AN APPARITION.
When Bideabout arrived in the Punch-Bowl, as he passed the house
of the Rocliffes, he saw his sister, with a pail, coming from the
cow-house. One of the cattle was ill, and she had been carrying
it a bran-mash.
He went to her, and said, "Sally!"
"Here I be, Jonas, what now?"
"I want you badly at my place. There's been an accident."
"What? To whom? Not to old Clutch?"
"Old Clutch be bothered. It is I be hurted terr'ble bad. In my arm.
If it weren't dark here, under the trees, you'd see the blood."
"I'll come direct. That's just about it. When she's wanted, your
wife is elsewhere. When she ain't, she's all over the shop. I'll
clap down the pail inside. You go on and I'll follow."
Jonas unlocked his house, and entered. He groped about for the
tinder-box, but when he had found it was unable to strike a light
with one hand only. He seated himself in the dark, and fell into
a cold sweat.
Not only was he in great pain, but his mind was ill at ease, full
of vague terrors. There was something in the corner that he could
see, slightly stirring. A little moonlight entered, and a fold
flickered in the ray, then disappeared again. Again something came
within the light. Was it a foot? Was it the bottom of a skirt? He
shrank back against the wall, as far as possible from this
mysterious, restless form.
He looked round to see that the scullery door was open, through
which to escape, should this thing move towards him.
The sow was grunting and squealing in her stye, Jonas hailed the
sound; there was nothing alarming in that. Had all been still in
and about the house, there might have come from that undefined
shadow in the comer a voice, a groan, a sigh--he knew not what.
With an exclamation of relief he saw the flash of Sally Rocliffe's
lantern pass the window.
Next moment she stood in the doorway.
"Where are you, Jonas?"
"I am here. Hold up the lantern, Sarah. What's that in the corner
there, movin'?"
"Where, Jonas?"
"There--you are almost touchin it. Turn the light."
"That," said his sister; "why don'ty know your own old oilcloth
overcoat as was father's, don'ty know that when you see it?"
"I didn't see it, but indistinct like," answered Jonas.
His courage, his strength, his insolence were gone out of him.
"Now, what's up?" asked Sarah. "How have you been hurted?"
Jonas told a rambling story. He had been in the Marsh. He had
seen the deer, but in his haste to get within range he had run,
caught his foot in a bramble, had stumbled, and the gun had been
discharged, and the bullet had entered his arm.
Mrs. Rocliffe at once came to him to examine the wound.
"Why, Jonas, you never did this up yourself. There's some one been
at your arm already. Here's this band be off Matabel's petticoat.
How came you by that?"
He was confounded, and remained silent.
"And where is the gun, Jonas?"
"The gun!"
He had forgotten all about it in his panic. Mehetabel had been
carrying it when he beat her down. He had thought of it no more.
He had thought of nothing after the deed, but how to escape from
the spot as speedily as possible.
"I suppose I've lost it," he said. "Somewhere in the Moor. You see
when I was wounded, I hadn't the head to think of anything else."
Mrs. Rocliffe was examining his arm. The sleeve of his coat had
been cut.
"I don't understand your tale a scrap, Jonas," she said. "Who used
his knife to slit up your sleeve? And how comes your arm to be
bandaged with this bit of Matabel's dress?"
Bideabout was uneasy. The tale he had told was untenable. There
was a necessity for it to be supplemented. But his condition of
alarm and pain made him unable readily to frame a story that would
account for all, and satisfy his sister.
"Jonas," said Sarah, "I'm sure you have seen Matabel, and she did
this for you. Where is she?"
Bideabout trembled. He thrust his sister from him, saying,
irritably, "Why do you worrit me with questions? My arm wants
attendin' to."
"I can't do much to that," answered the woman. "A doctor should
look to that. I'll go and call Samuel, and bid him ride away after
one."
"I won't be left alone!" exclaimed the Broom-Squire, in a sudden
access of terror.
Sarah Rocliffe deliberately took the lantern and held it to his face.
"Jonas," she said, "I'll do nuthin' more for you till I know the
whole truth. You've seen your wife and there's somethin' passed
between you. I see by your manner that all is not right. Where is
Matabel? You haven't been after the deer on the Moor. You have been
to the Ship."
"That is a lie," answered Bideabout. "I have been on the Moor. 'Tis
there I got shot, and, if you will have it all out, it was Matabel
who shot me."
"Matabel shot you?"
"Yes, it was. She shot me to prevent me from killin' him."
"Whom?"
"You know--that painter fellow."
"So that is the truth? Then where is she?"
The Broom-Squire hesitated and moved his feet uneasily.
"Jonas," said his sister, "I will know all."
"Then know it," he answered angrily. "Somehow, as she was helpin'
me along, her foot slipped and she fell into the water. I had but
one arm, and I were stiff wi' pains. What could I do? I did what
I could, but that weren't much. I couldn't draw her out o' the
mire. That would take a man wi' two good arms, and she was able
to scramble out if she liked. But she's that perverse, there's no
knowing, she might drown herself just to spite me."
"Why did you not speak of that at once?"
"Arn't I hurted terr'ble bad? Arn't I got a broken arm or somethin'
like it? When a chap is in racks o' pain he han't got all his wits
about him. I know I wanted help, for myself, first, and next, for
her; and now I've told you that she's in the Moor somewhere. She
may ha' crawled out, or she may be lyin' there. I run on, so fast
as possible, in my condition, to call for help."
"Where is she? Where did you leave her?"
"Right along between here and Thor's Stone. There's an old twisted
Scotch pine with magpies' nests in it--I reckon more nests than
there be green stuff on the tree. It's just about there."
"Jonas," said the sister, who had turned deadly white, and who
lowered the lantern, unable longer to hold it to her brother's face
with steady hand, "Jonas, you never ort to ha' married into a
gallus family; you've ketched the complaint. It's bad enough to
have men hanged on top o' Hind Head. We don't want another gibbet
down at the bottom of the Punch-Bowl, and that for one of ourselves."
Then voices were audible outside, and a light flickered through
the window.
In abject terror the Broom-Squire screamed "Sally, save me, hide
me; it's the constables!"
He cowered into a corner, then darted into the back kitchen, and
groped for some place of concealment.
He heard thence the voices more distinctly. There was a tramp of
feet in his kitchen; a flare of fuller light than that afforded by
Mrs. Rocliffe's lantern ran in through the door he had left ajar.
The sweat poured over his face and blinded his eyes.
Bideabout's anxiety was by no means diminished when he recognized
one of the voices in his front kitchen as that of Iver.
Had Iver watched him instead of returning to the Ship? Had he
followed in his track, spying what he did? Had he seen what had
taken place by the twisted pine with the magpies' nests in it?
And if so, had he hasted to Thursley to call out the constable, and
to arrest him as the murderer of his wife.
Trembling, gnawing the nails of his right hand, cowering behind
the copper, he waited, not knowing whither to fly.
Then the door was thrust open, and Sally Rocliffe came in and called
to him: "Jonas! here is Master Iver Verstage--very good he is to
you--he has brought a doctor to attend to your arm."
The wretched man grasped his sister by the wrist, drew her to him,
and whispered--"That is not true; it is the constable."
"No, Jonas. Do not be a fool. Do not make folk suspect evil," she
answered in an undertone. "There is a surgeon staying at the Ship,
and this is the gentleman who has come to assist you."
Mistrustfully, reluctantly, Jonas crept from his hiding place, and
came behind his sister to the doorway, where he touched his
forelock, looked about him suspiciously, and said--"Your servant,
gentlemen. Sorry to trouble you; but I've met with an accident. The
gun went off and sent a bullet into my arm. Be you a doctor, sir?"
he asked, eyeing a stranger, who accompanied Iver.
"I am a surgeon; happily, now lodging at the Ship, and Mr. Verstage
informed me of what had occurred, so I have come to offer my
assistance."
Jonas was somewhat reassured, but his cunning eyes fixed on Iver
observed that the young painter was looking around, in quest,
doubtless, of Mehetabel.
"I must have hot water. Who will attend to me?" asked the surgeon.
"I will do what is necessary," said Mrs. Rocliffe.
"Will you go to bed?" asked the surgeon, "I can best look to you
then."
Jonas shook his head. He would have the wound examined there, as
he sat in his arm-chair.
Then came the inquiry from Iver--"Where is your wife, Jonas? I
thought she had returned with you."
"My wife? She has lagged behind."
"Not possible. She was to assist you home."
"I needed no assistance."
"She ought to be here to receive instructions from the doctor."
"These can be given to my sister."
"But, Bideabout, where is she?"
Jonas was silent, confused, alarmed.
Iver became uneasy.
"Bideabout, where is Matabel. She must be summoned."
"It's nort to you where she be," answered the Broom-Squire savagely.
Then Mrs. Rocliffe stepped forward.
"I will tell you," she said. "My brother is that mad wi' pain, he
don't know what to think, and say, and do. As they was coming
along together, loving-like, as man and wife, she chanced to slip
and fall into the water, and Jonas, having his arm bad, couldn't
help her out, as he was a-minded, and he runned accordin' here, to
tell me, and I was just about sendin' my Samuel to find and help
her."
"Matabel in the water--drowned!"
"Jonas did not say that. She falled in."
"Matabel--fell in!"
Iver looked from Mrs. Rocliffe towards Jonas. There was something
in the Broom-Squire's look that did not satisfy him. It was not
pain alone that so disturbed his face, and gave it such ghastly
whiteness.
"Bideabout," said he, gravely, "I must and will have a proper
explanation. I cannot take your sister's story. Speak to me
yourself. After what I had seen between you and Matabel, I must
necessarily feel uneasy. I must have a plain explanation from your
own lips."
Jonas was silent; he looked furtively from side to side.
"I will be answered," said Iver, with vehemence.
"Who is to force me to speak?" asked the Broom-Squire, surlily.
"If I cannot, I shall fetch the constable. I say--where did you
leave Mehetabel?"
"My sister told you--under the tree."
"What--not in the water?"
"She may have fallen in. I had but one arm, and that hurting
terrible."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Iver. "You came home whining over your
arm--leaving her in the marsh!"
"You don't suppose I threw her in?" sneered Jonas. "Me--bad of an
arm."
"I don't know what to think," retorted Iver. "But I will know where
Mehetabel is."
In the doorway, with her back to the moonlight, stood a female
figure.
The first to see it was Jonas, and he uttered a gasp--he thought he
saw a spirit.
The figure entered, without a word, and all saw that it was
Mehetabel.