A MENACED LIFE.
As soon as the Broom-Squire had gone out again to the "hog-pen," as a
pigstye is called in Surrey, to give the pig its "randams and
crammins," because Mehetabel was unable to do this because unable
to leave the child, then she knelt by the hearth, put aside the
turves, and, regardless of the fire, groped for the fragments of
the broken phial, that nothing might betray to Bideabout her
having rejected the medicine with which he had tampered.
She cut and burnt her fingers, but in the excitement of her
feelings, was insensible to pain.
She had removed and secreted the glass before he returned. The babe
was sleeping heavily, and snoring.
When Jonas came in and heard the sound from the cradle, a look of
expectation came over his face.
"The child's burrin' like a puckeridge (night-jar)," he said.
"Shouldn't wonder if the medicine ain't done him a lot o' good. It
don't need a doctor to come and see to prescribe for a baby. All
that little ones want is good sleep, and natur' does the rest."
Owing to the annoyance caused to Bideabout by the child's
fretfulness during the night, Mehetabel occupied a separate
chamber, the spare bedroom, along with her babe, and spent her
broken nights under the great blue and white striped tent that
covered the bed.
She had enjoyed but little sleep for several nights, and her days
had been occupied by the necessary attention to the suffering child
and the cares of the household. Because the babe was ill, that was
no reason why his father's meals should be neglected, and because
the mother was overwrought, he was not disposed to relieve her of
the duties to the pigs and cows save on this one occasion.
That the poor little infant was really more at ease was obvious to
the mother's watchful eye and anxious heart, but whether this were
due to its malady, whatever that was, having taken a felicitous
turn, or to mere exhaustion of powers, she was unable to decide,
and her fears almost overbalanced her hopes.
She retired to sleep that night without much expectation of being
able to obtain sleep. Her nerves were overstrung, and at times
thought in her mind came to a standstill; it was as though a
sudden hush came on all within her, so that neither did heart
beat nor breath come. But for these pauses, her mind might have
given way, a string have snapped, and her faculties have fallen
into disorder.
It is said of Talleyrand that he needed no sleep, as his pulse
ceased to beat after a certain number of strokes, for a brief
space, and then resumed pulsation. During that pause, his physical
and mental powers had time for recuperation. Be that as it may, it
is certain that to some persons whose minds and feelings are put
to extraordinary tension, greatly prolonged, there do come these
halts in which all is blank, the brain ceases to think, and the
heart to feel, and such gaps in the sequence of thought and emotion
have a salutary effect.
Mehetabel did not undress. She had not put off her clothing for
several nights. The night was cold, and she would probably have
to be incessantly on the move, to meet the little sufferer's
necessities, as they arose, and to watch it, whenever her fears
prevailed over her hopes, and made her think that a protracted
quiet was ominous.
The only light in the room emanated from a smouldering rush,
sustained in a tall iron holder, the lower end of which was planted
in a block of oak, and stood on the floor. Such holders, now
become very scarce, were furnished with snuffers, so contrived
that the rushlight had to be taken out of its socket and snuffed
by them, instead of their being brought to the rush.
Of rushlights there were two kinds, one, the simplest, consisted
of a dry rush dipped in a little grease. The light emitted from
such a candle was feeble in the extreme. The second, a superior
rushlight, had the rush pealed of its bark with the exception of
one small strip which held the pith from breaking. This pith was
dipped in boiling fat, and when the tallow had condensed it was
dipped again, and the candle given as many coats as was desired.
Such a rushlight was a far more useful candle, and if it did not
emit as large a flame and give forth so much light as a dip which
had a cotton wick it was sufficient to serve most purposes for
which in a farmhouse artificial illumination was required.
The first and inferior sort of rushlight was that which Matabel
allowed herself for the sick-room.
When she laid her head on the pillow and threw the patched-work
quilt over her shoulders the cool of the pillow struck through
her head and relieved the fire that had raged therein.
She could not sleep.
She thought over what had happened. She considered Bideabout's
action as calmly as possible. Was it conceivable that he should
seek the life of his own child? He had shown it no love, but it
was a far cry from lack of parental affection to deliberate
attempt at murder.
What gain would there be to him in the death of his child? She
was too innocent and simple to think of Mrs. Verstage's bequest
as supplying the motive. As far as she could find there was nothing
to account for Jonas' desire to hasten the child's death save
weariness at its cries which distressed him at night, and this
was no adequate reason. There was another, but that she put from
her in disgust. Bad as Bideabout might be she could not credit him
with that.
What was that bottle which Jonas had been given by the doctor when
his arm was bound up? Of laudanum she knew nothing, but remembered
that it had been recommended as a means for giving him the rest he
so required. It was a medicine intended to produce sleep. He had
refused it because afraid lest he should administer to himself,
or have administered to him, an overdose which would cause him to
sleep too soundly, and slide away into the slumber of death.
It was possible that the surgeon at Godalming knew that Jonas
possessed this phial, and had given him the medicine for the child
along with instructions as to how many drops of the laudanum he
was to add to the mixture, to make it serve its proper purpose.
If that were so, then the Broom-Squire had acted as directed by a
competent person and for the good of his child, and she, his wife,
had cruelly, wickedly, misjudged him. Gentle, generous, incapable
of harboring an evil thought, Matabel at once and with avidity
seized on this solution, and applied it to her heart to ease its
pain and relieve the pressure that weighed on it.
Under the lightening of her anxiety caused by this Mehetabel fell
asleep, for how long she was unable to guess. When she awoke it was
not that she heard the cry of her child, but that she was aware of
a tread on the floor that made the bed vibrate.
Instead of starting up, she unclosed her eyes, and saw in the
room a figure that she at once knew was that of Jonas. He was
barefooted, and but partially dressed. He had softly unhasped the
door and stolen in on tip-toe. Mehetabel was surprised. It was
not his wont to leave his bed at night, certainly not for any
concern he felt relative to the child; yet now he was by the
cradle, and was stooping over it with his head turned, so that
his ear was applied in a manner that showed he was listening to
the child's breathing. As his face was turned the feeble light of
the smouldering rushlight was on it.
Mehetabel did not stir. It was a pleasing revelation to her that
the father's heart had warmed to his child, and that he was
sufficiently solicitous for the feeble life to be disturbed
thereby at night.
Jonas remained listening for a minute, then he rose erect and
retreated from the chamber on tiptoe and closed the door noiselessly
behind him.
A smile of pleasure came on Mehetabel's lips, the first that had
creamed them for many a week, and she slipped away again into
sleep, to be aroused after a brief period by the restlessness and
exclamations of the child that woke with hunger.
Then promptly she rose up, went to the cradle, and lifted the
child out, coaxed it and sang to the infant as she seated herself
on the bedside nursing it.
As she swayed herself, holding the child, the door that was ajar
opened slightly, and by the feeble light of the rush she could
discern something without, and the flame was reflected in human
eyes.
"Is that you, Jonas?" she called.
There was no reply, but she could hear soft steps withdrawing in
the direction of his room.
"He is ashamed of letting me see how anxious he is, how really
fond of the poor pet he is in heart." As the child's hands relaxed,
and it sobbed off to sleep, Mehetabel laid it again in the cradle.
It was abundantly evident that the infant was getting better. In a
couple of days, doubtless, it would be well.
Glad of this, relieved of the care that had gnawed at her heart, she
now slipped between the sheets of the bed. The babe would probably
sleep on till dawn, and she could herself enjoy much-needed rest.
Then she dreamt that she and her little one were in a fair garden
full of flowers; the child had grown somewhat and could enjoy play.
She thought that she was plucking violets and making a crown for
her baby's head, and then a little staff covered with the same
purple, fragrant flowers, to serve as sceptre, and that she
approached her little one on her knees, and bent to it, and sang:--
"The king has sceptre, crown and ball,
You are my sceptre, crown, and all!"
But then there fell a shadow on them, and this shadow cut off all
light from her and from her child. She looked and saw Jonas. He
said nothing, but stood where the sun shone and he could obscure it.
She lifted her babe and moved it away from the blighting shadow
into warmth and brightness once more. Yet was this but for a
moment, as again the shadow of Jonas fell over them. Once more
she moved the child, but with like result. Then with a great effort
she rose from her knees, carrying the child to go away with it,
far, far from Jonas--and in her effort to do so woke.
She woke to see by the expiring rush-candle and the raw light of
early dawn, that the Broom-Squire was in the room, and was stooping
over the cradle. Still drunk with sleep, she did not stir, did not
rally her senses at once.
Then she beheld how he lifted the pillow from under the infants
head, went down on his knees, and thrust the pillow in upon the
child's face, holding it down resolutely with a hand on each side.
With a shriek of horror, Mehetabel sprang out of bed and rushed
at him, stayed his arms, and unable to thrust them back, caught
the cradle and plucked it to her, and released the babe, that
gasped--seized it in her arms, glued it to her bosom, and dashing
past Jonas before he had risen to his feet, ran down the stairs,
and left the house--never to enter it again.