and the main part of the estates held with it, I
require you to sign a memorandum that you hold all the title-deeds
on my behalf, and to deliver at once to me that entailing
instrument of 1751, under which I make my claim."

"You speak, sir, as if you had already brought your action, and
entered verdict.  Legal process may be dispensed with in barbarous
countries, but not here.  The title-deeds and other papers of
Scargate Hall were placed in my custody neither by you nor on your
behalf, sir.  I hold them on behalf of those at present in
possession; and until I receive due instructions from them, or a
final order from a court of law, I should be guilty of a breach of
trust if I parted with a dog's-ear of them."

"You distinctly refuse my requirements, and defy me to enforce
them?"

"Not so, Sir Duncan.  I do nothing more than declare what my view
of my duty is, and decline in any way to depart from it."

"Upon that score I have nothing more to say.  I did not expect you
to give up the deeds, though in 'barbarous countries,' as you call
them, we have peremptory ways.  I will say more than that, Mr.
Jellicorse--I will say that I respect you for clinging to what you
must know better than anybody else to be the weaker side."

The lawyer bowed his very best bow, but was bound to enter protest
against the calm assumption of the claimant.

"Let us leave that question," Sir Duncan said; "the time would fail
us to discuss that now.  But one thing I surely may insist upon as
the proper heir of my grandfather.  I may desire you to produce for
my inspection that deed in pursuance of his marriage settlement,
which has for so many years lain concealed."

"With pleasure I will do so, Sir Duncan Yordas (presuming that any
such deed exists), upon the production of an order from the Court
either of King's Bench or of Common Pleas."

"In that case you would be obliged to produce it, and would earn no
thanks of mine.  But I ask you to lay aside the legal aspect; for
no action is pending, and perhaps never will be.  I ask you, as a
valued adviser of the family, and a trustworthy friend to its
interests--as a gentleman, in fact, rather than a mere lawyer--to
do a wise and amicable thing.  You can not in any way injure your
case, if a law case is to come of it, because we know all about the
deed already.  We even have an abstract of it as clear as you
yourself could make, and we have discovered that one of the
witnesses is still alive.  I have come to you myself in preference
to employing a lawyer, because I hope, if you meet me frankly, to
put things in train for a friendly and fair settlement.  I am not a
young man; I have been disappointed of any one to succeed me, and I
wish to settle my affairs in this country, and return to India,
which suits me better, and where I am more useful.  My sisters have
not behaved kindly to me; but that I must try to forgive and
forget.  I have thought matters over, and am quite prepared to
offer very liberal terms--in short, to leave them in possession of
Scargate, upon certain conditions and in a certain manner."

"Really, Sir Duncan," Mr. Jellicorse exclaimed, "allow me to offer
you a pinch of snuff.  You are pleased with it?  Yes, it is of
quite superior quality.  It saved the life of a most admirable
fellow, a henchman of your family--in fact, poor Jordas.  The power
of this snuff alone supported him from freezing--"

"At another time I may be highly interested in that matter," the
visitor replied, without meaning to be rude, but knowing that the
man of law was making passes to gain time; "just at present I must
ask you to say yes or no.  If you wish me to set my offer plainly
before you, and so relieve the property of the cost of a hopeless
struggle--for I have taken the opinion of the first real property
counsel of the age--you will, as a token of good faith and of
common-sense, produce for my inspection that deed-poll of November
15, 1751."

Poor Mr. Jellicorse was desperately driven.  He looked round the
room, to seek for any interruption.  He went to the window, and
pretended to see another visitor knocking at the door.  But no help
came; he must face it out himself; and Sir Duncan, with his quiet
resolution, looked more stern than his violent father.

"I think that before we proceed any further," said the lawyer, at
last sitting down, and taking up a pen and trying what the nib was
like, "we really should understand a little where we are already.
My own desire to avoid litigation is very strong--almost
unprofessionally so--though the first thing consulted by all of us
naturally is the pocket of our client--"

"Whether it will hold out, I suppose."  Sir Duncan Yordas departed
from his dignity in saying this, and was sorry as soon as he had
said it.

"That is the vulgar impression about us, which it is our duty to
disdain.  But without losing time upon that question, let me ask,
what shall I put down as your proposition, sir?"

"There is nothing to put down.  That is just the point.  I do not
come here with any formal proposition.  If that had been my object,
I would have brought a lawyer.  What I say is that I have the right
to see that deed.  It forms no part of my sisters' title-deeds, but
even destroys their title.  It belongs to me, it is my property,
and only through fraud is it now in your hands.  Of course we can
easily wrest it from you, and must do so if you defy me.  It rests
with you to take that risk.  But I prefer to cut things short.  I
pledge myself to two things--first, to leave the document in your
possession; and next, to offer fair and even handsome terms when
you have met me thus fairly.  Why should you object?  For we know
all about it.  Never mind how."

Those last three words decided the issue.  Even worse than the fear
of breach of trust was the fear of treason in the office, and the
lawyer's only chance of getting clew to that was to keep on terms
with this Sir Duncan Yordas.  There had been no treason whatever in
the office; neither had anything come out through the proctorial
firm in York, or Sir Walter Carnaby's solicitors; but a note among
longheaded Duncombe's papers had got into the hands of Mordacks.
Of that, however, Mr. Jellicorse had no idea.

"Sir Duncan Yordas, I will meet you as you come," he said, with his
good, fresh-colored face, as honest as the sun when the clouds roll
off.  "It is an unusual step on my part, and perhaps irregular.
But rather than destroy the prospect of a friendly compromise, I
will strain a point, and candidly admit that there is an instrument
open to an interpretation which might, or might not, be in your
favor."

"That I knew long ago, and more than that.  My demand is--to see
it, and to satisfy myself."

"Under the circumstances, I am half inclined to think that I should
be disposed to allow you that privilege if the document were in my
possession."

"Now, Mr. Jellicorse," Sir Duncan answered, showing his temper in
his eyes alone, "how much longer will you trifle with me?  Where is
that deed?"

Mr. Jellicorse drew forth his watch, took off his spectacles, and
dusted them carefully with a soft yellow handkerchief; then
restored them to their double sphere of usefulness, and perused,
with some diligence, the time of day.  By the law which compels a
man to sneeze when another man sets the example, Sir Duncan also
drew forth his watch.

"I am trying to make my reply as accurate," said the lawyer,
beginning to enjoy the position as a man, though not quite as a
lawyer--"as accurate as your candor and confidence really deserve,
Sir Duncan.  The box containing that document, to which you attach
so much importance (whether duly or otherwise is not for me to say
until counsel's opinion has been taken on our side), considering
the powers of the horse, that box should be about Stormy Gap by
this time.  A quarter to four by me.  What does your watch say,
sir?"

"The deed has been sent for, post-haste, has it?  And you know for
what purpose?"

"You must draw a distinction between the deed and the box
containing it, Sir Duncan.  Or, to put it more accurately, betwixt
that deed and its casual accompaniments.  It happens to be among
very old charters, which happen to be wanted for certain excellent
antiquarian purposes.  Such things are not in my line, I must
confess, although so deeply interesting.  But a very learned man
seems to have expressed--"

"Rubbish.  Excuse me, but you are most provoking.  You know, as
well as I do, that robbery is intended, and you allow yourself to
be made a party to it."

This was the simple truth; and the lawyer, being (by some strange
inversion of professional excellence) honest at the bottom, was
deeply pained at having such words used, as to, for, about, or in
anywise concerning him.

"I think, Sir Duncan, that you will be sorry," he answered, with
much dignity, "for employing such language where it can not be
resented.  Your father was a violent man, and we all expect
violence of your family."

"There is no time to go into that question now.  If I have wronged
you, I will beg your pardon.  A very few hours will prove how that
is.  How and by whom have you sent the box?"

Mr. Jellicorse answered, rather stiffly, that his clients had sent
a trusty servant with a light vehicle to fetch the box, and that
now he must be half way toward home.

"I shall overtake him," said Sir Duncan, with a smile; "I have a
good horse, and I know the shortcuts.  Hoofs without wheels go a
yard to a foot upon such rocky collar-work."

Without another word, except "Good-by," Sir Duncan Yordas left the
house, walked rapidly to the inn, and cut short the dinner his good
horse was standing up to.  In a very few minutes he was on Tees
bridge, with his face toward the home of his ancestors.

It may be supposed that neither his thoughts nor those of the
lawyer were very cheerful.  Mr. Jellicorse was deeply anxious as to
the conflict which must ensue, and as to the figure his fair fame
might cut, if this strange transaction should be exposed and
calumniated by evil tongues.  In these elderly days, and with all
experience, he had laid himself open, not legally perhaps, but
morally, to the heavy charge of connivance at a felonious act, and
even some contribution toward it.  He told himself vainly that he
could not help it, that the documents were in his charge only until
he was ordered to give them up, and that it was no concern of his
to anticipate what might become of them.  His position had truly
been difficult, but still he might have escaped from it with
clearer conscience.  His duty was to cast away drawing-room
manners, and warn Miss Yordas that the document she hated so was
not her own to deal with, but belonged (in equity at least) to
those who were entitled under it, and that to take advantage of her
wrongful possession, and destroy the foe, was a crime, and, more
than that, a shabby one.  The former point might not have stopped
her; but the latter would have done so without fail, for her pride
was equal to her daring.  But poor Mr. Jellicorse had felt the
power of a will more resolute than his own, and of grand
surroundings and exalted style; and his desire to please had
confused, and thereby overcome, his perception of the right.  But
now these reflections were all too late, and the weary brain found
comfort only in the shelter of its night-cap.

If a little slip had brought a very good man to unhappiness, how
much harder was it for Sir Duncan Yordas, who had committed no
offense at all!  No Yordas had ever cared a tittle for tattle--to
use their own expression--but deeper mischief than tattle must
ensue, unless great luck prevented it.  The brother knew well that
his sister inherited much of the reckless self-will which had made
the name almost a by-word, and which had been master of his own
life until large experience of the world, and the sense of
responsible power, curbed it.  He had little affection for that
sister left--for she had used him cruelly, and even now was
imbittering the injury--but he still had some tender feeling for
the other, who had always been his favorite.  And though cut off,
by his father's act, from due headship of the family, he was deeply
grieved, in this more enlightened age, to expose their uncivilized
turbulence.

Therefore he spurred his willing horse against the hill, and up the
many-winding ruggedness of road, hoping, at every turn, to descry
in the distance the vehicle carrying that very plaguesome box.  If
his son had been there, he might have told him, on the ridge of
Stormy Gap (which commanded high and low, rough and smooth, dark
and light, for miles ahead), that Jordas was taking the final turn,
by the furthest gleam of the water-mist, whence the stone road
labored up to Scargate.  But Sir Duncan's eyes--though as keen as
an eagle's while young--had now seen too much of the sun to make
out that gray atom gliding in the sunset haze.

Upon the whole, it was a lucky thing that he could not overtake the
car; for Jordas would never have yielded his trust while any life
was in him; and Sir Duncan having no knowledge of him, except as a
boy-of-all-work about the place, might have been tempted to use the
sword, without which no horseman then rode there.  Or failing that,
a struggle between two equally resolute men must have followed,
with none at hand to part them.

When the horseman came to the foot of the long steep pull leading
up to the stronghold of his race, he just caught a glimpse of the
car turning in at the entrance of the court-yard.  "They have half
an hour's start of me," he thought, as he drew up behind a rock,
that the house might not descry him; "if I ride up in full view, I
hurry the mischief.  Philippa will welcome me with the embers of my
title.  She must not suspect that the matter is so urgent.  Nobody
shall know that I am coming.  For many reasons I had better try the
private road below the Scarfe."



CHAPTER LII

THE SCARFE


Jordas, without suspicion of pursuit, had allowed no grass to grow
under the feet of Marmaduke on the homeward way.  His orders were
to use all speed, to do as he had done at the lawyer's private
door, and then, without baiting his horse, to drive back, reserving
the nose-bag for some very humpy halting-place.  There is no such
man, at the present time of day, to carry out strict orders, as the
dogman was, and the chance of there being such a one again
diminishes by very rapid process.  Marmaduke, as a horse, was of
equal quality, reasoning not about his orders, but about the way to
do them.

There was no special emergency now, so far as my lady Philippa
knew; but the manner of her mind was to leave no space between a
resolution and its execution.  This is the way to go up in the
world, or else to go down abruptly; and to her the latter would
have been far better than to halt between two opinions.  Her plan
had been shaped and set last night, and, like all great ideas, was
the simplest of the simple.  And Jordas, who had inklings of his
own, though never admitted to confidence, knew how to carry out the
outer part.

"When the turbot comes," she said to Welldrum, as soon as her long
sight showed her the trusty Jordas beginning the home ascent, "it
is to be taken first out of the car, and to my sister's sitting-
room; the other things Jordas will see to.  I may be going for a
little walk.  But you will at once carry up the turbot.  Mrs.
Carnaby's appetite is delicate."

The butler had his own opinion upon that interesting subject.  But
in her presence it must be his own.  Any attempt at enlargement of
her mind by exchange of sentiment--such as Mrs. Carnaby permitted
and enjoyed--would have sent him flying down the hill, pursued by
square-toed men prepared to add elasticity to velocity.  Therefore
Welldrum made a leg in silence, and retreated, while his mistress
prepared for her intended exploit.  She had her beaver hat and
mantle ready by the shrubbery door--as a little quiet postern of
her own was called--and in the heavy standing desk, or "secretary,"
of her private room she had stored a flat basket, or frail, of
stout flags, with a heavy clock weight inside it.

"Much better to drown the wretched thing than burn it," she had
been saying to herself, "especially at this time of year, when
fires are weak and telltale.  And parchment makes such a nasty
smell; Eliza might come in and suspect it.  But the Scarfe is a
trusty confidant."

Mistress Yordas, while sure that her sister (having even more than
herself at stake) would approve and even applaud her scheme, was
equally sure that it must be kept from her, both for its own sake
and for hers.  And the sooner it was done, the less the chance of
disturbing poor Eliza's mind.

The Scarfe is a deep pool, supposed to have no bottom (except,
perhaps, in the very bowels of the earth), upon one of the wildest
head-waters of the Tees.  A strong mountain torrent from a desolate
ravine springs forth with great ferocity, and sooner than put up
with any more stabs from the rugged earth, casts itself on air.
For a hundred and twenty feet the water is bright, in the novelty
and the power of itself, striking out freaks of eccentric flashes,
and even little sun-bows, in fine weather.  But the triumph is
brief; and a heavy retribution, created by its violence, awaits
below.  From the tossing turmoil of the fall two white volumes roll
away, with a clash of waves between them, and sweeping round the
craggy basin, meet (like a snowy wreath) below, and rush back in
coiling eddies flaked with foam.  All the middle is dark deep
water, looking on the watch for something to suck down.

What better duty, or more pious, could a hole like this perform,
than that of swallowing up a lawyer; or, if no such morsel offered,
then at least a lawyer's deeds?  Many a sheep had been there
ingulfed, and never saluted by her lambs again; and although a
lawyer by no means is a sheep (except in his clothing, and his eyes
perhaps), yet his doings appear upon the skin thereof, and enhance
its value more than drugs of Tyre.  And it is to be feared that
some fleeced clients will not feel the horror which they ought to
feel at the mode pursued by Mistress Yordas in the delivery of her
act and deed.

She came down the dell, from the private grounds of Scargate, with
a resolute face, and a step of strength.  The clock weight, that
should know time no more, was well imbosomed in the old deed-poll,
and all stitched firmly in the tough brown frail, whose handles
would help for a long strong cast.  Towering crags, and a ridge of
jagged scaurs, shut out the sunset, while a thicket of dwarf oak,
and the never-absent bramble, aproned the yellow dugs of shale with
brown.  In the middle was the caldron of the torrent, called the
"Scarfe," with the sheer trap-rock, which is green in the sunlight,
like black night flung around it, while a snowy wreath of mist
(like foam exhaling) circled round the basined steep, or hovered
over the chasm.

Miss Yordas had very stanch nerves, but still, for reasons of her
own, she disliked this place, and never came near it for pleasure's
sake, although in dry summers, when the springs were low, the fury
of the scene passed into grandeur, and even beauty.  But a Yordas
(long ago gone to answer for it) had flung a man, who plagued him
with the law, into this hole.  And what was more disheartening,
although of less importance, a favorite maid of this lady, upon the
exile of her sweetheart, hearing that his feet were upside down to
hers, and that this hole went right through the earth, had jumped
into it, in a lonely moment, instead of taking lessons in
geography.  Philippa Yordas was as brave as need be; but now her
heart began to creep as coldly as the shadows crept.

For now she was out of sight of home, and out of hearing of any
sound, except the roaring of the force.  The Hall was half a mile
away, behind a shoulder of thick-ribbed hill; and it took no sight
of this torrent, until it became a quiet river by the downward
road.  "I must be getting old," Miss Yordas thought, "or else this
path is much rougher than it used to be.  Why, it seems to be
getting quite dangerous!  It is too bad of Jordas not to see to
things better.  My father used to ride this way sometimes.  But how
could a horse get along here now?"

There used to be a bridle-road from the grounds of Scargate to a
ford below the force, and northward thence toward the Tees; or by
keeping down stream, and then fording it again, a rider might hit
upon the Middleton road, near the rock that warned the public of
the blood-hounds.  This bridle-road kept a great distance from the
cliffs overhanging the perilous Scarfe; and the only way down to a
view of the fall was a scrambling track, over rocks and trunks,
unworthy to be called a foot-path.  The lady with the bag had no
choice left but to follow this track, or else abandon her
intention.  For a moment she was sorry that she had not been
satisfied with some less troublesome destruction of her foe, even
at the risk of chance suspicions.  But having thus begun it, she
would not turn back, and be angry with her idle fears when she came
to think of them.

With hereditary scorn of second thoughts she cast away doubt, and
went down the steep, and stood on the brow of sheer rock, to
recover her breath and strength for a long bold cast.  The crag
beneath her feet was trembling with the power of the flood below,
and the white mist from the deep moved slowly, shrouding now, and
now revealing, the black gulf and its slippery walls.  For the last
few months Miss Yordas had taken very little exercise, and seldom
tasted the open air; therefore the tumult and terror of the place,
in the fading of the sky and darkening of the earth, got hold of
her more than they should have done.

With the frail in her right hand, poised upon three fingers (for
the fourth had been broken in her childhood), she planted the sole
of her left foot on the brink, and swung herself for the needful
cast.

A strong throw was needful to reach the black water that never gave
up anything: if the bag were dropped in the foaming race, it might
be carried back to the heel of the fall.  She was proud of her
bodily strength, which was almost equal to that of a muscular man,
and her long arm swelled with the vigor of the throw.  But just
when the weight should have been delivered, and flown with a hiss
into the bottomless abyss, a loose flag of the handle twisted on
her broken finger.  Instead of being freed, the bag fell back,
struck her in the chest, and threw her back, for the clock weight
was a heavy one.  Her balance was lost, her feet flew up, she fell
upon her back, and the smooth beaver cloak began sliding upon the
slippery rock.  Horrible death was pulling at her; not a stick nor
a stone was in reach of her hands, and the pitiless crags echoed
one long shriek above all the roar of the water-fall.  She strove
to turn over and grasp the ground, but only felt herself going
faster.  Her bright boots were flashing against the white mist--a
picture in her mind forever--her body was following, inch by inch.
With elbow and shoulder, and even hair coils, she strove to prolong
the descent into death; but the descent increased its speed, and
the sky itself was sliding.

Just when the balance was inclining downward, and the plunge
hanging on a hair's-breadth, powerful hands fell upon her
shoulders; a grating of a drag against the grain was the last thing
she was conscious of; and Sir Duncan Yordas, having made a strong
pull, at the imminent risk of his life, threw back his weight on
the heels of his boots, and they helped him.  His long Indian
spurs, which had no rowel, held their hold like a falcon's hind
talon; and he drew back the lady without knowing who she was,
having leaped from his horse at her despairing scream.  From his
knowledge of the place he concluded that it was some person seeking
suicide, but recoiling from the sight of death; and without another
thought he risked his life to save.

Breathless himself--for the transit of years and of curry-powder
had not improved his lungs--he labored at the helpless form, and
laid it at last in a place of safety.

"What a weight the lady is!" was his first idea; "it can not be
want of food that has driven her, nor of money either; her cloak
would fetch a thousand rupees in Calcutta.  And a bag full of
something--precious also, to judge by the way she clings to it.
Poor thing!  Can I get any water for her?  There used to be a
spring here, where the woodcocks came.  Is it safe to leave her?
Certainly not, with her head like that; she might even have
apoplexy.  Allow me, madam.  I will not steal it.  It is only for a
cushion."

The lady, however, though still in a stupor, kept her fingers
clinched upon the handle of the bag; and without using violence he
could not move them.  Then the stitching of the frail gave way, and
Sir Duncan espied a roll of parchment.  Suddenly the lady opened
large dark eyes, which wandered a little, and then (as he raised
her head) met his, and turned away.

"Philippa!" he said, and she faintly answered "Yes," being humbled
and shaken by her deadly terror, and scarcely sure of safety yet,
for the roar and the chasm were in sight and hearing still.

"Philippa, are you better?  Never mind what you were thinking of.
All shall be right about that, Philippa.  What is land in
comparison with life?  Look up at me.  Don't be afraid to look.
Surely you know your only brother!  I am Duncan, who ran away, and
has lived for years in India.  I used to be very kind to you when
we were children, and why should I alter from it now?  I remember
when you tumbled in the path down there, and your knee was
bleeding, and I tied it up with a dock leaf and my handkerchief.
Can you remember?  It was primrose time."

"To be sure I do," she said, looking up with cheerfulness; "and you
carried me all the way home almost, and Eliza was dreadfully
jealous."

"That she always was, and you not much better.  But now we are
getting on in life, and we need not have much to do with one
another.  Still, we may try not to kill one another by trumpery
squabbles about property.  Stay where you are for a moment, sister,
and you shall see the end of that."

Sir Duncan took the bag, with the deed inside it, returned in three
steps to the perilous shelf, and with one strong hurl sent forth
the load, which cleft the white mist, and sank forever in the waves
of the whirlpool.

"No one can prosecute me for that," he said, returning with a
smile, "though Mordacks may be much aggrieved.  Now, Philippa,
although I can not carry you well, from the additions time has made
to you, I can help you home, my dear; and then on upon my
business."

The pride and self-esteem of Miss Yordas had never been so crushed
before.  She put both hands upon her brother's shoulders, and burst
into a flood of tears.



CHAPTER LIII

BUTS REBUTTED


Sir Duncan Yordas was a man of impulse, as almost every man must be
who sways the wills of other men.  But he had not acted upon mere
impulse in casting away his claim to Scargate.  He knew that he
could never live in that bleak spot, after all his years in India;
he disliked the place, through his father's harshness; he did not
care that any son of his, who had lain under charge of a foul
crime, and fled instead of meeting it, should become a "Yordas of
Scargate Hall," although that description by no means involved any
very strict equity of conduct.  And besides these reasons, he had
another, which will appear very shortly.  But whatever the
secondary motives were, it was a large and generous act.

When Mrs. Carnaby saw her brother, she was sure that he was come to
turn her out, and went through a series of states of mind natural
to an adoring mother with a frail imagination of an appetite--
as she poetically described it.  She was not very swift of
apprehension, although so promptly alive to anything tender,
refined, and succulent.  Having too strong a sense of duty to be
guilty of any generosity, she could not believe, either then or
thereafter, that her brother had cast away anything at all, except
a mere shred of a lawsuit.  And without any heed of chronology--
because (as she justly inquired), what two clocks are alike?--she
was certain that if he did anything at all to drive off those
horrible lawyers from the house, there was no credit due to any one
but Pet.  It was the noble way Pet looked at him!

Pet, being introduced to his uncle, after dinner, when he came home
from fishing, certainly did look nobly at him, if a long stare is
noble.  Then he went up to him, with a large and liberal sniff, and
an affable inquiry, as a little dog goes up to a big one.  Sir
Duncan was amused, having heard already some little particulars
about this youth, whose nature he was able to enter into as none
but a Yordas could rightly do.  However, he was bound to make the
best of him, and did so; discovering not only room for improvement,
but some hope of that room being occupied.

"The boy has been shockingly spoiled," he said to his sister
Philippa that evening; "also he is dreadfully ignorant.  None of us
are very great at scholarship, and never have much occasion for it.
But things are becoming very different now.  Everybody is beginning
to be expected to know everything.  Very likely, as soon as I am no
more wanted, I shall be voted a blockhead.  Luckily the wars keep
people from being too choice, when their pick goes every minute.
And this may stop the fuss, that comes from Scotland mainly, about
universal distribution--or some big words--of education.  'Pet,' as
you call him, is a very clever fellow, with much more shape of
words about him than ever I was blessed with.  In spelling I saw
that he was my master; and so I tried him with geography, and all
he knew of India was that it takes its name from India rubber!"

"Now I call that clever of him," said Miss Yordas; "for I really
might have forgotten even that.  But the fatal defect in his
education has been the want of what you grow, chiefly in West India
perhaps--the cane, Duncan, the sugar-cane.  I have read all about
it; you can tell me nothing.  You suck it, you smoke it, and you
beat your children with it."

"Well," said Sir Duncan, who was not quite sure, in the face of
such authority, "I disremember; but perhaps they do in some parts,
because the country is so large.  But it is not the ignorance of
Pet I care for--such a fault is natural and unavoidable; and who is
there to pick holes in it?  The boy knows a great deal more than I
did at his age, because he is so much younger.  But, Philippa,
unless you do something with him, he will never be a gentleman."

"Duncan, you are hard.  You have seen so much."

"The more we see, the softer we become.  The one thing we harden
against is lying--the seed, the root, and the substance of all
vileness.  I am sorry to say your Pet is a liar."

"He does not always tell the truth, I know.  But bear in mind,
Duncan, that his mother did not insist--and, in fact, she does not
herself always--"

"I know it; I am grieved that it should come from our side.  I
never cared for his father much, because he went against me; but
this I will say for him, Lance Carnaby would sooner cut his tongue
out that put it to a lie.  When I am at home, my dealings are with
fellows who could not speak the truth if they tried for dear life,
simply through want of practice.  They are like your lower class of
horse-dealers, but with infinitely more intelligence.  It is late
to teach poor Pet the first of all lessons; and for me to stop to
do it is impossible.  But will you try to save further disgrace to
a scapegrace family, but not a mean one?"

"I feel it as much as you do--perhaps more," Miss Yordas answered,
forgetting altogether about the deed-box and her antiquary.  "You
need not tell me how very sad it is.  But how can it be cured?  His
mother is his mother.  She never would part with him; and her
health is delicate."

"Stronger than either yours or mine, unless she takes too much
nourishment.  Philippa, her will is mere petulance.  For her own
good, we must set it aside.  And if you agree with me, it can be
done.  He must go into a marching regiment at once, ordered abroad,
with five shillings in his pocket, earn his pay, and live upon it.
This patched-up peace will never last six months.  The war must be
fought out till France goes down, or England.  I can get him a
commission; and I know the colonel, a man of my own sort, who sees
things done, instead of talking.  It would be the making of
Lancelot.  He has plenty of courage, but it has been milched.  At
Oxford or Cambridge he would do no good, but simply be ruined by
having his own way.  Under my friend Colonel Thacker, he will have
a hard time of it, and tell no lies."

Thus it was settled.  There was a fearful outcry, hysterics of an
elegant order, and weepings enough to produce summer spate in the
Tees.  But the only result was the ordering of the tailor, the
hosier, the boot-maker, and the scissors-grinder to put a new edge
upon Squire Philip's razors, that Pet might practice shaving.
"Cold-blooded cruelty, savage homicide; cannibalism itself is
kinder," said poor Mrs. Carnaby, when she saw the razors; but Pet
insisted upon having them, made lather, and practiced with the
backs, till he began to understand them.

"He promises well; I have great hopes of him," Sir Duncan said to
himself.  "He has pride; and no proud boy can be long a liar.  I
will go and consult my dear old friend Bart."

Mr. Bart, who was still of good bodily strength, but becoming less
resolute in mind than of yore, was delighted to see his old friend
again; and these two men, having warm, proud hearts, preserved each
other from self-contempt by looking away through the long hand-
clasp.  For each of them was to the other almost the only man
really respected in the world.

Betwixt them such a thing as concealment could not be.  The
difference in their present position was a thing to laugh at.  Sir
Duncan looked up to Bart as being the maker of his character, and
Bart admired Sir Duncan as a newer and wiser edition of himself.
They dispatched the past in a cheery talk; for the face of each was
enough to show that it might have been troublous--as all past is--
but had slidden into quiet satisfaction now, and a gentle flow of
experience.  Then they began to speak of present matters, and the
residue of time before them; and among other things, Sir Duncan
Yordas spoke of his nephew Lancelot.

"Lancelot Yordas Carnaby," said Bart, with the smile of a gray-
beard at young love's dream, "has done us the honor to fall in
love, for ever and ever, with our little Insie.  And the worst of
it is that she likes him."

"What an excellent idea!" his old friend answered; "I was sure
there was something of that sort going on.  Now betwixt love and
war we shall make a man of Pet."

As shortly as possible he told Mr. Bart what his plan about his
nephew was, and how he had carried it against maternal, and now
must carry it against maiden, love.  If Lancelot had any good stuff
in him, any vertebrate embryo of honesty, to be put among men, and
upon his mettle (with a guardian angel in the distance of sweet
home), would stablish all the man in him, and stint the beast.  Mr.
Bart, though he hated hard fighting, admitted that for weak people
it was needful; and was only too happy so to cut the knot of his
own home entanglements with the ruthless sword.  For a man of
liberal education, and much experience in spending money, who can
put a new bottom to his own saucepan, is not the one to feel any
despair of his fellow-creatures mending.

Then arose the question, who should bell the cat, or rather, who
should lead the cat to the belling.  Pet must be taken, under
strong duress, to the altar--as his poor mother said, and shrieked--
whereat he was to shed his darling blood.  His heart was in his
mouth when his uniform came; and he gave his sacred honor to fly,
straight as an arrow, to the port where his regiment was getting
into boats; but Sir Duncan shook his grizzled head.  "Somebody must
see him into it," he said.  "Not a lady; no, no, my dear Eliza.  I
can not go myself; but it must be a man of rigidity, a stern agent.
Oh, I know! how stupid of me!"

"You mean poor dear Mr. Jellicorse," suggested Mrs. Carnaby, with a
short hot sob.  "But, Duncan, he has not the heart for it.  For
anything honest and loyal and good, kind people may trust him with
their lives.  But to tyranny, rapine, and manslaughter, he never
could lend his fine honorable face."

"I mean a man of a very different cast--a man who knows what time
is worth; a man who is going to be married on a Sunday, that he may
not lose the day.  He has to take three days' holiday, because the
lady is an heiress; otherwise he might get off with one.  But he
hopes to be at work again on Wednesday, and we will have him here
post-haste from York on Thursday.  It will be the very job to suit
him--a gentleman of Roman ancestry, and of the name of Mordacks."

"My heart was broken already; and now I can feel the poor pieces
flying into my brain.  Oh, why did I ever have a babe for monsters
of the name of Mordacks to devour?"

Mordacks was only too glad to come.  On the very day after their
union, Calpurnia (likewise of Roman descent) had exhibited symptoms
of a strong will of her own.

Mordacks had temporized during their courtship; but now she was
his, and must learn the great fact.  He behaved very well, and made
no attempt at reasoning (which would have been a fatal course), but
promptly donned cloak, boots, and spurs while his horse was being
saddled, and then set off, with his eyes fixed firmly upon
business.  A crow could scarcely make less than fifty miles from
York to Scargate, and the factor's trusty roadster had to make up
his mind to seventy.  So great, however, is sometimes the
centrifugal force of Hymen, that upon the third day Mr. Mordacks
was there, vigorous, vehement, and fit for any business.

When he heard what it was, it liked him well; for he bore a fine
grudge against Lancelot for setting the dogs at him three years
ago, when he came (as an agent for adjoining property) to the house
of Yordas, and when Mr. Jellicorse scorned to meet an illegal
meddler with legal matters.  If Mordacks had any fault--and he must
have had some, in spite of his resolute conviction to the contrary--
it was that he did not altogether scorn revenge.

Lives there man, or even woman, capable of describing now the
miseries, the hardships, the afflictions beyond groaning, which,
like electric hail, came down upon the sacred head of Pet?  He was
in the grasp of three strong men--his uncle, Mr. Bart, worst of
all, that Mordacks--escape was impossible, lamentation met with
laughter, and passion led to punishment.  Even stern Maunder was
sorry for him, although he despised him for feeling it.  The only
beam of light, the only spark of pleasure, was his royal uniform;
and to know that Insie's laugh thereat was hollow, and would melt
away to weeping when he was out of sight, together with the sulky
curiosity of Maunder, kept him up a little, in this time of bitter
sacrifice.

Enough that he went off, at last, in the claws of that Roman
hippogriff--as Mrs. Carnaby savagely called poor Mordacks--and the
visitor's flag hung half-mast high, and Saracen and the other dogs
made a howling dirge, with such fine hearts (as the poor mother
said, between her sobs) that they got their dinners upon china
plates.

Sir Duncan had left before this, and was back under Dr. Upround's
hospitable roof.  He had made up his mind to put his fortune, or
rather his own value, to the test, in a place of deep interest to
him now, the heart of the fair Janetta.  He knew that, according to
popular view, he was much too old for this young lady; but for
popular view he cared not one doit, if her own had the courage and
the will to go against it.  For years he had sternly resisted all
temptation of second marriage, toward which shrewd mothers and nice
maidens had labored in vain to lead him.  But the bitter
disappointment about his son, and that long illness, and the tender
nursing (added to the tenderness of his own sides, from lying upon
them, with a hard dry cough), had opened some parts of his
constitution to matrimonial propensities.  Miss Upround was of a
playful nature, and teased everybody she cared about; and although
Sir Duncan was a great hero to her, she treated him sometimes as if
he were her doll.  Being a grave man, he liked this, within the
bounds of good taste and manners; and the young lady always knew
where to stop.  From being amused with her, he began to like her;
and from liking her, he went on to miss her; and from missing her
to wanting her was no long step.

However, Sir Duncan was not at all inclined to make a fool of
himself herein.  He liked the lady very much, and saw that she
would suit him, and help him well in the life to which he was
thinking of returning.  For within the last fortnight a very high
post at Calcutta had been offered to him by the powers in
Leadenhall Street, upon condition of sailing at once, and foregoing
the residue of his leave.  If matters had been to his liking in
England, he certainly would have declined it; but after his sad
disappointment, and the serious blow to his health, he resolved to
accept it, and set forth speedily.  The time was an interlude of
the war, and ships need not wait for convoy.

This had induced him to take his Yorkshire affairs (which Mordacks
had been forced to intermit during his Derbyshire campaign) into
his own hands, and speed the issue, as above related.  And part of
his plan was to quit all claim to present possession of Scargate;
that if the young lady should accept his suit, it might not in any
way be for the sake of the landed interest.  As it happened, he had
gone much further than this, and cast away his claim entirely, to
save his sister from disgrace and the family property from lawyers.
And now having sought Dr. Upround's leave (which used to be thought
the proper thing to do), he asked Janetta whether she would have
him, and she said, "No, but he might have her."  Upon this he
begged permission to set the many drawbacks before her, and she
nodded her head, and told him to begin.

"I am of a Yorkshire family.  But, I am sorry to say that their
temper is bad, and they must have their own way too much."

"But, that suits me; and I understand it.  Because I must have my
own way too."

"But, I have parted with my inheritance, and have no place in this
country now."

"But, I am very glad of that.  Because I shall be able to go
about."

"But, India is a dreadfully hot country; many creatures tease you,
and you get tired of almost everything."

"But, that will make it all the more refreshing not to be tired of
you, perhaps."

"But, I have a son as old as you, or older."

"But, you scarcely suppose that I can help that!"

"But, my hair is growing gray, and I have great crow's-feet, and
everybody will begin to say--"

"But, I don't believe a word of it, and I won't have it; and I
don't care a pin's head what all the world says put together, so
long as you don't belong to it."



CHAPTER LIV

TRUE LOVE


About a month after Sir Duncan's marriage, when he and his bride
were in London, with the lady's parents come to help, in the misery
of outfit, a little boy ran through a field of wheat, early in the
afternoon, and hid himself in a blackthorn hedge to see what was
going on at Anerley.  Nothing escaped him, for his eyes were sharp,
being of true Danish breed.  He saw Captain Anerley trudging up the
hill, with a pipe in his mouth, to the bean field, where three or
four men were enjoying the air, without any of the greedy gulps
produced by too great exertion of the muscles; then he saw the
mistress of the house throw wide a lattice, and shake out a cloth
for the birds, who skipped down from the thatch by the dozen
instantly; and then he saw Mary, with a basket and a wooden
measure, going round the corner of the house, and clucking for the
fowls to rally from their scratching-places.  These came zealously,
with speed of leg and wing, from straw-rick, threshing-floor,
double hedge, or mixen; and following their tails, the boy slipped
through the rick-yard, and tossed a note to Mary with a truly
Flamburian delivery.

Although it was only a small-sized boy, no other than the heir of
the "Cod-fish," a brighter rose flew into Mary's cheeks than the
master-cock of all the yard could show upon comb or wattle.
Contemptuous of twopence, which Mary felt for, the boy disappeared
like a rabbit; and the fowls came and helped themselves to the
tail-wheat, while their mistress was thinking of her letter.  It
was short and sweet--at least in promise--being no more than these
few words:  "Darling, the dike where first we met, an hour after
sunset."

Mary never doubted that her duty was to go; and at the time
appointed she was there, with firm knowledge of her own mind, being
now a loving and reasonable woman.  It was just a year since she
had saved the life of Robin; and patience, and loneliness, and
opposition, had enlarged and ennobled her true and simple heart.
No lord in the land need have looked for a purer or sweeter example
of maidenhood than this daughter of a Yorkshire farmer was, in her
simple dress, and with the dignity of love.  The glen was beginning
to bestrew itself with want of light, instead of shadows; and bushy
places thickened with the imperceptible growth of night.  Mary went
on, with excitement deepening, while sunset deepened into dusk; and
the color of her clear face flushed and fleeted under the anxious
touch of love, as the tint of a delicate finger-nail, with any
pressure, varies.  But not very long was she left in doubt.

"How long you have been!  And oh, where have you been?  And how
much longer will you be?"  Among many other words and doings she
insisted chiefly on these points.

"I am a true-blue, as you may see, and a warrant-officer already,"
he said, with his old way of smiling at himself.  "When the war
begins again (as it must--please God!--before many weeks are over),
I shall very soon get my commission, and go up.  I am quite fit
already to command a frigate."

Mary was astonished at his modesty; she thought that he ought to be
an admiral at least, and so she told him; however, he knew better.

"You must bear in mind," he replied, with a kindly desire to spare
her feelings, "that until a change for the better comes, I am under
disadvantages.  Not only as an outlaw--which has been upon the
whole a comfort--but as a suspected criminal, with warrant against
him, and reward upon him.  Of course I am innocent; and everybody
knows it, or at least I hope so, except the one who should have
known it best."

"I am the person who should know it best of all," his true love
answered, with some jealousy.  "Explain yourself, Robin, if you
please."

"No Robin, so please you, but Mr. James Blyth, captain of the
foretop, then cockswain of the barge, and now master's mate of H.
M. ship of the line Belleisle.  But the one who should have trusted
me, next to my own love, is my father, Sir Duncan Yordas."

"How you are talking!  You have such a reckless way.  A warrant-
officer, an arrant criminal!  And your father, Sir Duncan Yordas,
that very strange gentleman, who could never get warm!  Oh, Robin,
you always did talk nonsense, when--whenever I would let you.  But
you should not try to make my head go round."

"Every word of it is true," the young sailor answered, applying a
prompt remedy for vertigo.  "It had been clearly proved to his
knowledge, long before the great fact was vouchsafed to me, that I
am the only son of Sir Duncan Yordas, or, at any rate, his only son
for the present.  The discovery gratified him so little, that he
took speedy measures to supplant me."

"The very rich gentleman from India," said Mary, "that married Miss
Upround lately; and her dress was all made of spun diamonds, they
say, as bright as the dew in the morning.  Oh, then you will have
to give me up; Robin, you must give up me!"

Clasping her hands, she looked up at him with courage, keeping down
all sign of tears.  She felt that her heart would not hold out
long, and yet she was prouder than to turn away.  "Speak," she
said; "it is better to speak plainly; you know that it must be so."

"Do I? why?" Robin Lyth asked, calmly, being well contented to
prolong her doubts, that he might get the benefit thereafter.

"Because you belong to great people, and I am just a farmer's
daughter, and no more, and quite satisfied to remain so.  Such
things never answer."

"A little while ago you were above me, weren't you?  When I was
nobody's son, and only a castaway, with a nickname."

"That has nothing to do with it.  We must take things exactly as we
find them at the time."

"And you took me as you found me at the time; only that you made me
out so much better.  Mary, I am not worthy of you.  What has birth
to do with it?  And so far as that goes, yours is better, though
mine may seem the brighter.  In every other way you are above me.
You are good, and I am wicked.  You are pure, and I am careless.
You are sweet, and I am violent.  In truth alone can I ever vie
with you; and I must be a pitiful scoundrel, Mary, if I did not
even try to do that, after all that you have done for me."

"But," said Mary, with her lovely eyes gleaming with the glittering
shade of tears, "I like you very much to do it--but not exactly as
a duty, Robin."

"You look at me like that, and you talk of duty!  Duty, duty; this
is my duty.  I should like to be discharging it forever and a day."

"I did not come here for ideas of this kind," said Mary, with her
lips as red as pyracanthine berries; "free trade was bad enough,
but the Royal Navy worse, it seems.  Now, Robin dear, be sensible,
and tell me what I am to do."

"To listen to me, and then say whether I deserve what my father has
done to me.  He came back from India--as you must understand--with
no other object in life, that I can hear of (for he had any
quantity of money), than to find out me, his only child, and the
child of the only wife he ever could put up with.  For twenty years
he had believed me to be drowned, when the ship he sent me home in
to be educated was supposed to have foundered, with all hands.  But
something made him fancy that I might have escaped; and as he could
not leave India then, he employed a gentleman of York, named
Mordacks, to hunt out all about it.  Mordacks, who seems to be a
wonderful man, and most kind-hearted to everybody, as poor Widow
Carroway says of him with tears, and as he testifies of himself--he
set to work, and found out in no time all about me and my ear-
rings, and my crawling from the cave that will bear my name, they
say, and more things than I have time to tell.  He appointed a
meeting with Sir Duncan Yordas here at Flamborough, and would have
brought me to him, and everything might have been quite happy.  But
in the mean while that horrible murder of poor Carroway came to
pass, and I was obliged to go into hiding, as no one knows better
than you, my dear.  My father (as I suppose I must call him) being
bound, as it seems that they all are, to fall out with their
children, took a hasty turn against me at once.  Mordacks, whom I
saw last week, trusting myself to his honor, tells me that Sir
Duncan would not have cared twopence about my free-trade work, and
so on, or even about my having killed the officer in fair conflict,
for he is used to that.  But he never will forgive me for
absconding, and leaving my fellows, as he puts it, to bear the
brunt.  He says that I am a dastard and a skulk, and unworthy to
bear the name of Yordas."

"What a wicked, unnatural man he must be!" cried Mary.  "He
deserves to have no children."

"No; I am told that he is a very good man, but stiff-necked and
disdainful.  He regards me with scorn, because he knows no better.
He may know our laws, but he knows nothing of our ways, to suppose
that my men were in any danger.  If I had been caught while the
stir was on, a gibbet on the cliff would have been set up, even
before my trial--such is the reward of eminence--but no Yorkshire
jury would turn round in the box, with those poor fellows before
them.  'Not guilty, my lord,' was on their tongues, before he had
finished charging them."

"Oh, I am so glad!  They have been acquitted, and you were there to
see it!"

"To be sure.  I was in the court, as Harry Ombler's father.  Mr.
Mordacks got it up; and it told on the jury even more than could
have been expected.  Even the judge wiped his eyes as he looked at
me, for they say he has a scapegrace son; and Harry was the only
one of all the six in danger, according to the turn of the
evidence.  My poor eyes have scarcely come round yet from the
quantity of sobbing that I had to do, and the horrible glare of my
goggles.  And then I had a crutch that I stumped with as I sighed,
so that all the court could hear me; and whenever I did it, all the
women sighed too, and even the hardest hearts were moved.  Mr.
Mordacks says that it was capital."

"Oh, but, Robin, how shocking, though you make me laugh!  If the
verdict had been otherwise--oh, what then?"

"Well, then, Harry Ombler had a paper in his hand, done in printing
letters by myself, because he is a very tidy scholar, and signed by
me; the which he was to read before receiving sentence, saying that
Robin Lyth himself was in York town, and would surrender to that
court upon condition that mercy should be warranted to the
prisoners."

"And you would have given yourself up?  And without consulting me
about it!"

"Bad, I admit," Robin answered, with a smile; "but not half so bad
as to give up you--which you calmly proposed just now, dear heart.
However, there is no need for any trouble now, except that I am
forced to keep out of sight until other evidence is procured.
Mordacks has taken to me, like a better father, mainly from his
paramount love of justice, and of daring gallantry, as he calls
it."

"So it was, and ten times more; heroic self-devotion is a much more
proper term."

"Now don't," said Robin.  "If you make me blush, you may guess what
I shall do to hide it--carry the war into the sweet land of the
enemy.  But truly, my darling, there was very little danger.  And I
am up for a much better joke this time.  My august Roman father,
who has cast me off, sails as a very great Indian gun, in a ship of
the line, from Spithead, early in September.  The Belleisle is
being paid off now, and I have my certificate, as well as lots of
money.  Next to his lass, every sailor loves a spree; and mine,
instead of emptying, shall fill the locker.  With this disgusting
peace on, and no chance of prize-money, and plenty in their pockets
for a good spell ashore, blue-jackets will be scarce when Sir
Duncan Yordas sails.  If I can get a decent berth as a petty
officer, off I go for Calcutta, and watch (like the sweet little
cherub that sits up aloft) for the safety of my dear papa and
mamma, as the Frenchmen are teaching us to call them.  What do you
think of such filial devotion?"

"It would be a great deal more than he deserves," Mary answered,
with sweet simplicity.  "But what could you do, if he found out who
you are?"

"Not the smallest fear of that, my dear.  I have never had the
honor of an introduction.  My new step-mother, who might have been
my sweetheart if I had not seen somebody a hundred times as good, a
thousand times as gentle, and a million times as lovely--"

"Oh, Robin, do leave off such very dreadful stories!  I saw her in
the church, and she looked beautiful."

"Fine feathers make fine birds.  However, she is well enough in her
way; and I love her father.  But, for all that, she has no business
to be my step-mother; and of course it was only the money that did
it.  She has a little temper of her own, I can assure you; and I
wish Sir Duncan joy of her when they get among mosquitoes.  But, as
I was going to say, the only risk of my being caught is from her
sharp eyes.  Even of that there is not much danger, for we common
sailors need not go within hail of those grandees, unless it comes
to boat-work.  And even if Miss Janetta--I beg her pardon, Lady
Yordas--should chance to recognize me, I am sure she would never
tell her husband.  No, no; she would be too jealous; and for fifty
other reasons.  She is very cunning, let me tell you."

"Well," cried Mary, with a smile of wisdom, "I hope that I may
never live to be a step-mother.  The way those poor things get
abused--"

"You would have more principle, I should hope, than to marry
anybody after me.  However, I have told you nearly all my news, and
in a few minutes I must be off.  Only two things more.  In the
first place, Mordacks has taken a very great fancy to me, and has
turned against my father.  He and Widow Carroway and I had a long
talk after the trial, and we all agreed that the murder was
committed by a villain called 'John Cadman,' a sneak and a skulk,
whom I knew well, as one of Carroway's own men.  Among other
things, they chanced to say that Cadman's gun was missing, and that
the poor widow can swear to it.  I asked if any one had searched
for it; and Mordacks said no, it would be hopeless.  I told them
that if I were only free to show myself and choose my time, I would
lay my life upon finding it, if thrown away (as it most likely was)
in some part of that unlucky cave.  Mordacks caught at this idea,
and asked me a number of questions, and took down my answers; for
no one else knows the cave as I do.  I would run all risks myself,
and be there to do it, if time suited.  But only certain tides will
serve, even with the best of weather; and there may be no such tide
for months--I mean tide, weather, and clear water combined, as they
must be for the job.  Therefore I am not to wait, but go about my
other business, and leave this to Mordacks, who loves to be captain
of everything.  Mr. Mordacks talked of a diving-bell, and some
great American inventions; but nothing of the kind can be used
there, nor even grappling-irons.  The thing must not be heard of
even, until it has been accomplished.  Whatever is done, must be
done by a man who can swim and dive as I can, and who knows the
place almost as well.  I have told him where to find the man, when
the opportunity comes for it; and I have shown my better father,
Robin Cockscroft, the likely spot.  So now I have nothing more to
do with that."

"How wonderfully you can throw off cares!" his sweetheart answered,
softly.  "But I shall be miserable till I know what happens.  Will
they let me be there?  Because I understand so much about tides,
and I can hold my tongue."

"That you have shown right well, my Mary; but your own sense will
tell you that you could not be there.  Now one thing more: here is
a ring, not worthy--although it is the real stuff--to go upon your
precious hand, yet allow me to put it on; no, not there; upon your
wedding finger.  Now do you know what that is for?"

"For me, I suppose," she answered, blushing with pleasure and
admiration; "but it is too good, too beautiful, too costly."

"Not half good enough.  Though, to tell you the truth, it can not
be matched easily; any more than you can.  But I know where to get
those things.  Now promise me to wear it, when you think of me; and
the one habit will confirm the other.  But the more important part
is this, and the last thing for me to say to you.  Your father
still hates my name, I fear.  Tell him every word I have told you,
and perhaps it will bring him half way round.  Sooner or later he
must come round; and the only way to do it is to work him slowly.
When he sees in how many ways I have been wronged, and how
beautifully I have borne it all, he will begin to say to himself,
'Now this young man may be improving.'  But he never will say, 'He
hath no need of it.'"

"I should rather think not, you conceited Robin, or whatever else I
am to call you now.  But I bargain for one thing--whatever may
happen, I shall never call you anything else but Robin.  It suits
you, and you look well with it.  Yordas, indeed, or whatever it may
be--"

"No bargain is valid without a seal," etc., etc.  In the old but
ever-vivid way they went on, until they were forced to part, at the
very lips of the house itself, after longing lingerings.  The air
of the fields was sweet with summer fragrance and the breath of
night; the world was ripe with soft repose, whose dreams were hope
and happiness; and the heaven spread some gentle stars, to show
mankind the way to it.  Then a noble perfume strewed the ambient
air with stronger presence, as the farmer, in his shirt sleeves,
came, with a clay pipe, and grumbled, "Wherever is our Mary all
this time?"



CHAPTER LV

NICHOLAS THE FISH



Five hundred years ago there was a great Italian swimmer, even
greater than our Captain Webb; inasmuch as he had what the wags of
the age unjustly ascribe to our hero, that is to say, web toes and
fingers.  This capable man could, if history be true, not only swim
for a week without ceasing (reassuring solid nature now and then
by a gulp of live fish), but also could expand his chest so
considerably that it held enough air for a day's consumption.
Fortified thus, he explored Charybdis and all the Liparic
whirlpools, and could have found Cadman's gun anywhere, if it had
only been there.  But at last the sea had its revenge upon him,
through the cruel insistence of his king.

No man so amphibious has since arisen through the unfathomed tide
of time.  But a swimmer and diver of great repute was now living
not far from Teesmouth.  That is to say, he lived there whenever
the state of the weather or the time of year stranded him in dry
misery.  Those who have never come across a man of this description
might suppose that he was happy and content at home with his wife
and growing family, assuaging the brine in the delightful manner
commended by Hero to Leander.  But, alas! it was not so at all.
The temper of the man was very slow to move, as generally happens
with deep-chested men, and a little girl might lead him with her
finger on the shore; and he liked to try to smell land flowers,
which in his opinion were but weeds.  But if a man can not control
his heart, in the very middle of his system, how can he hope to
command his skin, that unscientific frontier of his frame?

"Nicholas the fish," as his neighbors (whenever, by coming ashore,
he had such treasures) contemptuously called him, was endowed from
his birth with a peculiar skin, and by exercise had improved it.
Its virtue was excessive thickness--such as a writer should pray
for--protected also by powerful hairiness--largely admired by those
with whom it is restricted to the head.

Unhappily for Nicholas, the peremptory poises of nature struck a
line with him, and this was his line of flotation.  From perpetual
usage this was drawn, obliquely indeed, but as definitely as it is
upon a ship of uniform displacement--a yacht, for instance, or a
man-of-war.  Below that line scarcely anything could hurt him; but
above it he was most sensitive, unless he were continually wetted;
and the flies, and the gnats, and many other plagues of England,
with one accord pitched upon him, and pitched into him, during his
short dry intervals, with a bracing sense of saline draught.  Also
the sun, and the wind, and even the moon, took advantage of him
when unwetted.

This made his dry periods a purgatory to him; and no sooner did he
hear from Mr. Mordacks of a promising job under water than he drew
breath enough for a ten-fathom dive, and bursting from long
despair, made a great slap at the flies beneath his collar-bone.
The sound was like a drum which two men strike; and his wife, who
was devoted to him, hastened home from the adjoining parish with a
sad presentiment of parting.  And this was speedily verified; for
the champion swimmer and diver set forth that very day for Bempton
Warren, where he was to have a private meeting with the general
factor.

Now it was a great mistake to think--as many people at this time
did, both in Yorkshire and Derbyshire--that the gulf of connubial
cares had swallowed the great Roman hero Mordacks.  Unarmed, and
even without his gallant roadster to support him, he had leaped
into that Curtian lake, and had fought a good fight at the bottom
of it.  The details are highly interesting, and the chronicle might
be useful; but, alas! there is no space left for it.  It is enough,
and a great thing too, to say that he emerged triumphant, reduced
his wife into very good condition, and obtained the due mastery of
her estates, and lordship of the household.

Refreshed and recruited by the home campaign, and having now a
double base for future operations--York city with the fosse of Ouse
in the east, and Pretorian Hill, Derbyshire, westward--Mordacks
returned, with a smack of lip more dry than amontilladissimo, to
the strict embrace of business.  So far as the needs of the body
were concerned, he might have done handsomely without any business;
but having no flesh fit to weigh against his mind, he gave
preference to the latter.  Now the essence of his nature was to
take strong views; not hastily--if he could help it--nor through
narrow aspect of prejudice, but with power of insight (right or
wrong), and stern fixity thereafter.  He had kept his opinion about
Sir Duncan Yordas much longer than usual pending, being struck with
the fame of the man, and his manner, and generous impulsive nature.
All these he still admired, but felt that the mind was far too
hasty, and, to put it in his own strong way, Sir Duncan (whatever
he might be in India) had been but a fool in England.  Why had he
cast away his claim on Scargate, and foiled the factor's own pet
scheme for a great triumph over the lawyers?  And why condemn his
only son, when found with such skill and at heavy expense, without
even hearing both sides of the tale?  Last, but not least, what
induced him to marry, when amply old enough to know better, a girl
who might be well enough in her way, but had no family estate to
bring, was shrewdly suspected of a cutting tongue, and had more
than once been anything but polite to Geoffrey Mordacks?

Although this gentleman was not a lawyer, and indeed bore a
tyrannous hate against that gentle and most precious class, he
shared the solicitor's just abhorrence of the word "farewell," when
addressed to him by any one of good substance.  He resolved that
his attentions should not cease, though undervalued for the moment,
but should be continued to the son and heir--whose remainder in
tail subsisted still, though it might be hard to substantiate--and
when his cousin Lancelot should come into possession, he might find
a certain factor to grapple him.  Mr. Mordacks hated Lancelot, and
had carried out his banishment with intense enjoyment, holding him
as in a wrench-hammer all the way, silencing his squeaks with
another turn of the screw, and as eager to crack him as if he were
a nut, the first that turns auburn in September.

This being the condition of so powerful a mind, facts very speedily
shaped themselves thereto, as they do when the power of an eminent
orator lays hold of them and crushes them, and they can not even
squeak.  Or even as a still more eminent 'bus driver, when the
street is blocked, and there seems to be no room for his own thumb,
yet (with a gentle whistle and a wink) solves the jostling stir and
balk, makes obstructive traffic slide, like an eddy obsequious,
beside him and behind, and comes forth as the first of an orderly
procession toward the public-house of his true love.

Now if anything beyond his own conviction were wanted to set this
great agent upon action, soon it was found in York Summer Assizes,
and the sudden inrush of evidence, which--no matter how a case has
been prepared--gets pent up always for the Bar and Bench.  Then
Robin Lyth came, with a gallant dash, and offered himself as a
sacrifice, if needful, which proved both his courage and his
common-sense in waiting till due occasion demanded him.  Mordacks
was charmed with this young man, not only for proving his own
judgment right, but also for possessing a quickness of decision
akin to his own, and backing up his own ideas.

With vigor thus renewed by many interests and motives, the general
and generous factor kept his appointment in Bempton Warren.  Since
the distressing, but upon the whole desirable, decease of that poor
Rickon Goold, the lonely hut in which he breathed his last had not
been by any means a popular resort.  There were said to be things
heard, seen, and felt, even in the brightest summer day, which
commended the spot to the creatures that fear mankind, but not
their spectres.  The very last of all to approach it now would have
been the two rollicking tars who had trodden their wooden-legged
watch around it.  Nicholas the fish was superstitious also, as it
behooved him well to be; but having heard nothing of the story of
the place, and perceiving no gnats in the neighborhood, he
thankfully took it for his short dry spells.

Mr. Mordacks met him, and the two men were deeply impressed with
one another.  The diver admired the sharp, terse style and definite
expression of the factor, while the factor enjoyed the large
ponderous roll and suggestive reservations of the diver.  For this
was a man who had met great beings, and faced mighty wonders in
deep places; and he thought of them more than he liked to say,
because he had to get his living.

Nothing could be settled to a nicety between them, not even as to
pounds, shillings, and pence.  For the nature of the job depended
wholly upon the behavior of the weather; and the weather must be
not only at its best, but also setting meekly in the right
direction at the right moment of big springtide.  The diver was
afraid that he might ask too little, and the factor disliked the
risk of offering too much, and possibly spoiling thereby a noble
nature.  But each of them realized (to some extent) the honesty of
the other, and neither of them meant to be unreasonable.

"Give and take, is what I say," said the short man with the
monstrous chest, looking up at the tall man with the Roman nose;
"live and let live.  Ah! that's it."

Mr. Mordacks would have said, "Right you are," if that elegant
expression had been in vogue; but as that brilliance had not yet
risen, he was content to say, "Just so."  Then he added, "Here you
have everything you want.  Madam Precious will send you twice a
day, to the stone at the bottom of the lane, a gallon of beer, and
victuals in proportion.  Your duty is to watch the tides and
weather, keep your boat going, and let me know; and here I am in
half an hour."

Calpurnia Mordacks was in her duty now, and took her autumn holiday
at Flamborough.  And though Widow Precious felt her heart go
pitapat at first sight of another Mrs. Mordacks, she made up her
mind, with a gulp, not to let this cash go to the Thornwick.  As a
woman she sighed; but as a landlady she smiled, and had visions of
hoisting a flag on her roof.

When Mordacks, like a victorious general, conqueror of this Danish
town, went forth for his evening stroll to see his subjects and be
saluted, a handsome young sailor came up from the cliffs, and
begged to have a few quiet words with him.  "Say on, my lad; all my
words are quiet," replied the general factor.  Then this young man
up and told his tale, which was all in the well-trodden track of
mankind.  He had run away to sea, full of glorious dreams--valor,
adventure, heroism, rivers of paradise, and lands of heaven.
Instead of that, he had been hit upon the head, and in places of
deeper tenderness, frequently roasted, and frozen yet more often,
basted with brine when he had no skin left, scorched with thirst,
and devoured by creatures whose appetites grew dainty when his own
was ravening.

"Excellent youth," Mr. Mordacks said, "your tale might move a heart
of flint.  All who know me have but one opinion.  I am benevolence
itself.  But my balance is low at my banker's."

"I want no money, sir," the sailor answered, simply offering
benevolence itself a pipeful of tobacco from an ancient bit of
bladder; "I have not got a farthing, but I am with good people who
never would take it if I had it, and that makes everything square
between us.  I might have a hatful of money if I chose, but I find
myself better without it, and my constitution braces up.  If I only
chose to walk a league sou'west, there would be bonfires burning.
But I vowed I would go home a captain, and I will."

"Ha!" cried Mr. Mordacks, with his usual quickness, and now knowing
all about everybody; "you are Mr. John Anerley, the son of the
famous Captain Anerley."

"Jack Anerley, sir, till better times; and better they never will
be, till I make them.  But not a word to any one about me, if you
please.  It would break my mother's heart (for she doth look down
upon people, without asking) to hear that Robin Cockscroft was
supporting of me.  But, bless you, I shall pay him soon, a penny
for a guinea."

Truth, which struggles through the throng of men to get out and
have a little breath sometimes, now and then succeeds, by accident,
or the stupid misplacement of a word.  A penny for a guinea was as
much as Robin Cockscroft was likely ever to see for his outlay upon
this very fine young fellow.  Jack Anerley accepted the situation
with the large philosophy of a sailor; and all he wanted from Mr.
Mordacks was leave to be present at the diving job.  This he
obtained, as he promised to be useful, and a fourth oar was likely
to be needed.

It was about an hour before noon of a beautifully soft September
day, when little Sam Precious, the same boy that carried Robin
Lyth's note to Mary, came up to Mr. Mordacks with a bit of plaited
rushes, the scytale of Nicholas the fish, who was happy enough not
to know his alphabet.  The factor immediately put on his hat,
girded himself with his riding sword and pistol belt, and told his
good wife that business might take him away for some hours.  Then
he hastened to Robin Cockscroft's house, after sending the hostler,
on his own horse, with a letter to Bridlington coast-guard station,
as he had arranged with poor Carroway's successor.

The Flamborough fishermen were out at sea; and without any fuss,
Robin's boat was launched, and manned by that veteran himself,
together with old Joe and Bob, who had long been chewing the quid
of expectation, and at the bow oar Jack Anerley.  Their orders were
to slip quietly round, and wait in the Dovecote till the diver
came.  Mordacks saw them on their way; and then he strode up the
deserted path, and struck away toward a northern cove, where the
diver's little boat was housed.  There he found Nicholas the fish,
spread out in all his glory, like a polypod awash, or a basking
turtle, or a well-fed calf of Proteus.  Laid on his back, where the
wavelets broke, and beaded a silver fringe upon the golden ruff of
sand, he gave his body to soft lullaby, and his mind to perfect
holiday.  His breadth, and the spring of fresh air inside it, kept
him gently up and down; and his calm enjoyment was enriched by the
baffled wrath of his enemies.  For flies, of innumerable sorts and
sizes, held a hopeless buzz above him, being put upon their mettle
to get at him, and perishing sweetly in the vain attempt.

With a grunt of reluctance he awoke to business, swam for his boat,
and embarking Mr. Mordacks, pulled him across the placid bay to the
cave where his forces were assembled.

"Let there be no mistake about it," the factor shouted from the
mermaids' shelf, having promised his Calpurnia to keep upon dry
land whenever the water permitted him; "our friend the great diver
will first ascertain whether the thing which we seek is here.  If
so, he will leave it where it is until the arrival of the
Preventive boat.  You all understand that we wish to put the matter
so that even a lawyer can not pick any hole in the evidence.  Light
no links until I tell you.  Now, Nicholas the fish, go down at
once."

Without a word the diver plunged, having taken something between
his teeth which he would not let the others see.  The watery floor
of the cavern was as smooth as a mill-pond in July, and he plunged
so neatly that he made no splash; nothing but a flicker of
reflection on the roof, and a lapping murmur round the sides, gave
token that a big man was gone into the deep.  For several minutes
no one spoke, but every eye was strained upon the glassy dimness,
and every ear intent for the first break of sound.

"T' goop ha' got un," cried old Robin, indignant at this outrage by
a stranger to his caves, "God niver mahd mon to pree intil 's ain
warks."

Old Joe and Bob grunted approbation, and Mordacks himself was
beginning to believe that some dark whirlpool or coil of tangles
had drowned the poor diver, when a very gentle noise, like a
dabchick playing beneath a bridge, came from the darkest corner.
Nicholas was there, inhaling air, not in greedy gulps and gasps,
like a man who has had no practice, but leisurely encouraging his
lungs with little doses, as a doctor gives soup to a starved boat
crew.  Being hailed by loud voices, he answered not, for his nature
was by no means talkative; but presently, with very little breach
of water, he swam to the middle, and asked for his pipe.

"Have you found the gun?" cried Mordacks, whose loftiest feelings
had subsided in a quarter of a minute to the business level.
Nicholas made no reply until the fire of his pipe was established,
while he stood in the water quite as if he were on land, supporting
himself by nothing more than a gentle movement of his feet, while
the glow of the touch-paper lit his round face and yellow leather
skull-cap.  "In coorse I has," he said at last, blowing a roll of
smoke along the gleaming surface; "over to yon little cornder."

"And you can put your hand upon it in a moment?"  The reply was a
nod and another roll of smoke.  "Admirable!  Now, then, Joe, and
Bob the son of Joe, do what I told you, while Master Cockscroft and
our nimble young friend get the links all ready."

The torches were fixed on the rocky shelf, as they had been upon
the fatal night; but they were not lit until Joe and his son, sent
forth in the smaller boat to watch, came back with news that the
Preventive gig was round the point, and approaching swiftly, with a
lady in the stern, whose dress was black.

"Right!" cried Mr. Mordacks, with a brisk voice ringing under the
ponderous brows of rock.  "Men, I have brought you to receive a
lesson.  You shall see what comes of murder.  Light the torches.
Nicholas, go under, with the exception of your nose, or whatever it
is you breathe with.  When I lift my hand, go down; and do as I
have ordered you."

The cavern was lit with the flare of fire, and the dark still water
heaved with it, when the coast-guard boat came gliding in.  The
crew, in white jerseys, looked like ghosts flitting into some magic
scene.  Only the officer, darkly clad, and standing up with the
tiller-lines in hand, and the figure of a woman sitting in the
stern, relieved their spectral whiteness.

"Commander Hardlock, and men of the coastguard," shouted Mr.
Mordacks, when the wash of ripples and the drip of oars and the
creak of wood gave silence, "the black crime committed upon this
spot shall no longer go unpunished.  The ocean itself has yielded
its dark secret to the perseverance of mankind, and the humble but
not unskillful efforts which it has been my privilege to conduct.
A good man was slain here, in cold blood slain--a man of remarkable
capacity and zeal, gallantry, discipline, and every noble quality,
and the father of a very large family.  The villain who slew him
would have slain six other harmless men by perjury if an
enlightened English jury had been fools enough to believe him.  Now
I will show you what to believe.  I am not eloquent, I am not a man
of words; my motto is strict business.  And business with me is a
power, not a name.  I lift my hand; you wait for half a minute; and
then, from the depths of this abyss, arises the gun used in the
murder."

The men understood about half of this, being honest fellows in the
main, and desiring time to put heads together about the meaning;
but one there was who knew too well that his treacherous sin had
found him out.  He strove to look like the rest, but felt that his
eyes obeyed heart more than brain; and then the widow, who had
watched him closely through her black veil, lifted it, and fixed
her eyes on his.  Deadly terror seized him, and he wished that he
had shot himself.

"Stand up, men," the commander shouted, "until we see the end of
this.  The crime has been laid upon our force.  We scorn the charge
of such treachery.  Stand up, men, and face, like innocent men,
whatever can be shown against you."

The men stood up, and the light of the torches fell upon their
faces.  All were pale with fear and wonder, but one was white as
death itself.  Calling up his dogged courage, and that bitterness
of malice which had made him do the deed, and never yet repent of
it, he stood as firmly as the rest, but differed from them in three
things.  His face wore a smile; he watched one place only; and his
breath made a noise, while theirs was held.

Then, from the water, without a word, or sign of any hand that
moved it, a long gun rose before John Cadman, and the butt was
offered to his hand.  He stood with his arms at his sides, and
could not lift them to do anything.  Neither could he speak, nor
make defense, but stood like an image that is fastened by the feet.

"Hand me that," cried the officer, sharply; but instead of obeying,
the man stared malignantly, and then plunged over the gun into the
depth.

Not so, however, did he cheat the hangman; Nicholas caught him (as
a water-dog catches a worn-out glove), and gave him to any one that
would have him.  "Strap him tight," the captain cried; and the men
found relief in doing it.  At the next jail-delivery he was tried,
and the jury did their duty.  His execution restored good-will, and
revived that faith in justice which subsists upon so little food.



CHAPTER LVI

IN THE THICK OF IT


One of the greatest days in all the history of England, having no
sense of its future fame, and being upon a hostile coast, was
shining rather dismally.  And one of England's greatest men, the
greatest of all her sons in battle--though few of them have been
small at that--was out of his usual mood, and full of calm
presentiment and gloomy joy.  He knew that he would see the sun no
more; yet his fear was not of that, but only of losing the light of
duty.  As long as the sun endures, he shall never see duty done
more brilliantly.

The wind was dropping, to give the storm of human fury leisure; and
while a sullen swell was rolling, canvas flapped and timbers
creaked.  Like a team of mallards in double column, plunging and
lifting buoyant breasts to right and left alternately, the British
fleet bore down upon the swan-like crescent of the foe.  These were
doing their best to fly, but failing of that luck, put helm alee,
and shivered in the wind, and made fine speeches, proving that they
must win the day.

"For this I have lived, and for this it would be worth my while to
die, having no one left, I dare say now, in all the world to care
for me."

Thus spake the junior lieutenant of that British ship, the Victory--
a young man after the heart of Nelson, and gazing now on Nelson's
face.  No smarter sailor could be found in all that noble fleet
than this Lieutenant Blyth, who once had been the captain of all
smugglers.  He had fought his way up by skill, and spirit, and
patience, and good temper, and the precious gift of self-reliance,
failing of which all merit fails.  He had always thought well of
himself, but never destroyed the good of it by saying so; and
whoever praised him had to do it again, to outspeak his modesty.
But without good fortune all these merits would never have been
successes.  One of Robin's truest merits was that he generally
earned good luck.

However, his spirits were not in their usual flow of jocundity just
now, and his lively face was dashed with care.  Not through fear of
lead, or steel, or wooden splinter, or a knock upon the head, or
any other human mode of encouraging humanity.  He hoped to keep out
of the way of these, as even the greatest heroes do; for how could
the world get on if all its bravest men went foremost?  His mind
meant clearly, and with trust in proper Providence, to remain in
its present bodily surroundings, with which it had no fault to
find.  Grief, however--so far as a man having faith in his luck
admits that point--certainly was making some little hole into a
heart of corky fibre.  For Robin Lyth had heard last night, when a
schooner joined the fleet with letters, that Mary Anerley at last
was going to marry Harry Tanfield.  He told himself over and over
again that if it were so, the fault was his own, because he had not
taken proper care about the safe dispatch of letters.  Changing
from ship to ship and from sea to sea for the last two years or
more, he had found but few opportunities of writing, and even of
those he had not made the utmost.  To Mary herself he had never
once written, knowing well that her father forbade it, while his
letters to Flamborough had been few, and some of those few had
miscarried.  For the French had a very clever knack just now of
catching the English dispatch-boats, in most of which they found
accounts of their own thrashings, as a listener catches bad news of
himself.  But none of these led them to improve their conduct.

Flamborough (having felt certain that Robin could never exist
without free trade, and missing many little courtesies that flowed
from his liberal administration), was only too ready to lament his
death, without insisting on particulars.  Even as a man who has
foretold a very destructive gale of wind tempers with the pride of
truth the sorrow which he ought to feel for his domestic chimney-
pots (as soon as he finds them upon his lawn), so Little Denmark,
while bewailing, accepted the loss as a compliment to its own
renowned sagacity.

But Robin knew not until last night that he was made dead at
Flamborough, through the wreck of a ship which he had quitted a
month before she was cast away.  And now at last he only heard that
news by means of his shipmate, Jack Anerley.  Jack was a thorough-
going sailor now, easy, and childish, and full of the present,
leaving the past to cure and the future to care for itself as might
be.  He had promised Mr. Mordacks and Robin Cockscroft to find out
Robin Lyth, and tell him all about the conviction of John Cadman;
and knowing his name in the navy and that of his ship, he had done
so after in-and-out chase.  But there for the time he had rested
from his labors, and left "Davy Jones" to send back word about it;
which that Pelagian Davy fails to do, unless the message is
enshrined in a bottle, for which he seems to cherish true naval
regard.

In this state of things the two brothers-in-law--as they fully
intended to be by-and-by--were going into this tremendous battle:
Jack as a petty officer, and Robin as a junior lieutenant of Lord
Nelson's ship.  Already had Jack Anerley begun to feel for Robin--
or Lieutenant Blyth, as he now was called--that liking of
admiration which his clear free manner, and quickness of resource,
and agreeable smile in the teeth of peril, had won for him before
he had the legal right to fight much.  And Robin--as he shall still
be called while the memory of Flamborough endures--regarded Jack
Anerley with fatherly affection, and hoped to put strength into his
character.

However, one necessary step toward that is to keep the character
surviving; and in the world's pell-mell now beginning, the uproar
alone was enough to kill some, and the smoke sufficient to choke
the rest.  Many a British sailor who, by the mercy of Providence,
survived that day, never could hear a word concerning any other
battle (even though a son of his own delivered it down a trumpet),
so furious was the concussion of the air, the din of roaring metal,
and the clash of cannon-balls which met in the air, and split up
into founts of iron.

No less than seven French and Spanish ships agreed with one accord
to fall upon and destroy Lord Nelson's ship.  And if they had only
adopted a rational mode of doing it, and shot straight, they could
hardly have helped succeeding.  Even as it was, they succeeded far
too well; for they managed to make England rue the tidings of her
greatest victory.

In the storm and whirl and flame of battle, when shot flew as close
as the teeth of a hay-rake, and fire blazed into furious eyes, and
then with a blow was quenched forever, and raging men flew into
pieces--some of which killed their dearest friends--who was he that
could do more than attend to his own business?  Nelson had known
that it would be so, and had twice enjoined it in his orders; and
when he was carried down to die, his dying mind was still on this.
Robin Lyth was close to him when he fell, and helped to bear him to
his plank of death, and came back with orders not to speak, but
work.

Then ensued that crowning effort of misplaced audacity--the attempt
to board and carry by storm the ship that still was Nelson's.  The
captain of the Redoubtable saw through an alley of light, between
walls of smoke, that the quarter-deck of the Victory had plenty of
corpses, but scarcely a life upon it.  Also he felt (from the
comfort to his feet, and the increasing firmness of his spinal
column) that the heavy British guns upon the lower decks had ceased
to throb and thunder into his own poor ship.  With a bound of high
spirits he leaped to a pleasing conclusion, and shouted, "Forward,
my brave sons; we will take the vessel of war of that Nielson!"

This, however, proved to be beyond his power, partly through the
inborn absurdity of the thing, and partly, no doubt, through the
quick perception and former vocation of Robin Lyth.  What would
England have said if her greatest hero had breathed his last in
French arms, and a captive to the Frenchman?  Could Nelson himself
have departed thus to a world in which he never could have put the
matter straight?  The wrong would have been redressed very smartly
here, but perhaps outside his knowledge.  Even to dream of it
awakes a shudder; yet outrages almost as great have triumphed, and
nothing is quite beyond the irony of fate.

But if free trade can not be shown as yet to have won for our
country any other blessing, it has earned the last atom of our
patience and fortitude by its indirect benevolence at this great
time.  Without free trade--in its sweeter and more innocent
maidenhood of smuggling--there never could have been on board that
English ship the Victory, a man, unless he were a runagate, with a
mind of such laxity as to understand French.  But Robin Lyth caught
the French captain's words, and with two bounds, and a holloa,
called up Britons from below.  By this time a swarm of brave
Frenchmen was gathered in the mizzen-chains and gangways of their
ship, waiting for a lift of the sea to launch them into the English
outworks.  And scarcely a dozen Englishmen were alive within hail
to encounter them.  Not even an officer, till Robin Lyth returned,
was there to take command of them.  The foremost and readiest there
was Jack Anerley, with a boarder's pike, and a brace of ship
pistols, and his fine ruddy face screwed up as firm as his
father's, before a big sale of wheat "Come on, you froggies; we are
ready for you," he shouted, as if he had a hundred men in ambush.

They, for their part, failed to enter into the niceties of his
language--which difficulty somehow used never to be felt among
classic warriors--yet from his manner and position they made out
that he offered let and hinderance.  To remove him from their
course, they began to load guns, or to look about for loaded ones,
postponing their advance until he should cease to interfere, so
clear at that time was the Gallic perception of an English sailor's
fortitude.  Seeing this to be so, Jack (whose mind was not well
balanced) threw a powder-case amongst them, and exhibited a dance.
But this was cut short by a hand-grenade, and, before he had time
to recover from that, the deck within a yard of his head flew open,
and a stunning crash went by.

Poor Jack Anerley lay quite senseless, while ten or twelve men (who
were rushing up, to repel the enemy) fell and died in a hurricane
of splinters.  A heavy round shot, fired up from the enemy's main-
deck, had shattered all before it; and Jack might thank the grenade
that he lay on his back while the havoc swept over.  Still, his
peril was hot, for a volley of musketry whistled and rang around
him; and at least a hundred and fifty men were watching their time
to leap down on him.

Everything now looked as bad as could be, with the drifting of the
smoke, and the flare of fire, and the pelting of bullets, and of
grapnel from coehorns, and the screams of Frenchmen exulting
vastly, with scarcely any Englishmen to stop them.  It seemed as if
they were to do as they pleased, level the bulwarks of English
rights, and cover themselves with more glory than ever.  But while
they yet waited to give one more scream, a very different sound
arose.  Powder, and metal, and crash of timber, and even French and
Spanish throats at their very highest pressure, were of no avail
against the onward vigor and power of an English cheer.  This cheer
had a very fine effect.  Out of their own mouths the foreigners at
once were convicted of inferior stuff, and their two twelve-
pounders crammed with grapnel, which ought to have scattered
mortality, banged upward, as harmless as a pod discharging seed.

In no account of this great conflict is any precision observed
concerning the pell-mell and fisticuff parts of it.  The worst of
it is that on such occasions almost everybody who was there
enlarges his own share of it; and although reflection ought to curb
this inclination, it seems to do quite the contrary.  This may be
the reason why nobody as yet (except Mary Anerley and Flamborough
folk) seems even to have tried to assign fair importance to Robin
Lyth's share in this glorious encounter.  It is now too late to
strive against the tide of fortuitous clamor, whose deposit is
called history.  Enough that this Englishman came up, with fifty
more behind him, and carried all before him, as he was bound to do.



CHAPTER LVII

MARY LYTH


Conquests, triumphs, and slaughterous glory are not very nice till
they have ceased to drip.  After that extinction of the war upon
the waves, the nation which had won the fight went into general
mourning.  Sorrow, as deep as a maiden's is at the death of her
lover, spread over the land; and people who had married their
romance away, and fathered off their enthusiasm, abandoned
themselves to even deeper anguish at the insecurity of property.
So deeply had England's faith been anchored into the tenacity of
Nelson.  The fall of the funds when the victory was announced
outspoke a thousand monuments.

From sires and grandsires Englishmen have learned the mood into
which their country fell.  To have fought under Nelson in his last
fight was a password to the right hands of men, and into the hearts
of women.  Even a man who had never been known to change his mind
began to condemn other people for being obstinate.  Farmer Anerley
went to church in his Fencible accoutrements, with a sash of heavy
crape, upon the first day of the Christian year.  To prove the
largeness of his mind, he harnessed the white-nosed horse, and
drove his family away from his own parish, to St. Oswald's Church
at Flamborough, where Dr. Upround was to preach upon the death of
Nelson.  This sermon was of the noblest order, eloquent, spirited,
theological, and yet so thoroughly practical, that seven
Flamborough boys set off on Monday to destroy French ships of war.
Mary did her very utmost not to cry--for she wanted so particularly
to watch her father--but nature and the doctor were too many for
her.  And when he came to speak of the distinguished part played
(under Providence) by a gallant son of Flamborough, who, after
enduring with manly silence evil report and unprecious balms, stood
forward in the breach, like Phineas, and, with the sword of Gideon,
defied Philistia to enter the British ark; and when he went on to
say that but for Flamborough's prowess on that day, and the valor
of the adjoining parish (which had also supplied a hero), England
might be mourning her foremost [Greek word], her very greatest
fighter in the van, without the consolation of burying him, and
embalming him in a nation's tears--for the French might have fired
the magazine--and when he proceeded to ask who it was that (under
the guiding of a gracious hand) had shattered the devices of the
enemy, up stood Robin Cockscroft, with a score of equally ancient
captains, and remembering where they were, touched their forelocks,
and answered--"Robin Lyth, sir!"

Then Mary permitted the pride of her heart, which had long been
painful with the tight control, to escape in a sob, which her
mother had foreseen; and pulling out the stopper from her smelling-
bottle, Mistress Anerley looked at her husband as if he were
Bonaparte himself.  He, though aware that it was inconsistent of
her, felt (as he said afterward) as if he had been a Frenchman; and
looked for his hat, and fumbled about for the button of the pew, to
get out of it.  But luckily the clerk, with great presence of mind,
awoke, and believing the sermon to be over, from the number of men
who were standing up, pronounced "Amen" decisively.

During the whole of the homeward drive Farmer Anerley's countenance
was full of thought; but he knew that it was watched, and he did
not choose to let people get in front of him with his own brains.
Therefore he let his wife and daughter look at him, to their
hearts' content, while he looked at the ledges, and the mud, and
the ears of his horse, and the weather; and he only made two
observations of moment, one of which was "gee!" and the other was
"whoa!"

With females jolting up and down, upon no springs--except those of
jerksome curiosity--conduct of this character was rude in the
extreme.  But knowing what he was, they glanced at one another, not
meaning in any sort of way to blame him, but only that he would be
better by-and-by, and perhaps try to make amends handsomely.  And
this, beyond any denial, he did as soon as he had dined, and smoked
his pipe on the butt of the tree by the rick-yard.  Nobody knew
where he kept his money, or at least his good wife always said so,
when any one made bold to ask her.  And even now he was right down
careful to go to his pot without anybody watching; so that when he
came into the Sunday parlor there was not one of them who could
say, even at a guess, where he last had been.

Master Simon Popplewell, gentleman-tanner (called out of his name,
and into the name of "Johnny," even by his own wife, because there
was no sign of any Simon in him), he was there, and his good wife
Debby, and Mistress Anerley in her best cap, and Mary, dressed in
royal navy blue, with bars of black (for Lord Nelson's sake),
according to the kind gift of aunt and uncle; also Willie, looking
wonderfully handsome, though pale with the failure of "perpetual
motion," and inclined to be languid, as great genius should be in
its intervals of activity.  Among them a lively talk was stirring;
and the farmer said, "Ah!  You was talking about me."

"We mought be; and yet again we mought not," Master Popplewell
returned, with a glance at Mrs. Deborah, who had just been
describing to the company how much her husband excelled in
jokesomeness.  "Brother Stephen, a good man seeks to be spoken of,
and a bad one objects to it, in vain."

"Very well.  You shall have something for your money.  Mary, you
know where the old Mydeary wine is that come from your godfathers
and godmothers when you was called in baptism.  Take you the key
from your mother, child, and bring you up a bottle, and brother
Popplewell will open it, for such things is beyond me."

"Well done, our side!" exclaimed the tanner; for if he had a
weakness it was for Madeira, which he always declared to have a
musky smack of tan; and a waggish customer had told him once that
the grapes it was made of were always tanned first.  The others
kept silence, foreseeing great events.

Then Mr. Popplewell, poised with calm discretion, and moving with
the nice precision of a fine watchmaker, shed into the best
decanter (softly as an angel's tears) liquid beauty, not too gaudy,
not too sparkling with shallow light, not too ruddy with sullen
glow, but vivid--like a noble gem, a brown cairngorm--with mellow
depth of lustre.  "That's your sort!" the tanner cried, after
putting his tongue, while his wife looked shocked, to the lip of
the empty bottle.

"Such things is beyond my knowledge," answered Farmer Anerley, as
soon as he saw the best glasses filled; "but nothing in nature is
too good to speak a good man's health in.  Now fill you up a little
glass for Mary; and, Perpetual Motion, you stand up, which is more
than your machines can do.  Now here I stand, and I drink good
health to a man as I never clapped eyes on yet, and would have
preferred to keep the door between us; but the Lord hath ordered
otherwise.  He hath wiped out all his faults against the law; he
hath fought for the honor of old England well; and he hath saved
the life of my son Jack.  Spite of all that, I might refuse to
unspeak my words, which I never did afore, if it had not been that
I wronged the man.  I have wronged the young fellow, and I am man
enough to say so.  I called him a murderer and a sneak, and time
hath proved me to have been a liar.  Therefore I ask his pardon
humbly; and, what will be more to his liking, perhaps, I say that
he shall have my daughter Mary, if she abides agreeable.  And I put
down these here twenty guineas, for Mary to look as she ought to
look.  She hath been a good lass, and hath borne with me better
than one in a thousand would have done.  Mary, my love to you; and
with leave all round, here's the very good health of Robin Lyth!"

"Here's the health of Robin Lyth!" shouted Mr. Popplewell, with his
fat cheeks shining merrily.  "Hurrah for the lad who saved Nelson's
death from a Frenchman's grins, and saved our Jack boy!  Stephen
Anerley, I forgive you.  This is the right stuff, and no mistake.
Deborah, come and kiss the farmer."

Mrs. Popplewell obeyed her husband, as the manner of good wives is.
And over and above this fleeting joy, solid satisfaction entered
into noble hearts, which felt that now the fruit of laborious
years, and the cash of many a tanning season, should never depart
from the family.  And to make an end of any weak misgivings, even
before the ladies went--to fill the pipes for the gentlemen--the
tanner drew with equal care, and even better nerve, the second
bottle's cork, and expressed himself as follows:

"Brother Steve hath done the right thing.  We hardly expected it of
him, by rights of his confounded stubbornness.  But when a shut-up
man repenteth, he is equal to a hoyster, or this here bottle.  What
good would this 'a been without it was sealed over?  Now mark my
words.  I'll not be behind no man when it comes to the right side
up.  I may be a poor man, a very poor man; and people counting
otherwise might find themselves mistaken.  I likes to be liked for
myself only.  But the day our Mary goes to church with Robin Lyth
she shall have 500 pounds tied upon her back, or else my name's not
Popplewell."

Mary had left the room long ago, after giving her father a gentle
kiss, and whispering to Willie that he should have half of her
twenty guineas for inventing things; which is a most expensive
process, and should be more highly encouraged.  Therefore she could
not express at the moment her gratitude to Squire Popplewell; but
as soon as she heard of his generosity, it lifted a great weight
off her mind, and enabled her to think about furnishing a cottage.
But she never told even her mother of that.  Perhaps Robin might
have seen some one he liked better.  Perhaps he might have heard
that stupid story about her having taken up with poor Harry
Tanfield; and that might have driven him to wed a foreign lady, and
therefore to fight so desperately.  None, however, of these
perhapses went very deeply into her heart, which was equally
trusting and trusty.

Now some of her confidence in the future was justified that very
moment almost, by a sudden and great arrival, not of Jack Anerley
and Robin Lyth (who were known to be coming home together), but of
a gentleman whose skill and activity deserved all thanks for every
good thing that had happened.

"Well! I am in the very nick of time.  It is my nature," cried Mr.
Mordacks, seated in the best chair by the fire.  "Why? you inquire,
with your native penetration.  Simply because in very early days I
acquired the habit of punctuality.  This holding good where an
appointment is, holds good afterward, from the force of habit, in
matters that are of luck alone.  The needle-eye of time gets
accustomed to be hit, and turns itself up, without waiting for the
clew.  Wonderful Madeira!  Well, Captain Anerley, no wonder that
you have discouraged free trade with your cellars full of this!  It
is twenty years since I have tasted such wine.  Mistress Anerley, I
have the honor of quaffing this glass to your very best health, and
that of a very charming young lady, who has hitherto failed to
appreciate me."

"Then, sir, I am here to beg your pardon," said Mary, coming up,
with a beautiful blush.  "When I saw you first I did not enter into
your--your--"

"My outspoken manner and short business style.  But I hope that you
have come to like me better.  All good persons do, when they come
to know me."

"Yes, sir; I was quite ashamed of myself, when I came to learn all
that you have done for somebody, and your wonderful kindness at
Bridlington."

"Famously said!  You inherit from your mother the power and the
charm of expression.  And now, my dear lady, good Mistress Anerley,
I shall undo all my great merits by showing that I am like the
letter-writers, who never write until they have need of something.
Captain Anerley, it concerns you also, as a military man, and
loyal soldier of King George.  A gallant young officer (highly
distinguished in his own way, and very likely to get on, in virtue
of high connection) became of age some few weeks back; and being
the heir to large estates, determined to entail them.  I speak as
in a parable.  My meaning is one which the ladies will gracefully
enter into.  Being a large heir, he is not selfish, but would fain
share his blessings with a little one.  In a word, he is to marry a
very beautiful young lady to-morrow, and under my agency.  But he
has a very delightful mother, and an aunt of a lofty and commanding
mind, whose views, however, are comparatively narrow.  For a hasty,
brief season, they will be wroth; and it would be unjust to be
angry with them.  But love's indignation is soon cured by absence,
and tones down rapidly into desire to know how the sinner is
getting on.  In the present case, a fortnight will do the business;
or if for a month, so much the better.  Heroes are in demand just
now; and this young gentleman took such a scare in his very first
fight that he became a hero, and so has behaved himself ever since.
Ladies, I am astonished at your goodness in not interrupting me.
Your minds must be as practical as my own.  Now this lovely young
pair, being married to-morrow, will have to go hunting for the
honey in the moon, to which such enterprises lead."

"Sir, you are very right," Squire Popplewell replied; and, "That is
Bible truth," said the farmer.

"Our minds are enlarged by experience," resumed the genial factor,
pleasantly, and bowing to the ladies, who declined to say a word
until a better opportunity, "and we like to see the process going
on with others.  But a nest must be found for these young doves--a
quiet one, a simple one, a place where they may learn to put up
with one another's cookery.  The secret of happiness in this world
is not to be too particular.  I have hit upon the very place to
make them thankful by-and-by, when they come to look back upon it--
a sweet little hole, half a league away from anybody.  All is
arranged--a frying-pan, a brown-ware tea-pot, a skin of lard, a
cock and a hen, to lay some eggs; a hundredweight of ship biscuits,
warranted free from weevil, and a knife and fork.  Also a way to
the sea, and a net, for them to fish together.  Nothing more
delightful can be imagined.  Under such circumstances, they will
settle, in three days, which is to be the master--which I take to
be the most important of all marriage settlements.  And, unless I
am very much mistaken, it will be the right one--the lady.  My
little heroine, Jerry Carroway, is engaged as their factotum, and
every auspice is favorable.  But without your consent, all is
knocked on the head; for the cottage is yours, and the tenant won't
go out, even under temptation of five guineas, without your written
order.  Mistress Anerley, I appeal to you.  Captain, say nothing.
This is a lady's question."

"Then I like to have a little voice sometimes, though it is not
often that I get it.  And, Mr. Mordacks, I say 'Yes.'  And out of
the five guineas we shall get our rent, or some of it, perhaps,
from Poacher Tim, who owes us nigh upon two years now."

The farmer smiled at his wife's good thrift, and, being in a
pleasant mood, consented, if so be the law could not be brought
against him, and if the young couple would not stop too long, or
have any family to fall upon the rates.  The factor assured him
against all evils; and then created quite a brisk sensation by
telling them, in strict confidence, that the young officer was one
Lancelot Yordas, own first cousin to the famous Robin Lyth, and
nephew to Sir Duncan Yordas.  And the lady was the daughter of Sir
Duncan's oldest friend, the very one whose name he had given to his
son.  Wonder never ceased among them, when they thought how things
came round.

Things came round not only thus, but also even better afterward.
Mordacks had a very beautiful revenge of laughter at old
Jellicorse, by outstripping him vastly in the family affairs.  But
Mr. Jellicorse did not care, so long as he still had eleven boxes
left of title-deeds to Scargate Hall, no liability about the
twelfth, and a very fair prospect of a lawsuit yet for the
multiplication of the legal race.  And meeting Mr. Mordacks in the
highest legal circles, at Proctor Brigant's, in Crypt Court, York,
he acknowledged that he never met a more delightful gentleman,
until he found out what his name was.  And even then he offered him
a pinch of snuff, and they shook hands very warmly without anything
to pay.

When Robin Lyth came home he was dissatisfied at first--so
difficult is mankind to please--because his good luck had been too
good.  No scratch of steel, no permanent scorch of powder, was upon
him, and England was not in the mood to value any unwounded valor.
But even here his good luck stood him in strong stead, and cured
his wrong.  For when the body of the lamented hero arrived at
Spithead, in spirits of wine, early in December, it was found that
the Admiralty had failed to send down any orders about it.
Reports, however, were current of some intention that the hero
should lie in state, and the battered ship went on with him.  And
when at last proper care was shown, and the relics of one of the
noblest men that ever lived upon the tide of time were being
transferred to a yacht at the Nore, Robin Lyth, in a sad and angry
mood, neglected to give a wide berth to a gun that was helping to
keep up the mourning salute, and a piece of wad carried off his
starboard whisker.

This at once replaced him in the popular esteem, and enabled him to
land upon the Yorkshire coast with a certainty of glorious welcome.
Mr. Mordacks himself came down to meet him at the Northern Landing,
with Dr. Upround and Robin Cockscroft, and nearly all the men, and
entirely all the women and children, of Little Denmark.  Strangers
also from outlandish parts, Squire Popplewell and his wife Deborah,
Mrs. Carroway (with her Tom, and Jerry, and Cissy, and lesser
Carroways, for her old aunt Jane was gone to Paradise at last, and
had left her enough to keep a pony-carriage), and a great many
others, and especially a group of four distinguished persons, who
stood at the top of the slide, because of the trouble of getting
back if they went down.

These had a fair and double-horsed carriage in the lane, at the
spot where fish face their last tribunal; and scarcely any brains
but those of Flamborough could have absorbed such a spectacle as
this, together with the deeper expectations from the sea.  Of these
four persons, two were young enough, and two not so young as they
had been, but still very lively, and well pleased with one another.
These were Mrs. Carnaby and Mr. Bart; the pet of the one had united
his lot with the darling of the other; for good or for bad, there
was no getting out of it, and the only thing was to make the best
of it.  And being good people, they were doing this successfully.
Poor Mrs. Carnaby had said to Mr. Bart, as soon as Mr. Mordacks let
her know about the wedding, "Oh, but, Mr. Bart, you are a
gentleman; now, are you not?  I am sure you are, though you do such
things!  I am sure of it by your countenance."

"Madam," Mr. Bart replied, with a bow that was decisive, "if I am
not, it is my own fault, as it is the fault of every man."

At this present moment they were standing with their children,
Lancelot and Insie, who had nicely recovered from matrimony, and
began to be too high-spirited.  They all knew, by virtue of Mr.
Mordacks, who Robin Lyth was; and they wanted to see him, and be
kind to him, if he made no claim upon them.  And Mr. Bart desired,
as his father's friend, to shake hands with him, and help him, if
help were needed.

But Robin, with a grace and elegance which he must have imported
from foreign parts, declined all connection and acquaintance with
them, and declared his set resolve to have nothing to do with the
name of "Yordas."  They were grieved, as they honestly declared, to
hear it, but could not help owning that his pride was just; and
they felt that their name was the richer for not having any poor
people to share it.

Yet Captain Lyth--as he now was called, even by revenue officers--
in no way impoverished his name by taking another to share it with
him.  The farmer declared that there should be no wedding until he
had sold seven stacks of wheat, for his meaning was to do things
well.  But this obstacle did not last long, for those were times
when corn was golden, not in landscape only.

So when the spring was fair with promise of green for the earth,
and of blue for heaven, and of silver-gray upon the sea, the little
church close to Anerley Farm filled up all the complement of
colors.  There was scarlet, of Dr. Upround's hood (brought by the
Precious boy from Flamborough); a rich plum-color in the coat of
Mordacks; delicate rose and virgin white in the blush and the brow
of Mary; every tint of the rainbow on her mother's part; and gold,
rich gold, in a great tanned bag, on behalf of Squire Popplewell.
His idea of a "settlement" was cash down, and he put it on the
parish register.

Mary found no cause to repent of the long endurance of her truth,
and the steadfast power of quiet love.  Robin was often in the
distance still, far beyond the silvery streak of England's new
salvation.  But Mary prayed for his safe return; and safe he was,
by the will of the Lord, which helps the man who helps himself, and
has made his hand bigger than his tongue.  When the war was over,
Captain Lyth came home, and trained his children in the ways in
which he should have walked, and the duties they should do and pay.



THE END.







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