It would have seemed that James Grey and Mary Page had now every chance
of being made happy. So they might, if James had not got into evil
ways. He had not spoken of Mary to his uncle, and he did not know that
Farmer Grey had seen her, and was much pleased with her. By this his
folly was shown. Had he been frank with his uncle, and told him all the
truth, how much better it would have been for him!
A few days after the accident at the mill, James came, as usual, to see
Mary. He had a long talk with her, and said that he was so glad his
uncle now knew her, and that he was sure the farmer would let him marry
her. Still he did not say that he had told his uncle he wished to do
so. When he at last got up to go away, Ben followed him.
"James," said Ben, "I have some work for tonight. You must come. You
will never have seen such sport in your life. There are six other chaps
will join us, all true as steel."
"No, no, Ben; I must go home," said James. "My uncle does not like me
to be out late at night, and he has heard of one or two of the things I
have done with you."
"That is good," said Ben, with a sneer. "Why, I would not let my father
order me about as he likes; much less an uncle, I should think. Dear
me, `my uncle won't let me do this,' `my uncle won't let me do that'; a
nice state of things. Come, James, be a man, and come along with me."
James never could stand Ben's sneers; so the next time Ben said, "Come
along," he answered, "Very well; but only for this time."
"Oh, of course, I know," said Ben. "I don't want you to get into any
scrape, of course, lad. Come back into my room. Those clothes won't
suit you: you must put on some of mine. We can slip out again, and my
sister won't see you."
In a short time, Ben and James stole out with their guns and shot-belts
and powder-flasks.
"It is not near home," whispered Ben.
"That's a good thing," answered James; but they spoke very little.
They had walked two miles when they fell in with three men, who seemed
to know Ben well; and soon after that they met three more. All went on
together. James found that they were going into the park of a gentleman
who very strictly preserved his game and had several gamekeepers.
"Even if they meet us, they won't dare to attack us; and if they do, we
can take very good care of ourselves," said Ben.
The party of poachers were in search of pheasants, of which there were a
great many in the park. They knocked over one after the other, till
each man was well loaded. James soon began to take a pleasure in the
sport, and killed as many as the rest.
They had begun to talk of going home, all well pleased with their
night's work, when, as they were within fifty yards of the place where
they were to leave the park, they found themselves face to face with
four keepers.
"Stand back, and let us pass!" cried Ben Page. "We don't want to say
anything to you, and you shall not say anything to us."
"That won't do, young man," said the principal keeper; "you must give up
all the game you have shot, and let us know your names."
"That we won't do. Push on, Ben Page," shouted one of the men.
The click as of guns being cocked was heard.
"If you fire, so do we; and we have three shots to your one," cried Ben.
"On, lads, on."
"I know you by your voice, Master Page," said one of the keepers. "I
see you too, now I am nearer to you."
"If you do, take that for your pains," exclaimed Ben, scarcely thinking,
in his rage, of what he was about. The report of a gun was heard. One
of the gamekeepers fell. The poachers dashed forward. Another keeper
was knocked over. The rest ran off to hide in the wood, thinking that
they would all be murdered; while the poachers, without stopping to see
what harm had been done to the fallen men, hurried out of the wood,
leaving them on the ground. Bad men are often cowards; and cowards are
careless of what others suffer.
The poachers talked very big, but their hearts sunk within them. The
most unhappy was James Grey. The others dreaded being found out and
punished. With him it was not the fear of being found out and punished,
so much as the thought that he had been with those who had caused the
death of a fellow-creature; for he made sure, from the groan the keeper
uttered when he fell, that he had been killed. His conscience, never
quite at rest, even when he went with Ben Page into his worst haunts,
was awakened.
"I am just as guilty as if I had killed the man with my own hand," he
said to himself. "And may be the other man will die too; for the butt
end of Turner's gun came down with a fearful blow on his head, and he
dropped as if shot. What shall I do? What shall I do? I will go and
deliver myself up, and confess all. I shall be hung very likely: but I
would sooner be hung than feel that I had killed a fellow-man."
Such were James's thoughts as he and his companions hurried towards
Hillbrook. Here and there on their way the rest of the men went off to
their homes, till Ben and James were left alone. James then told Ben of
his sorrow at what had happened, and how he thought he would give
himself up.
"Nonsense; that will never do," said Ben. "No one knows who fired the
shot, or who knocked the other keeper down; you don't, I am sure."
Ben knew that James did know well enough that he, Ben himself, had shot
the keeper.
"I wish from my heart, Ben, that I did not," said James.
"If that is it, the only thing is to keep out of the way," said Ben.
"Now listen, James, a faint-hearted fellow is sure to peach, and out of
the way you must keep. I say _must_--understand me."
"I will keep out of the way, Ben, whether I must or not," said James, in
a tone of great sorrow. "You have been the ruin of me, Ben; but it was
my own fault, I ought to have known better."
"Nonsense, James: things are not so bad as you think," said Ben. "Just
come in and change your clothes and go home to bed. You can get in as
you have done before, and who is to know that you were out of the house
all night? I say that you shouldn't be in too great a fright; still you
must go away for a time, till the matter has blown over. I'll think of
some plan for you before long."
James Grey, who had far more education than Ben Page, felt himself
completely in his power.
James hurried home unseen, and got to bed. He could not sleep. He
thought over all sorts of plans. Two or three days before he had been
at the market town five miles off. He had there observed a soldier, a
sergeant with a number of gay coloured ribbons in his hat, beating up
for recruits, for service in India. James had stopped to listen to him
as he was speaking to a group of young men who stood round with open
mouths, hearing of the wonders of that distant country--the money to be
got--the pleasures to be enjoyed. "Every cavalry soldier out there is a
gentleman," said the sergeant. "He has at least three servants to
attend on him; one to forage, one to groom his horse, and one to attend
on him."
James at the moment had thought that if it was not for Mary and his
uncle he should like to try his fortune in that far-off wonderful
country. The idea came back to him, if the sergeant was still there he
would enlist at once. No time was to be lost. He must be out of the
country before he was suspected of having been one of the party who
killed the gamekeeper. He rose and dressed quickly. He put up some
shirts and socks and a few other articles, and all the money he had got,
and left the house before any one was up. He would much have liked to
have seen his kind uncle again, but he dared not wait till he was on
foot. There was one other person, however, whom he must see before he
went away, Mary Page. She was always an early riser he knew. He ran
rather than walked to the mill-house. She opened the door as he reached
it, and came out into the garden.
"Mary, I am going away," he said in a hurried voice; "something has
happened, it can't be helped now though; only, Mary, I want to tell you
that I love you now, and shall love you always. Don't think ill of me,
don't think me guilty; not more guilty than I am, if you hear anything
about me. I cannot tell you more. I must not tell you."
Mary turned pale with terror, as much from his looks as from what he
said. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and added, "You will
think of me, I know you will. I won't ask you not to love any one else;
that would be hard on you, for I don't know how long I may be away; but,
if I ever do come back, Mary, and I have changed, greatly changed from
what I now am, I hope to ask you to be my wife. For your sake, Mary, I
will try to grow better, to be firm, to learn to say No when tempted to
do ill. That has been my ruin now, may cause my ruin for ever."
Before Mary could answer him,--for he was not a minute with her, and she
was too much astonished at first to speak,--he had torn himself from
her, and was hurrying along the road.
"Oh stay, oh stay, and tell me all," she cried out; but he either did
not hear her, or would not venture to turn back. As he got out of sight
of the mill he ran on as fast as his legs could carry him, though he
stopped, and had to walk slowly when he saw any one coming. He had got
halfway to the town, when as he was running on he heard the sound of
horses' hoofs behind him galloping quickly over the road.
"Some one coming after me," he thought. For the first time in his life
he felt what abject fear was. His knees trembled under him, and to save
his life he could not have run farther. Still James Grey was no coward.
In a good cause he could have fought as well as any man. Soon he heard
a voice behind him cry out, "Jump up, James; I guessed what you were
after. It was my idea you were going to enlist; so will I. Jump up, I
say; no time to lose."
It was Ben Page who spoke. For some moments James scarcely understood
him. Ben had a led horse. He threw himself into the saddle, and they
were quickly in the town, where the horses were left at a stable; Ben
having told a carter to come for them.
The two young men then went out to look for the recruiting-sergeant. He
was soon found. He cast his eye up and down over James, asked him a few
questions, told him to let him see his handwriting, and at once enlisted
him.
"If you are steady, as you look, you will be a corporal before many more
months are over, and a sergeant soon after," he said, with a nod of
approval.
A body of recruits were starting that very morning for the depot, whence
they were to embark. James was ordered to go with them.
The sergeant was uncertain as to what regiment Ben would suit. He was
scarcely of sufficient height, and a very different looking sort of man.
He promised, however, to give him an answer in the course of a few
days.
James was very thankful when he found that Ben was not to go with him.
He thought, "He has already led me into evil; if he comes now, how shall
I be able to withstand him better than I have done?"
James's heart was heavy, yet he tried to keep his spirits up among his
new comrades. He was anxious, too: every stranger he saw looking about
he thought might be a sheriff's officer, come to take him prisoner.
Most of the men were hoping that the day they were to go on board the
ship might be put off: his great wish was that they might sail sooner
than had been expected. He had written a letter to his kind uncle,
asking his forgiveness for what he had done, and expressing his love and
gratitude to him.
He had heard nothing from Ben. This was so far well. He could have
gained nothing, if Ben had come.
At length the day arrived for the troops to embark. The ship sailed,
and bore James Grey far away from the shores of Old England.