A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE.
On the following day she wrote to Frank and gave the letter to
Jacques, asking him to carry it in the evening at the Rohais. The
old man smiled at her, and carefully pocketing the piece of silver
which she thrust into his hand, he remarked: "I s'pose you don't
care for the guv'nor to know anything about this 'ere business."
"How dare you call my father so?" she said, pretending to be
offended; "no; don't let him have any knowledge of this or any other
message I may entrust you with in the future."
"He won't; look 'ere Miss, I'll do anything for you, you're a good
'un; and as for your father gettin' anything out of me; I'd as well
have the last bone in my body pulled out afore I'd say anything
against you or your young man. You're the very picture of your
mother, that you are, she was a good woman----."
"Jacques, if you cannot express yourself in English, talk in
Guernsey French, as you used to do," she said, for Jacques was
showing forth his knowledge.
"What have I said?" he questioned in his native tongue, then he
added: "I thought I was speaking well, I beg your pardon if I have
offended you, Miss."
"You have not displeased me," she said. "I must go now, or my
father will be fretting about my absence. I can trust you?"
"Yes, I will do anything for you. Good-night, Miss."
"Good-night, Mait Jacques."
And, with a light step and a cheerful countenance, she entered the
room in which her father was. He was seated in an armchair before
the fire-place, his attention centred on a halter which he was
endeavouring to manufacture. He did not fail to notice the laughing
eyes and the radiant expression of his daughter.
"What has she been about?" he mused, "has she been speaking to that
smooth-tongued, stuck-up son of a ragamuffin."
His face assumed a sour expression as the suspicion crossed his
mind. After a few moments of silence, he raised his small and
constantly flickering eyes, and asked in a sour tone: "Where have
you been all this time?"
"I have been speaking to Mait Jacques," she replied.
"The whole time."
"Yes, all the time."
"Only to him?"
"Yes, to him alone."
Mr. Rougeant was satisfied. The idea of disbelieving his daughter
never entered his head. He knew she would never debase herself by
uttering a falsehood, and he quietly resumed his work. Then, after a
few minutes of silence, he turned again to her: "Is Jacques gone?"
he enquired.
"I do not know," she replied.
"Well run and see, and, if he is not, tell him to come and speak to
me."
An anxious look passed over Adele's face. Fortunately, she was able
to slip out of the room before her father noticed it.
"He wants to question him," she said to herself; "I shall have to
warn him. My father is almost sure to find him out. Oh! I do hope
that he is gone." She approached the stable, where Jacques usually
spent his last half-hour. She went towards the door, opened it and
called out: "Jacques."
No answer.
She joyously tripped towards the house. After a few steps she
stopped. "I have not called out very loudly," she thought, "if
Jacques were still here and my father were to see him, his
suspicions would be aroused."
She retraced her steps, and in a half-frightened tone, wishing with
all her heart that her cry might not be answered, she called out
again in a louder voice: "Mait Jacques; are you about there?"
She listened eagerly. Her summons were not answered. She went
towards the house and entered it, saying: "He's gone, I have not
seen him."
"It does not matter much," said her father, "I will tell him what I
have to say to-morrow."
Her anxiety recommenced. She looked at her father and tried to read
his thoughts. In this she failed. He had one of those hard set faces
the owners of which seem devoid of soul or sentiment.
When she awoke the following morning, Adele's first thoughts were
about her father and his workman. What was he going to question him
about? Ah! he had perhaps seen her through the window, giving a
letter to the old man and cautioning him.
When they had finished breakfasting, Adele, who began to hope her
father had completely forgotten all about his workman, was very
much annoyed when Mr. Rougeant told her to tell Jacques to come and
speak to him.
She searched out the old man, and, having found him, she said to
him: "Did you see Mr. Mathers yesterday evening?"
"Yes, Miss," he answered, taking care to speak in his native tongue
this time; "I saw him. He thanked me and asked a few questions about
your health and Mr. Rougeant's foot."
"I am very much obliged to you," said Adele, "and now, you must come
and talk to my father. I think he means to question you, but you
will be on your guard; will you not?"
"Oh, he is not the man to take me in. If he asks me if you gave me a
letter yesterday, or anything else concerning you, I know what to
answer him."
"You will speak the truth?"
"Speak the truth and be taken in, not I; there's no harm in fibbing
when it's for doing good, Miss."
"If you are prepared to utter falsehoods, Jacques, for the sake of
shielding me, you will lose my approbation. I shall be very angry
with you if you do so. You understand; you must not swerve from the
path of truth."
"Well, I never," said Jacques, "and it was all for your sake. We
shall see. I'm not going to let your father learn anything from me.
Jerusalem, I would rather pull the hair off my head."
"The plain truth," said Adele, shaking her forefinger at him and
looking very severe.
"I know my work, Miss," he replied as he followed her into the
house.
The farmer was seated near the fire. He did not even turn round when
Jacques entered. The latter went straight up to his employer and
said: "You wanted me to come and speak to you."
Adele tried to look composed, but her nerves were unsteady. She
could not bear to leave the room, while the men were talking about
her. No, she must hear her doom; at any rate, she must be there to
try and defend herself.
"Yes," said the farmer after a while, "what was it about now? oh!
this evening----."
"Yesterday evening;" thought Adele, "he is making a mistake."
"This evening," the farmer went on, "you will carry my boots to the
shoemaker's."
"All right, Sir," answered Jacques.
The young lady could not restrain a sigh of relief.
Jacques looked at her and winked--a most rude thing to do--but then
Jacques did not know better.
Quoth Mr. Rougeant, his eyes fixed on the grate: "You will tell him
to be as quick as he can about mending them; I mean to walk in a few
days."
"All right, Sir."
"I don't want anything expensive; in fact, I want him to mend them
as cheaply as he possibly can. But, you understand, I want him to
repair them well."
"A good job costs money," Jacques ventured to interpose.
"I told you I don't want anything expensive," retorted the farmer
angrily.
"Oh, that's all right, Sir; I'll tell him so, Sir," said the
workman, frightened at Mr. Rougeant's sour tone.
"Well, you will fetch them this evening and be careful to tell him
what I require; a good and inexpensive job, or I won't pay him."
"All right, Sir," said Jacques, and he left the room muttering:
"He's growing from bad to worse; he is a stingy old niggard."
What was Tom Soher doing all this time? He was drinking.
He had never loved Adele Rougeant, and when he saw that there was
not much chance of winning her, he took to drink. In reality, he
preferred his bottle to his cousin. Of course, he put all the blame
on the misfortunes which he had encountered.
Once, and only once, his father tried timidly to rebuke him. "No,"
he said, "there is nothing for me to do but to drown my sorrow.
Welcome ruin."
"Why not turn a new leaf?" pleaded Mr. Soher.
"Bah!" he replied as he walked away, "what's the use!--no; good-bye
to everything."
Spoilt child; he little knew the terrible death that awaited him.