“Did you hear him your own self?”
“Yes.”
She stamped her foot.
“But he promised! He promised!”
John Ford went towards her.
“Don't touch me, grandfather! I hate every one! Let him do what he
likes, I don't care.”
John Ford's face turned quite grey.
“Pasiance,” he said, “did you want to leave me so much?”
She looked straight at us, and said sharply:
“What's the good of telling stories. I can't help its hurting you.”
“What did you think you would find away from here?”
She laughed.
“Find? I don't know—nothing; I wouldn't be stifled anyway. Now I suppose
you'll shut me up because I'm a weak girl, not strong like men!”
“Silence!” said John Ford; “I will make him take you.”
“You shan't!” she cried; “I won't let you. He's free to do as he likes.
He's free—I tell you all, everybody—free!”
She ran through the window, and vanished.
John Ford made a movement as if the bottom had dropped out of his world.
I left him there.
I went to the kitchen, where Hopgood was sitting at the table, eating
bread and cheese. He got up on seeing me, and very kindly brought me
some cold bacon and a pint of ale.
“I thart I shude be seeing yu, zurr,” he said between his bites;
“Therr's no thart to 'atin' 'bout the 'ouse to-day. The old wumman's
puzzivantin' over Miss Pasiance. Young girls are skeery critters”—he
brushed his sleeve over his broad, hard jaws, and filled a pipe
“specially when it's in the blood of 'em. Squire Rick Voisey werr a
dandy; an' Mistress Voisey—well, she werr a nice lady tu, but”—rolling
the stem of his pipe from corner to corner of his mouth—“she werr a
pra-aper vixen.”
Hopgood's a good fellow, and I believe as soft as he looks hard, but
he's not quite the sort with whom one chooses to talk over a matter like
this. I went upstairs, and began to pack, but after a bit dropped it for
a book, and somehow or other fell asleep.
I woke, and looked at my watch; it was five o'clock. I had been asleep
four hours. A single sunbeam was slanting across from one of my windows
to the other, and there was the cool sound of milk dropping into pails;
then, all at once, a stir as of alarm, and heavy footsteps.
I opened my door. Hopgood and a coast-guardsman were carrying Pasiance
slowly up the stairs. She lay in their arms without moving, her face
whiter than her dress, a scratch across the forehead, and two or three
drops there of dried blood. Her hands were clasped, and she slowly
crooked and stiffened out her fingers. When they turned with her at the
stair top, she opened her lips, and gasped, “All right, don't put me
down. I can bear it.” They passed, and, with a half-smile in her eyes,
she said something to me that I couldn't catch; the door was shut, and
the excited whispering began again below. I waited for the men to come
out, and caught hold of Hopgood. He wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Poor young thing!” he said. “She fell—down the cliffs—'tis her
back—coastguard saw her 'twerr they fetched her in. The Lord 'elp her
mebbe she's not broken up much! An' Mister Ford don't know! I'm gwine
for the doctor.”
There was an hour or more to wait before he came; a young fellow; almost
a boy. He looked very grave, when he came out of her room.
“The old woman there fond of her? nurse her well...? Fond as a
dog!—good! Don't know—can't tell for certain! Afraid it's the spine,
must have another opinion! What a plucky girl! Tell Mr. Ford to have
the best man he can get in Torquay—there's C—-. I'll be round the first
thing in the morning. Keep her dead quiet. I've left a sleeping draught;
she'll have fever tonight.”
John Ford came in at last. Poor old man! What it must have cost him not
to go to her for fear of the excitement! How many times in the next
few hours didn't I hear him come to the bottom of the stairs; his heavy
wheezing, and sighing; and the forlorn tread of his feet going back!
About eleven, just as I was going to bed, Mrs. Hopgood came to my door.
“Will yu come, sir,” she said; “she's asking for yu. Naowt I can zay but
what she will see yu; zeems crazy, don't it?” A tear trickled down
the old lady's cheek. “Du 'ee come; 'twill du 'err 'arm mebbe, but I
dunno—she'll fret else.”
I slipped into the room. Lying back on her pillows, she was breathing
quickly with half-closed eyes. There was nothing to show that she had
wanted me, or even knew that I was there. The wick of the candle, set
by the bedside, had been snuffed too short, and gave but a faint light;
both window and door stood open, still there was no draught, and the
feeble little flame burned quite still, casting a faint yellow stain
on the ceiling like the refection from a buttercup held beneath a chin.
These ceilings are far too low! Across the wide, squat window the apple
branches fell in black stripes which never stirred. It was too dark to
see things clearly. At the foot of the bed was a chest, and there Mrs.
Hopgood had sat down, moving her lips as if in speech. Mingled with the
half-musty smell of age; there were other scents, of mignonette, apples,
and some sweet-smelling soap. The floor had no carpet, and there was not
one single dark object except the violin, hanging from a nail over the
bed. A little, round clock ticked solemnly.
“Why won't you give me that stuff, Mums?” Pasiance said in a faint,
sharp voice. “I want to sleep.”
“Have you much pain?” I asked.
“Of course I have; it's everywhere.”
She turned her face towards me.
“You thought I did it on purpose, but you're wrong. If I had, I'd have
done it better than this. I wouldn't have this brutal pain.” She put her
fingers over her eyes. “It's horrible to complain! Only it's so bad! But
I won't again—promise.”
She took the sleeping draught gratefully, making a face, like a child
after a powder.
“How long do you think it'll be before I can play again? Oh! I
forgot—there are other things to think about.” She held out her hand to
me. “Look at my ring. Married—isn't it funny? Ha, ha! Nobody will
ever understand—that's funny too! Poor Gran! You see, there wasn't any
reason—only me. That's the only reason I'm telling you now; Mums is
there—but she doesn't count; why don't you count, Mums?”
The fever was fighting against the draught; she had tossed the clothes
back from her throat, and now and then raised one thin arm a little, as
if it eased her; her eyes had grown large, and innocent like a child's;
the candle, too, had flared, and was burning clearly.
“Nobody is to tell him—nobody at all; promise...! If I hadn't slipped,
it would have been different. What would have happened then? You can't
tell; and I can't—that's funny! Do you think I loved him? Nobody marries
without love, do they? Not quite without love, I mean. But you see I
wanted to be free, he said he'd take me; and now he's left me after all!
I won't be left, I can't! When I came to the cliff—that bit where the
ivy grows right down—there was just the sea there, underneath; so I
thought I would throw myself over and it would be all quiet; and I
climbed on a ledge, it looked easier from there, but it was so high, I
wanted to get back; and then my foot slipped; and now it's all pain. You
can't think much, when you're in pain.”
From her eyes I saw that she was dropping off.
“Nobody can take you away from-yourself. He's not to be told—not even—I
don't—want you—to go away, because—” But her eyes closed, and she
dropped off to sleep.
They don't seem to know this morning whether she is better or worse....