MEDMER MELTS A SILVER SPOON.
It was a clear, crisp November evening, with a touch of frost in the
air, and the captain sat in his little parlour before a tiny fire,
staring into the coals. Behind him on the table a candle, burning in
a tall, old-fashioned candle-stick, threw a giant round-shouldered
shadow of the captain on the wall and part of the ceiling of the room.
Two years had gone by since the captain stood outside Medmer Theed's
shop and watched the carriage roll away--two years during which he had
aged a little more, and had gone but little beyond the confines of his
garden.
To-night he sat and stared into the coals and thought a little
wistfully of the past, and wondered a little what had become of the
figures that had acted out their lives in close contact with his--some
of them, indeed, in that very room. He thought of the tiny child
hugging a puppy in its arms, standing outside his gate looking up at
him with big, frightened eyes; remembered sunny Sunday mornings when
that child had sat beside him in the big pew in church. He sighed at
last, and moved restlessly in his chair and turned his head to look
round the familiar room.
There was a sudden sound of hesitating steps upon the gravel outside,
and then a cautious lifting of the latch. The captain twisted in his
chair and rose to his feet, picked up the candle from the table, and
opened the door of the room. In the shadows of the little hallway he
saw a man standing.
"Who's there?" cried the captain, raising the light above his head.
The man came forward slowly until he stood within a yard of the light
and raised his head. The captain staggered back a step into the room.
"Forgive me," said the man huskily. "I have wandered outside this old
place for an hour, fearing to come in, but now----I suppose you don't
care to--to take my hand?"
The captain had put down the candle hurriedly, and had the man by both
hands and was dragging him in a feeble, excited fashion into the room.
"Comethup--my boy--my boy!" he said, over and over again.
He got his visitor into a chair near the fire and began to chafe his
half-frozen fingers and to put back the long hair from his face as
though he had been tending a child. And while he did so Comethup looked
steadily and smilingly at him, and the little captain smiled back at
Comethup.
"This is very good of you, sir," said Comethup at last, in something of
the old boyish voice. "I might have known you wouldn't turn from me,
however bad you might think I had been. And isn't it good just to get
back to the old room again? I've been so happy in this old room! What a
little chap I was when I first came to you! Do you remember? And what a
lot has happened since then--what a lot has happened!"
"Where have you been all this time, boy?" asked the captain, still
chafing the other's fingers. "Why have you never been near me?"
Comethup shook his head and smiled drearily. "No, I couldn't do
that," he said. "I've had something of a fight for it, you know,
with no weapons to fight with. Look at me"--he indicated his shabby,
travel-stained dress by a gesture--"look at me; I'm little better than
a tramp, you know. Why--God bless your simple heart, sir--I'm even in
hiding."
"In hiding?" echoed the captain.
"Yes. You know I borrowed a lot of money, and told the people from whom
I borrowed it that I was my aunt's heir. Well, it turned out I wasn't;
they haven't been able to get their money back, and I haven't been able
to pay the interest. There are writs out against me, I believe, and all
sorts of things. Oh, what a muddle it's been, every bit of it!"
"But what are you going to do?" asked the captain.
"Well, if you'll let me, I'd like to rest here just for to-night; and
to-morrow, before the sun is up, I'll be far away again. I'm going
abroad, going to try and make a fresh start."
"Is there no other way?" asked the captain.
"None. I've got to live somehow, and I must start in a new world, with
a clean slate. But don't let us talk any more about myself; tell me all
that has happened in this long time. Poor Brian is dead, I understand."
"Yes, he's dead," replied the captain slowly, "and is a greater man in
death than he was in life. Do you know that they've raised a statue to
him in this town, the place of his birth?"
"Yes, I heard of that," replied Comethup. "I saw the statue only this
evening. It's curious that they should have stuck it up on the old
walls where we used to play together when we were boys, isn't it? It
was half dark when I saw it, but it looks very fine, and they've caught
his attitude to the life."
"Yes, it's quite like him," replied the captain. "They made a great
fuss of it at the time; it was raised by public subscription. He seems
to have had a great many admirers."
"Tell me of the others," said Comethup. "What of--of 'Linda; is she
well?"
"Yes, very well. She has been living since her husband's death with
Miss Carlaw, your aunt; so you understand she wants for nothing."
"Thank God for that!" said Comethup fervently. "You've taken quite a
load off my mind. I've thought of her a thousand times and feared that
she might be in want and that I might not be able to help her. And my
aunt, does she--does she still think badly of me?"
"I'm afraid so," said the captain.
"Well, I gave her every reason to do so. There--don't ask me anything
about it, because I can't tell even you; there are some things, you
know, that one has to keep quite to one's self. It's good to know that
_you_ don't think so very badly of me; that you are willing to take
me by the hand again just as though all this had never happened." He
got up from his chair and laid his hand on the captain's shoulder. "If
you'll let me sleep in the little room in which I slept as a child
I'll be grateful to you. And let us say good-bye here for the last
time. Long before you're awake in the morning, old friend, I shall be
gone. And I pray you, for the sake of the love you had for me so long
ago, don't think of me as you see me to-night--poor and broken and an
outcast; but remember only the child you played with years and years
ago; remember only the boy you were proud of when you used to come and
see me at school. Will you do that?"
"Boy or man, it makes no difference," said the captain; "I can only
think of you as I have thought of you always--as one who is nearer to
my heart than any I have met on my journey through life."
Before he could be prevented Comethup had caught the old man's hands
and had carried them swiftly to his lips. "Thank you," he whispered;
"God bless you! I can go now with a lighter heart than I have carried
for a long time. Good-bye, old friend, good-bye!"
They gripped hands once more, and Comethup, crying lightly that he knew
the way, stumbled out of the room and went swiftly upstairs, leaving
the captain standing alone.
The captain sat down and tried to resume his thoughts. But everything
seemed to have been tumbled about and thrust into fresh directions by
the arrival of Comethup. After a little time the old man got up and
reached down his heavy cloak and put on his hat and went softly out.
The night was fine; only the slow chiming of the hour from the church
clock struck upon his ears. He walked through the garden and out into
the deserted streets.
Going along with bent head, pondering deeply, he was brought to a
sudden recollection of his surroundings by hearing some one falter
his name; he looked up with a start and saw 'Linda before him. So
surprising had been the coming of the other visitor that he was
scarcely startled to see her suddenly there before him; he did not even
ask her the reason for her presence.
"I was coming to see you," she whispered as she held his hand. "I have
been trying to make up my mind to come to you all the afternoon."
"Are you here alone?" he asked.
"Yes, quite alone. We are going abroad to-morrow, and I craved
permission to come down to the old place once again. We may not be
returning for years. I wanted--oh, can't you understand?--I wanted just
to creep back here again for an hour or two; to visit the old scenes,
perhaps even to dream some of the old dreams. And so I took a little
room at the inn here, where no one seems to remember me, and I am going
away quite early in the morning. Miss Carlaw is coming down to Deal
to-morrow and I am to drive from here to meet her, and from there we
start on our travels. But I felt I could not go away from the old place
without seeing my old friend."
The captain thought of the man who slept at his cottage, and decided at
once that 'Linda must be kept away from there. "I am afraid," he said,
"that we shall have to say our farewells here. It is very late, and
when a lady"--he threw a little light laughter into his tones--"when a
lady is staying at an inn she must keep regular hours. I'm glad, for
your sake, that you are going abroad. Come, let me take you back again."
She seemed a little surprised at his apparent coldness, but took the
arm he offered and walked on with him. Very little was said, but near
the door of the inn she stopped for a moment, with both hands clasped
on his arm, and looked away past him down the street. When at last she
spoke her voice was very soft and tender, and trembled a little.
"It may be a long, long time before I see you again, dear old friend,
and as this is to be our farewell there is something--something I would
like to say to you. I seem again to-night to be a little child, just as
I was in those old days when you put your cloak about me and hushed my
weeping in your arms. I have given you, I fear, cause to think badly
of me. Will you think better of me if I tell you that I would be glad
to be a child again, weeping in the rain, if only I might do some of
the things I have tried to do so much better? Something else I must say
before I leave you. There was a man--a dear, good fellow--who loved
me; I have thought of him--oh, believe me--with tears, many and many a
night when I have lain awake. I fear there is no heaven I can reach; I
am afraid that every gate of any paradise that might be mine will be
closed against me because I deserted him when he most needed me. Even
you--good, kind friend that you are--even you don't know everything.
There is an image of stone over there"--she flung out her arm with a
passionate gesture--"I saw it this afternoon, with its smiling face
raised to the sky; I would that my hands were strong enough to tear
it down! It mocks me where it stands--mocks the pain that rages in
my heart. If you should ever see the man who loved me--the better
man--will you tell him from me, now that it is too late, that I learned
to love him with all my heart and soul; that I would that I might crawl
to his feet and kiss them, and tell him so. Will you tell him that?"
"If I see him," said the little captain, "I will tell him."
She kissed him hurriedly and hugged him in the old, passionate,
childish fashion, and ran into the inn. He waited for a few moments
and then turned away. He was too upset by the events of the strange
night to care to go back to his own cottage; more than all, he feared,
in a vague fashion, to meet Comethup. With his hands clasped behind
him under his cloak he walked on, scarcely knowing where he went, and
found himself presently turning in under the archway which led to the
shoemaker's shop. He dared not think, dared not bring himself to the
realization of the fact, that these two people were in the same town,
almost within cry of each other, this night. He wanted to get away from
the thought of it; wanted desperately to talk to some one. He saw a
light gleaming through the shutters of Medmer Theed's shop, and after
hesitating for a moment knocked at the door.
He heard the bolt drawn inside, and the door was cautiously opened
and the old man appeared, looking out at him. He was dressed only in
his shirt and trousers, and with his unkempt gray hair tossed about
his head looked a stranger, wilder figure even than usual. Seeing the
captain, he held the door wider open and beckoned to his visitor to
enter.
"Come in, come in," he said in a mysterious whisper, "but let no one
else come near." He had closed the door by this time and shot the bolt.
"You, who love her, have a right to be here; for we work together, you
and I, for love of her, don't we?"
"Of course," said the captain, looking at him a little uneasily and
wondering what he meant. "You are at work late to-night," he added.
"Yes, very late, and with strange work." He suddenly caught the captain
by the arm and drew nearer to him. "Hush! Do you know that _he_ has
come back?"
"I don't understand you," said the captain. "Who has come back?"
"The man who wronged her, the man they thought was dead. If they had
wanted to keep him dead why did they thrust him up there for all men
to see? why did they put him there against the sky to laugh at her and
mock her and torture her afresh? Listen, and I'll tell you something.
Just as I watched for her, night after night, through storm and rain
and starlight, till she came to me, so I have watched for him, night
after night, through storm and rain, till he has come back too. I tell
you they can not kill him; he is here to work harm to her still, to
wring fresh tears from her. At night, when all men sleep, he comes down
and prowls round here searching for her, waiting for her. I've seen
him."
The captain shook his hand off half angrily, half fearfully. "What
madness is this?" he cried. "The man is dead and can trouble her no
more; that is but an image of stone, the work of men's hands. The man
lies in his grave, miles away from here."
Medmer Theed shook his head obstinately and laughed. "You don't know,"
he said, "you don't know. My dreams have taught me more than you could
learn. Dead or not, I tell you that his spirit has come back, and waits
there at night to work fresh evil to her. And that's where my dreams
and my love for her shall help me."
He laid his hand again on the captain's arm and drew him into the inner
room. A bright fire burned in the little grate, and thrust into the
very heart of it was a small crucible; the captain, drawing nearer, saw
that the handle of an old-fashioned spoon projected above the edge of
it.
"Why, what are you doing?" he asked.
The shoemaker chuckled and softly stirred the fire. "There is but one
way to kill a spirit," he whispered, looking up at his companion. "Lead
or iron or steel won't do; it wants finer stuff. Silver's the stuff.
You are a man of war, and might bring a regiment against him in vain;
but this little silver bullet, if it can but reach him, will put an
end to his mischief forever. See"--he pulled open a drawer in a little
table and took out an old-fashioned, heavy-barrelled pistol and a
small instrument, shaped almost like a pair of pincers, for moulding
bullets--"I am all prepared. The silver is good, the pistol aims truly.
He shall not trouble her any more."
The captain, glancing at him in perplexity, saw in his eyes a madness
of determination he had not seen in any face before; he understood that
whatever wild thought was in the old man's brain it would be useless to
attempt to combat it. After lingering for some minutes, during which
time the little mass of silver in the bottom of the crucible gradually
increased in bulk, he bade the old man good-night, and went out. As he
looked back from the doorway he saw the wild old figure still bending
over the fire, laughing softly and muttering incoherent things.