THE CAVE.
Mehetabel made her way down the steep side of the gully, and to the
cave, burdened with the babe she carried in her arms. She bore a
sack over her back that contained some dry turves, shavings, and a
few potatoes, given her by the school-dame. The place of refuge had
obviously been frequented by children long after the time when
Mehetabel and Iver had retired to it on hot summer days. The sides
of the entrance had been built up with stones, with moss driven
into their interstices. Within, the floor was littered with dry
fern, and in one place was a rude hearth, where fires had been
kindled; this was immediately under a vertical opening that served
as chimney, and prevented the smoke of a fire from filling the cave.
The young mother laid her child on the shawl she spread over the
bracken, and proceeded to kindle a fire with a tinder-box lent her
by Mrs. Chivers. It amused the babe to watch the sparks as they
flew about, and when the pile of turves and sticks and heather was
in combustion, to listen to the crackle, and watch the play and
leap of the flames.
As the fire burnt up, and the blue smoke stole through the natural
chimney, the whole cave glowed orange.
The air was not cold within, and in the radiation from the fire,
the place promised to be warm and comfortable.
The child crowed and stretched its feet out to the blaze.
She looked attentively at the babe.
What did that wicked young lawyer mean by saying that it would die
through exposure? It had cried and moaned. All children cry and
moan. They have no other means of making their wants known. Wet the
little creature was not; she had taken every precaution against
that, but her own garments steamed in the heat of the fire she had
kindled, and leaving the babe to watch the dancing flames, she
dried her wet gown and stockings in the glow.
Then by the reflection Mehetabel could see on the nether surface of
the sandstone slab at the entrance the initials of herself and Iver
that had been cut by the latter many years ago, with a true-lover's
knot uniting them. And there on that knot, lost in dream, was a
peacock butterfly that had retired to hibernate. The light from the
fire glowed in its purple and gold eyes, and the warm ascending air
fluttered the wings, but did not restore animation to the drowsy
insect. In corners were snails at the limit of their glazed tracks,
also in retreat before winter. They had sealed themselves up in
their houses against cold.
Mehetabel was constrained to pass in and out of her habitation
repeatedly so as to accumulate fuel that might serve through the
night. Happily, on her way she had noticed a little shelter hut,
probably constructed by a village sportsman, under which he might
conceal himself with his gun and await the game. This was made of
dry heather, and branches of fir and chestnut. She had no scruple
in pulling this to pieces, and conveying as much as she could carry
at a time to her cave.
The child, amused by the fire, did not object to her temporary
desertion, and it was too feeble and young to crawl near to the
flames.
After several journeys to and fro Mehetabel had contrived to form a
goodly pile of dry fuel at the back of her habitation, and now that
a sufficiency of ash had been formed proceeded to embed in it the
potatoes that Betty Chivers had given her.
How often had she and Iver, as children, talked of being savages
and living in wigwams and caves, and now she was driven to a life
of savagery in the midst of civilization. It would not, however,
be for long. She would search the neighborhood round for work, and
when she had got it move away from this den in the Common.
A stoat ran in, raised its head, looked at the fire, then at her,
with glistening eyes devoid of fear, but at a movement of the
child darted away and disappeared.
A Sabbath sense of repose came over Mehetabel. The babe was content
and crooning itself to sleep. Her nerves in tension all day were
now relaxed; her wearied body rested. She had no inquisitive
companion to worry her with questions, none overkind to try her
with injudicious attentions. She could sit on the fragrant fern
leaves, extend her feet, lean her head against the sandstone, and
watch the firelight play over the face of her child.
A slight sound attracted her attention. It was caused by a bramble
leaf caught in a cobweb, drawn in by the draught produced by the
fire, and it tapped at and scratched the covering stone. Mehetabel,
roused from her languor, saw what occasioned the sound, and lost
all concern about it. There were particles in the sand that
sparkled. It afforded her a childish pleasure to see the twinkles
on every side in the rise and fall of the flames. It was no exertion
to cast on another branch of heather, or even a bough of pine. It
was real pleasure to listen to the crackle and to see the sparks
shoot like rockets from the burning wood. The cave was a fairy
palace. The warmth was grateful. The potatoes were hissing in the
embers. Then Mehetabel dreamily noticed a black shadow stealing
along the lower surface of the roof stone. At first she saw it
without interest, without inquiry in her mind, but little by little
her interest came, and her attention centred itself on the dark
object.
It was a spider, a hairy insect with a monstrous egglike belly,
and it was creeping slowly and with caution towards the hibernating
butterfly. Perhaps its limbs were stiff with inaction, its blood
congealed; perhaps it dreaded lest by precipitation it might alarm
its prey and lose it.
Mehetabel put out her hand, picked up a piece of furze, and cast
it at the spider, which fell.
Then she was uneasy lest it would crawl along the ground and come
to her baby, and sting it. She inherited the common superstition
that spiders are poisonous insects.
She must look for it.
Only now, as she tried to raise herself, did she discover how stiff
her joints had become. She rose to her knees, and raked out some of
the potatoes from the ashes, and swept the floor where the spider
had dropped with a brush of Scottish pine twigs.
Then, all at once, she remained motionless. She heard steps and
voices outside, the latter in low converse. Next a face looked in,
and an exclamation followed, "Jamaica! There, sure enough, she be!"
The voice, the face--there was no mistaking either. They belonged
to Sally Rocliffe.
The power to cry out failed in Mehetabel. She hastily thrust her
child behind her, into the depths of the cave, and interposed
herself between it and the glittering eyes of the woman.
"Come on, Jamaica, we'll see how she has made herself comfortable,"
said Mrs. Rocliffe, and she entered, followed by Giles Cheel. Both
had to stoop at the opening, but when they were a few feet within,
could stand upright.
"Well, now, I call this coorious," said Sarah; "don't you, Jamaica?
Here's all the Punch-Bowl turned out. Some runnin' one way, some
another, all about Matabel. Some sez she's off her head; some
thinks she has drownded herself and the child. And there's Jonas
stormin', and in a purty takein'. There is my Thomas--gone with
him--and Jamaica and I come this way over the Common. But I had a
fancy you might be at the bottom o' one of them Hammer Ponds. I
was told you'd been to the silk mill."
"What be you run away for? What be you a hidin' for--just like a
wild beast?" asked Giles Cheel.
Mehetabel could not answer. How could she declare her reason? That
the life of the child was menaced by its own father.
"Now come back with us," said Jamaica, in a persuasive tone.
"I will not. I never will return," exclaimed Mehetabel with energy.
She was kneeling, with her hands extended to screen her child from
the eye of Sally Rocliffe.
"I told you so, did I not?" asked the woman.
"She sed as much to me yesterday mornin when I saw her run away."
"I will not go back. I will never go back," repeated Mehetabel
"Where is the child?" asked Sally.
"It is behind me."
"How is it?"
"It is well now, now we are out of the Punch-Bowl, where all hate
it and wish it dead."
"Now, look here, Matabel," said Cheel, "you be reasonable, and come
peaceably."
"I will not go back; I never will!" she answered with increased
vehemence.
"That's all very fine sayin'," pursued Giles Cheel. "But go back
you must when Jonas fetches you."
"I will not go back! Never! never!"
"He'll make you."
"Not if I will not go."
"Aye, but he can. If you won't go when he axes, he can get the
constable to force you to go home. The law of the land can help
him thereto."
"I will not go back! Never!"
"Where he is just now, I can't say," pursued Cheel. "But I have a
notion he's prowlin' about the moor, thinkin' you may have gone to
Thor's Stone. Come he will, and he'll take you and the baby, and
you may squeal and scratch, go back with him you must and will. So
I say go peaceable."
"I will not go back!" cried Mehetabel. She picked up a lump of
ironstone and said, passionately, "I will defend myself. I am as
strong as he. I am stronger, for I will fight for my child. I will
kill him rather than let him take my baby from me."
"Hear her!" exclaimed Sally Rocliffe. "She threatens she'll do
for Jonas. Every one knows she tried that on once afore, wi' his
gun."
"Yes," said Mehetabel, fiercely, "I will even do that. Rather than
go back and have my baby in that hated place again, I will fight
and kill him. Let him come here and try."
She set her teeth, her eyes glared, her breath came snorting
through her nostrils.
"I say, Gilly, I'll go back. It ain't safe here. She's possessed
with seven devils."
"I am not possessed, save with mother's love. I will never, never
go back and take my babe to the Punch-Bowl. Never, never, allow
you, Sally, to look at its innocent face again, nor Jonas to touch
it. There is no one cares for it, no one loves it, no one who does
not wish its death, but me, and I will fight, and never--"
Her strength gave way, her hands sank in the sand, and her hair
fell over her face, as she broke into a storm of sobs and tears.
"I say, Jamaica, come out," whispered Mrs. Rocliffe. "We'll talk
over wot's to be done."
Giles Cheel and Sally Rocliffe crept out of the cave backwards.
They did so, facing Mehetabel, with mistrust. Each believed that
she was mad.
When the two were outside, then Jonas's sister said to her companion
"I'll tell you what, Jamaica, I won't have nuthin' more to do with
this. There's somethin' queer; and whether Jonas has been doin'
what he ort not, or whether Matabel be gone rampagin' mad, that's
not for me to say. Let Jonas manage his own affairs, and don't let
us meddle no more."
"I am sure it's 'as nuthin' to me," said Cheel. "But this is a fine
thing. At the christenin' of that there baby he had words to say
about me and my Betsy, as if we was a disgrace to the Punch-Bowl,
becos we didn't always agree. But my Betsy and me never came to
such a pass as this. I'm willin'. Let's go back and have our
suppers, and let her be where she is."
"You need not tell Jonas that we have found her."
"No; not if you wishes."
"Let the matter alone altogether; I reckon she's in a dangerous
mood, and so is Jonas. Something may come of it, and I'd as lief
be out of it altogether."
"That's my doctrine, too," said Giles.
Then he put his head in at the cave door, and said "Good-night,
missus!"
CHAPTER XLII.
AT COLPUS'S.
On the morrow Mehetabel, carrying her babe, revisited the
schoolmistress, at an early hour, before the children assembled.
Betty Chivers received her with joy.
"Matabel," she said, "I've been thinking about you. There's James
Colpus and his daughter are in want of a woman. That girl, Julia
Caesar, as has been with them, got at the barrels of ale, and has
been givin' drink all round to the men, just when they liked. She'd
got a key to the cellar unbeknown to Master Colpus; so she has had
to walk off. Polly Colpus, she knows you well enough, and what a
managing girl you are. They couldn't do better than take you--that
is, if they can arrange with Bideabout, and don't object to the
baby."
Accordingly, somewhat later, Mehetabel departed for the farm of
James Colpus, that adjoined the land occupied by old Simon
Verstage.
James Colpus was preparing to go out fox-hunting when Mehetabel
arrived. He wore a tight, dark-colored suit, that made his red
face look the redder, and his foxy hair the foxier. His daughter
had a face like a full moon, flat and eminently livid;' fair,
almost white eyebrows, and an unmistakable moustache. She was
extraordinarily plain, but good-natured. She was pouring out
currant brandy for her father when Mehetabel arrived.
"Well!" exclaimed Colpus. "Here is the runaway wife. Tally-ho!
Tally-ho! We've got her. All the parish has been out after you,
and you run to earth here, do you?"
"If you please," said Mehetabel, "I have come to offer my services
in the place of Julia Caesar, who has been sent away. You know I
can work. You know I won't let nobody have the tap o' the beer--and
as for wages, I'll take what you are willing to give."
"That's all very fine, Miss Runaway, but what will Bideabout say
to that?"
"I am not going back to Bideabout," answered Mehetabel. "If you
cannot take me, I shall go to every farm and offer myself, and if
none in Thursley or Witley will have me, I'll beg my bread from
door to door, till I do find a house where I may honestly earn it.
Go back to the Punch-Bowl I will not."
"I'd like to take you," said Colpus. "Glad to have you. Never a
better girl anywhere, of that I am quite certain--only, how about
the Broom-Squire? I'm constable, and it must not be said that the
constable is keeping a man's wife away from him."
"You will not keep me from him. Nothing in the world will make me
go back to him."
"Then--what about the baby? Can you let Bideabout have that?"
Mehetabel flushed almost as red as Colpus and his daughter.
"Never!" she said, firmly.
"But, look here," said the farmer, "if I did agree to take you,
why, after a day or two, you'd be homesick, and wantin' to be back
in the arms of Jonas. It's always so with women."
"I shall never go back," persisted Mehetabel.
"So you say. But before the week is out you'll be piping another
song."
"You may bind me to stay--three months--six--a year,"
"That is all very well to say. Bind me, but how? What bind will
hold--when the marriage tie does not?"
"The marriage tie would have held me till death," answered
Mehetabel gravely, "if Jonas had not done that which makes it
impossible for me to remain. It is not for my sake that I am away.
Had I been alone I would have borne all till I died. But I have
other duties now. I am a mother. Here is my darling, a charge from
God. I owe it to God to do what I am here for--to find another
home, a place away from the Punch-Bowl."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot explain."
"Is the Punch-Bowl unhealthy for the child?"
"Yes, it would die there."
"Who told you so?"
"I know it. My heart says so."
"Now look here," said Colpus, getting red as a poppy, "there's a
lot of talk in the place about you. Some say that Bideabout is in
the wrong, some say that the wrong lies with you. It is reported
that he beat you, and there are folks that tell as how you gave him
occasion. You must let me know the right of it all, or I can't take
you."
"Then I must go," said Mehetabel, "I cannot tell you all. You may
think ill of me if you choose, I cannot help that."
Colpus rubbed his foxy whiskers and head.
"You're a won'erful active woman, and do more work than three
ordinary gals. I'd like to have you in the house. But then--what
am I to say if Kink comes to claim you?"
"Say you will not give me up."
"But I ain't so sure but what he can force me to surrender you."
"You are the strongest man in Thursley."
"'Tain't that," said Colpus, gratified by the compliment. "'Tis he
might bring the law against me. I don't know nuthin' about law,
though I'm constable, but I reckon, if I was to keep a cow of his
as had strayed and refused to give her up, he could compel me. And
what's true of a cow is true of a wife. If I could be punished for
stealin' his goose I might be summonsed all on account of you. Then
there's the babe--that might be brought in as kidnappin'! I daren't
risk it."
"But, father," put in Polly. "How would it do for a time, just to
try."
"There's something in that, Polly.
"And Julia Caesar have left things in a terrible mess. We must have
all cleared up before another comes in. What if we take Matabel by
the day to clear up?"
"Look here, Polly," said Colpus, who visibly oscillated in mind
between his wishes to engage Mehetabel and his fears as to what the
consequences might be. "It's this," he touched his forehead, and
made a sign towards the applicant. "Folk do say it."
"Matabel," said the good-natured farmer's daughter, "you go along
to Thursley, and father and I will talk it over. If we think we
can take you--where shall we send to find you?"
"To Betty Chivers' house."
"Well, in half an hour I trust we shall have decided. Now go."
As Mehetabel withdrew, Polly said, "It's all gammon, father, about
her not being right in her head. Her eye is as steady as the
evenin' star. And it's all lies about there bein' any fault in her.
Matabel is as honest and true as sunlight."
Then old Colpus shouted after Mehetabel, who was departing by the
lane. "Don't go that way, over the field is the path--by the stile.
There's a lot o' water in the lane."
The young mother turned, thanked him with an inclination of the
head, and pressing her cheek to the child she bore, she took the
path that crossed a meadow, and which led to a tuft of holly, near
which was the stile, into the lane. She walked on, with her cheek
resting on the child's head, and her eyes on the trodden, cropped
wintry grass, with a flutter of hope in her bosom; for she was
almost certain that with the influence of Polly engaged on her
side, old Colpus would agree to receive her.
She did not walk swiftly. She had no occasion for haste. She hoped
that the objections of the farmer would give way before she had
reached the hedge, and that he would recall her.
She had almost arrived t the turf of holly, singing in a low tone
to the child in her arms, when, a voice made her start and cry out.
She looked up. Jonas was before her.
Unobserved by her he had entered the field. From the lane he had
seen her, and he had crossed the stile and come upon her.
She stood frozen to the spot. Each muscle became rigid; the blood
in her arteries tingled as though bees were making their way through
every vein. Her brows met in a black band across her face. She
trembled for a moment, and then was firm. A supreme moment, the
supreme moment in her life was come.
"So I have found you at last," sneered Jonas. Hatred, fury, were
in him and sent a quiver through the tones of his voice.
"Yes, you have found me," she answered with composure.
"You--do you know what you have done? Made me a derision and a talk
to all Thursley, a jest in every pot-house."
"I have not done this. It is your doing."
"Is it not enough that I have lost my money, but must I have this
scandal and outrage in my home?"
She did not answer him. She looked steadily at him, and he dared
not meet her eyes.
"You must come with me at once," he said.
"I will not go with you."
"I will make you."
"That you cannot."
"You are mad. You must be put under restraint."
"I will go to the madhouse, but not to the Punch-Bowl."
"You shall be forced to return."
"How?"
"I will have you tied. I will swear you are crazed. I will have you
locked up, and I will beat you till you learn to obey and behave as
I would have you."
"Jonas," said Mehetabel, "this is idle talk. Never, never will I go
back to you."
"Never!"
He approached, his eyes glaring, his white fangs showing, like
those of a dog about to bite.
Instinctively she put her hand into her pocket and drew forth a
lump of ironstone, that she had brandished the previous evening
before Sally Rocliffe and Giles Cheel; and which she carried with
her as her only weapon of defence.
"Jonas," said Mehetabel. "You may threaten, but your threats do not
move me. I can defend myself."
"Oh, with a stone? he scoffed.
"Yes, if need be with a stone. But I have better protection than
that."
"Indeed--let me hear it."
"If you venture to touch me--venture to threaten any more--then I
shall appeal for protection."
"To whom--to Iver?"
"Not to Iver," her heart boiled up, and was still again.
"To whom--to Farmer Colpus?"
"To the law."
"The law!" jeered Jonas. "It is the law that will send you back to
me."
"It is the law which will protect me from you," answered Mehetabel.
"I am fain to learn how."
"How! I have but to go before a magistrate and tell how you tried
to poison your own child--how, when that failed, you tried to
smother it. And, Jonas," she added--as she saw his face grow ashen,
and a foam bubble form on his lips--"and, Jonas," she stepped
forward, and he backed--his glassy eyes on her face, "and, Jonas,"
she said, "look here, I have this stone. With the like of this you
sought to kill me in the moor." She raised it above her head, "you
would-be murderer of your wife and your child--I am free from you."
She took another step forward--he reeled back and vanished--disappeared
instantly from her sight with a scream--instantly and absolutely,
as when the earth opened its mouth at the word of Moses and swallowed
up Korah.
CHAPTER XLIV.
AGAIN: IRONSTONE.
Mehetabel heard shouts, exclamations, and saw Thomas Rocliffe and
his son, Samuel, come up over the stile from the lane, and James
Colpus running towards her.
What had happened? Whither had Jonas vanished? She drew back and
passed her hand, still holding the ironstone, over her face.
Then she saw Thomas and Samuel stoop, kneel, and Thomas swing
himself down and also disappear; thereupon up came the farmer.
"What is it? Has he fallen in--into the kiln?"
That the reader may understand what had occurred, it is necessary
that a few words of explanation should be given.
At the time when the country was densely wooded with oaks, then the
farmers were wont annually to draw chalk from the quarries in the
flank of the Hog's Back, that singular ridge, steep as a Gothic
roof, running east and west from Guildford, and to cart this to
their farms. On each of these was a small brick kiln, constructed
in a sand-bank beside a lane, so that the chalk and fuel might be
thrown in from above, where the top of the kiln was level with the
field, and the burnt quicklime drawn out below and shovelled into a
cart that would convey it by the road to whatever field was thought
to require such a dressing.
But fuel became scarce, and when the trees had vanished, then sea
coal was introduced. Thereupon the farmers found it more convenient
to purchase quicklime at the kiln mouth near the chalk quarry, than
to cart the chalk and burn it themselves.
The private kilns were accordingly abandoned and allowed to fall to
ruin. Some were prudently filled in with earth and sand, but this
was exceptional. The majority were allowed to crumble in slowly;
and at the present day such abandoned kilns may be found on all
sides, in various stages of decay.
Into such a kiln, that had not been filled in, Jonas had fallen,
when he stepped backwards, unconscious of its existence.
Polly Colpus had followed her father, but kept in the rear, alarmed,
and dreading a ghastly sight. The farmer bent with hands on his
knees over the hole. Samuel knelt.
"Have you got him?" asked Colpus.
"Lend a hand," called Thomas from below, and with the assistance of
those above the body of Jonas Kink was lifted on to the bank.
"He's dead," said the farmer.
Then Mehetabel laughed.
The three men and Polly Colpus turned and looked at her with
estrangement.
They did not understand that there was neither mockery nor frivolity
in the laugh, that it proceeded involuntarily from the sudden
relaxation of overstrained nerves. At the moment Mehetabel was
aware of one thing only, that she had nothing more to fear, that
her baby was safe from pursuit. It was this thought that dominated
her and caused the laugh of relief. She had not in the smallest
degree realized how it was that this relief was obtained.
"Fetch a hurdle," said Colpus, "and, Polly, run in and send a couple
of men. We must carry him to the Punch-Bowl. I reckon he's pretty
well done for. I don't see a sign of life in him."
The Broom-Squire was laid on the gass.
Strange is the effect of death on a man's clothes. The moment the
vital spark has left the body, the garments hang about him as though
never made to fit him. They take none of the usual folds; they lose
their gloss--it is as though life had departed out of them as well.
Mehetabel seated herself on a bit of swelling ground and looked on,
without understanding what she saw; seeing, hearing, as in a dream;
and after the first spasm of relief, as if what was being done in
no way concerned her, belonged to another world to her own. It was
as though she were in the moon and saw what men were doing on the
earth.
When the Broom-Squire had been lifted upon a hurdle, then Polly
Colpus thought right to touch Mehetabel, and say in a low tone:
"You will follow him and go to the Punch-Bowl?"
"I will never, never go there again. I have said so," answered
Mehetabel.
Then to avoid being pressed further, she stood up and went away,
bearing her child in her arms.
The men looked after her and shook their heads.
"Bideabout has had a blow on the forehead," said Colpus.
Mehetabel returned to the school, entered without a word, and seated
herself by the fire.
"Have you succeeded?" asked the widow.
"How?"
"Will Farmer Colpus take you?"
"I don't know."
"What have you in your hand?"
Mehetabel opened her fingers and allowed Betty Chivers to remove
from her hand a lump of ironstone.
"What are you carrying this for, Matabel?"
"I defend baby with it," she answered.
"Well, you do not need it in my house," said the dame, and placed
the liver-colored lump on the table.
"How hot your hand is," she continued. "Here, let me feel again. It
is burning. And your forehead is the same. Are you unwell, Matabel?"
"I am cold," she answered dreamily.
"You have been over-worried and worked," said the kind old woman.
"I will get you a cup of tea."
"He won't follow me any more and try to take my baby away," said
Mehetabel.
"I am glad of that."
"And I also."
Then she moved her seat, winding and bending on one side.
"What is it, my dear?" asked Betty.
"His shadow. It will follow me and fall over baby."
"What do you mean?"
Mehetabel made no reply, and the widow buried herself in preparation
for the midday meal, a very humble one of bread and weak tea.
"There's drippin' in the bowl," she said, "you can put some o' that
on the bread. And now, give me the little chap. You are not afraid
of trusting him to me?"
"Oh, no!"
The mother at once surrendered the child, and Mrs. Chivers sat by
the fire with the infant in her lap.
"He's very like you," she said.
"I couldn't love him if he were like him," said Mehetabel.
"You must not say that."
"He is a bad man."
"Leave God to judge him."
"He has judged him," answered the girl, looking vacantly into the
fire, and then passed her hand over her eyes and pressed her brow.
"Have you a headache, dear?"
"Yes--bad. It is his shadow has got in there--rolled up, and I can't
shake it out."
"Matabel--you must go to bed. You are not well."
"No--I am not well. But my baby?"
"He is safe with me."
"I am glad of that, you will teach him A B C, and the Creed, and to
pray to and fear God. But you needn't teach him to find Abelmeholah
on the map, nor how many gallons of water the Jordan carries into
the Dead Sea every minute, nor how many generations there are in
Matthew. That is all no good at all. Nor does it matter where is
the country of the Gergesenes. I have tried it. The Vicar was a
good man, was he not, Betty?"
"Yes, very good."
"He would give the coat off his back, and the bread out of his
mouth to the poor. He gave beef and plum pudding all around at
Christmas, and lent out blankets in winter. But he never gave
anything to the soul, did he, Betty? Never made the heart warm. I
found it so. What I got of good for that was from you."
"My dear," said the old woman, starting up. "I insist on your going
to bed at once. I see by your eye, by the fire in your cheek, that
you are ill."
"I will go to bed; I do not want anything to eat, only to lay my
head down, and then the shadow will run out at my ear--only I fear
it may stain the pillow. When I'm rich I will buy you another. Baby
is rich; he has got a hundred and fifty pounds. What is his is
mine, and what is mine is his. He will not grudge you a new
pillow-case."
Mehetabel, usually reserved and silent, had become loquacious and
rambling in her talk. It was but too obvious, that she was in a
fever, and wandering. Mrs. Chivers insisted on her taking some tea,
and then she helped her upstairs to the little bedroom, and did not
leave her till she was asleep. The school children, who came in
after their dinner hour, were dismissed, so that Mrs. Chivers had
the afternoon to devote to the care of the child and of the sick
mother, who was in high fever.
She was in the bedroom when she heard a knock at the door, and
then a heavy foot below. She descended the rickety stairs as gently
as possible, and found Farmer Colpus in the schoolroom.
"How do you do, Mrs. Chivers? Can you tell me, is Matabel Kink
here?"
"Yes--if you do not mind, Mr. Colpus, to speak a little lower. She
is in bed and asleep."
"Asleep?"
"She came in at noon, rather excited and queer, and her hand
burnin' like a hot chestnut, so I gave her a dish o' tea and sent
her upstairs. I thought it might be fever--and her eyes were that
strange and unsteady--"
"It is rather odd," said the constable, "but my daughter observed
how calm and clear her eye was--only an hour before."
"Maybe," said Mrs. Chivers, "and yet she was that won'erful
wanderin' in her speech--"
"You don't think she was shamming?"
"Shammin'! Lord, sir--that Matabel never did, and I've knowed her
since she was two-year old. At three and a half she comed to my
school."
"By the way, what is that stone on your table?" asked Colpus.
"That, sir? Matabel had it in her hand when she comed in. I took
it away, and then I felt how burnin' she was, like a fire."
"Oh! she was still holding that stone. Did she say anything about
it?"
"Yes, sir, she said that she used it to defend herself and baby."
"From whom?"
"She didn't say--but you know, sir, there has been a bit of tiff
between her and the Broom-Squire, and she won't hear of goin back
to the Punch-Bowl, and she has a fancy he wants to take the baby
away from her. That's ridic'lous, of course. But there is no getting
the idea out of her head."
"I must see her."
"You can't speak to her, sir. She is asleep still." Colpus
considered.
"I'll ask you to allow me to take this stone away, Betty. And I
must immediately send for the doctor. He has been sent for to the
Punch-Bowl, and I'll stop him on the way back to Godalming. I must
be assured that Matabel is in a fit state to be removed."
"Removed, whither?"
"To the lock-up."
"The lock-up, sir?"
"To the lock-up. Do you know, Mrs. Chivers, that Jonas Kink is
dead, and that very strong suspicions attach to Matabel, that she
killed him?"
"Matabel killed him!"
"Yes, with that very stone."
CHAPTER XLV.
IN HOPE.
When the surgeon, on his return from the Punch-Bowl was called in
to see Mehetabel, he at once certified that she was not in a
condition to be removed, and that she would require every possible
attention for several days.
Accordingly, James Colpus allowed her to remain at the Dame's School,
but cautioned Betty Chivers that he should hold her responsible for
the appearance of Mehetabel when required.
Jonas Kink was not dead, as Colpus thought when lifted out of the
kiln into which he had been precipitated backwards, but he had
received several blows on the head which had broken in the skull
and stunned him. Had there been a surgeon at hand to relieve the
pressure on the brain, he might perhaps have recovered, but there
was none nearer than Godalming; the surgeon was out when the
messenger arrived, and did not return till late, then he was
obliged to get a meal, and hire a horse, as his own was tired, and
by the time he arrived at the Punch-Bowl Jonas had ceased to
breathe, and all he could do was to certify his death and the
cause thereof.
Mehetabel's nature was vigorous and elastic with youth. She
recovered rapidly, more so, indeed than Mrs. Chivers would allow
to James Colpus, as she was alarmed at the prospect of having to
break to her that a warrant was issued against her on the charge
of murder.
When she did inform her, Mehetabel could not believe what she was
told.
"That is purely," she said. "I kill Jonas! If he had touched me and
tried to take baby away I might have done it. I would have fought
him like a tiger, as I did before."
"When did you fight him?"
"In the Moor, by Thor's Stone, over the gun--there when the shot
went off into his arm."
"I never knew much of that, though there was at the time some talk."
"Yes. I need say nothing of that now. But as to hurting Jonas, I
never hurted nobody in my life save myself, and that was when I
married him. I don't believe I could kill a fly--and then only if
it were teasin' baby."
"There is Joe Filmer downstairs, has somethin' to say. Can he come
up?"
"Yes," answered Mehetabel. "He was always kind to me."
The ostler of the Ship stumbled up the stairs and saluted the sick
girl with cordiality and respect.
"Very sorry about this little affair. 'Tis a pity, I sez, that such
a fuss be made over trifles. There's been the crownin' of the body,
and now there's to be the hearin' of you afore the magistrates, and
then they say you'll have to go to the 'sizez, and there'll come
the hangin'. 'Tis terrible lot o' fuss all about Jonas as wasn't
worth it. No one'll miss him and if you did kill him, well, there
was cause, and I don't think the wuss o' you for it."
"Thank you, Joe, but I did not kill him."
"Well--you know--it's right for you to say so, 'cos you'll have to
plead not guilty. Polly, at our place never allows she's broke
nothin', but the chinay and the pipkins have got a terrible way of
committin' felo de se since she came to the Ship. She always sez
she didn't do it--and right enough. No one in this free country
is obliged to incriminate hisself. That's one of our glorious
institootions."
"I really am guiltless," urged Mehetabel.
"Quite right you should say so. Pleased to hear it. But I don't
know what the magistrates will say. Most folks here sez you did,
and all the Punch-Bowl will swear it. They sez you tried to kill
him wi' his own gun, but didn't succeed as you wished, so now you
knocked him on the head effectual like, and tippled his dead body
down into the kiln. He was an aggravatin' chap, was Bideabout, and
deserved it. But that is not what I come here to say."
"And that was--"
"Well, now, I mustn't say it too loud. I just slipped in when
nobody was about, as I don't want it to be known as I am here. The
master and I settled it between us."
"Settled what, Joe?"
"You see he always had a wonderful liking for you, and so had I.
He was agin you marryin' the Broom-Squire, but the missus would
have it so. Now he's goyne to send me with the trap to Portsmouth.
He's had orders for it from a gent as be comin' wild fowl shootin'
in the Moor. So my notion is I'll drive by here in the dark, and
you'll be ready, and come along wi' me, takin' the baby with you,
and I'll whip you off to Portsmouth, and nobody a penny the wiser.
I've got a married sister there--got a bit o' a shop, and I'll take
you to her, and if you don't mind a bit o' nonsense, I'll say you're
my wife and that's my baby. Then you can stay there till all is
quiet. I've a notion as Master Colpus be comin' to arrest you
to-morrow, and that would be comical games. If you will come along
wi' me, and let me pass you off as I sed, then you can lie hid till
the wind has changed. It's a beautiful plan. I talked it over with
the master, and he's agreeable; and as to money--well, he put ten
pound into my hand for you, and there's ten pound of my wages I've
saved and hid in the thatchin' of the cow-stall, and have no use
for; that's twenty pound, and will keep you and the baby goin' for
a while, and when that's done I daresay there'll be more to be had."
"I thank you, Joe," began Mehetabel, the tears rising in her eyes.
He cut her short. "The master don't want Polly to know nothin' of
it. Polly's been able to get the mastery in the house. She's got
the keys, and she's a'most got the old chap under lock. But it's
my experience as fellows when they get old get won'erful artful,
and master may be under her thumb in most things, but not all. And
he don't fancy the notion of your bein' hanged. So he gave me that
ten pound, and when I sed I'd drive you away afore the constable
had you--why, he just about jumped out o' his breeches wi' joy.
Only the first thing he said then was--'Not a word to Polly.'"
"Indeed, Joe, you are good, but I cannot go."
"You must go either to Portsmouth or to Gorlmyn. You may be a free
woman, but in hidin', or go to prison. There's the choice before
you. And if you b'ain't a fool, I know what you will take."
"I do not think it right to run away."
"Of course if you killed him deliberate, then you may go cheerful
like and be hanged for it. But wot I sez and most sez, but they in
the Punch-Bowl, is that it worn't deliberate. It were done under
aggravatin' sarcumstances. The squatters in the Bowl, they have
another tale. They say you tried to shoot him, and then to poison
him, and he lived in fear of his life of you, and then you knocked
him head over heels into the kiln, and served him right is my
doctrine, and I respect you for it. But then--wot our people in
Thursley sez is that it'll give the place a bad name if you're hung
on Hind Head. They've had three hangin' there already, along of wot
they did to your father. And to have another might damage the
character of the place. I don't fancy myself that farmer Colpus is
mighty keen on havin' you hanged."
"I shall not be hanged when I am guiltless," said Mehetabel.
"My dear," answered the hostler, "it all depends not on what you
are but on what the judge and jury think, and that depends on the
lawyers what they say in their harangues. There's chances in all
these things, and the chance may be as you does get found guilty
and be sentenced to the gallows. It might cause an unpleasantness
here, and that you would wish to avoid I don't say as even Sally
Rocliffe and Thomas would like it, for you're related to them
somehow, and I'm quite sure as Thursley villagers won't like it,
cos we've all respected you and have held Jonas cheap. And why we
should have you hanged becos he's dead--that's unanswerable I say.
So I'll be round after dark and drive you to Portsmouth."
"No, indeed, I cannot go."
"You can think it over. What about the little chap, the baby? If
they hang you, that'll be wuss for him than it was for you. For you
it were bad enough, because you had three men hanged all along of
your father, but for he it'll be far more serious when he goes
about the world as the chap as had his mother hanged."
"Joe, you insist on imagining the worst. It cannot, it will not, be
that I shall be condemned when guiltless."
"If I was you I'd make sure I wasn't ketched," urged the hostler.
"You may be quite certain that the master will do what he can for
you; but I must say this, he is that under Polly that you can't
depend on him. There was old Clutch on the day when Bideabout was
killed. The doctor came from Gorlmyn on a hired hoss, and it was
the gray mare from the inn there. Well, old Clutch seems to have
found it out, and with his nose he lifted the latch of the
stable-door and got out, and trotted away after the doctor or the
old mare all the road to Gorlmyn; and he's there now in a field
with the mare, as affable as can be with her. It's the way of old
horses--and what, then, can you expect of old men? Polly can lead
the master where she pleases."
"Joe," said Mehetabel, "I cannot accept your kind offer. Do not
think me ungrateful. I am touched to the heart. But I will not
attempt to run away; that would at once be taken as a token that I
was guilty and was afraid of the consequences. I will not do
anything to give occasion for such a thought. I am not guilty,
and will act as an innocent person would."
"You may please yourself," answered Filmer; "but if you don't go, I
shall think you what I never thought you before--a fool."
"I cannot help it; I must do what is right," said Mehetabel. "But I
shall never forget your kindness, Joe, at a time when there are
very few who are friends to me."
The period of Mehetabel's illness had been a trying one for the
infant, and its health, never strong, had suffered. Happily, the
little children who came to the Dame's school were ready and
suitable nurses for it. A child can amuse and distract a babe from
its woes in an exceptional manner, and all the little pupils were
eager to escape A B C by acting as nurses.
When the mother was better, the babe also recovered; but it was, at
best, a puny, frail creature.
Mehetabel was aware how feeble a life was that which depended on
her, but would not admit it to herself. She could not endure to
have the delicacy of the child animadverted upon. She found excuses
for its tears, explanations of its diminutive size, a reason for
every doubtful sign--only not the right one. She knew she was
deceiving herself, but clung to the one hope that filled her--that
she might live for her child, and her child might live for her.
The human heart must have hope. That is as necessary to its
thriving as sun is to the flowers. If it were not for the spring
before it, the flower-root would rot in the ground, the tree canker
at the core; the bird would speed south never to return; the insect
would not retreat under shelter in the rain; the dormouse would not
hibernate, the ant collect its stores, the bee its honey. There
could be no life without expectation; and a life without hope in
man or woman is that of a machine--not even that of an animal. Hope
is the mainspring of every activity; it is the spur to all
undertakings; it is the buttress to every building; it runs in all
youthful blood; it gives buoyancy to every young heart and vivacity
to every brain. Mehetabel had hope in her now. She had no thought
for herself save how it concerned her child. In that child her hope
was incorporate.
CHAPTER XLVI.
A TROUBLED HOPE.
On the following morning Mehetabel was conveyed to Godalming, and
was brought before the magistrates, assembled in Petty Sessions.
She was in no great anxiety. She knew that she was innocent, and
had a childlike, childish confidence that innocence must come out
clear of stain, and then only guilt suffered punishment.
Before the magistrates this confidence of hers was rudely shaken.
The evidence that would be produced against her at the Assizes was
gone through in rough, as is always done in these cases, and the
charge assumed a gravity of complexion that astonished and abashed
her. That she and her husband had not lived in harmony was shown;
also that he had asserted that she had attempted his life with his
gun; that he was afraid she would poison him if trusted with the
opiate prescribed for him when suffering from a wound. It was
further shown by Giles Cheel and Sarah Rocliffe that she had
threatened to kill her husband with a stone, if not that actually
used by her, and then on the table, by one so like it as to be
hardly distinguishable from it. This threat had been made on the
night previous to the death of Jonas Kink. On the morning she had
encountered her husband in a field belonging to Mr. James Colpus,
and this meeting had been witnessed by the owner of the field, his
daughter, and by Thomas Rocliffe and his son Samuel.
Colpus and his daughter had been at some distance in the rear, but
Thomas and Samuel Rocliffe had been close by, in a sunken lane;
they had witnessed the meeting from a distance of under thirty
feet, and were so concealed by the hedge of holly and the bank as
to render it improbable that they were visible to the accused.
James Colpus had seen that an altercation took place between
Mehetabel and the deceased, but was at too great a distance to
hear what was said. He had seen Mehetabel raise her hand, holding
something--what he could not say--and threaten Jonas with it; but
he did not actually see her strike him, because at that moment he
turned to say something to his daughter.
The evidence of Mary Colpus was to much the same effect. The
accused had come to her to ask for a situation vacant in the house,
through the dismissal of Julia Caesar, her former servant, and
some difficulty had been raised as to her reception, on account
of the doubt whether Jonas would allow his wife to go out into
service, and leave her home. She and her father had promised to
consider the matter, and with this understanding Mehetabel had
left, carrying her babe.
Just as she reached the further extremity of the field, she met
her husband, Jonas Kink, who came up over the stile, out of the
lane, apparently unobserved by Mehetabel; for, when he addressed
her, she started, drew back, and thrust her hand into her pocket
and pulled out a stone. With this she threatened to strike him; but
whether she carried her threat into execution, or what occasioned
his fall, she could not say, owing to her father having spoken to
her at that moment, and she had diverted her eyes from the two in
the field to him. When next she looked Jonas had disappeared, and
she heard the shouts, and saw the faces of Thomas and Samuel
Rocliffe, as they came through the hedge.
Then her father said, "Something has happened!" and started
running. She had followed at a distance, and seen the Rocliffes
pull the body of Jonas Kink out of the kiln and lay it on the grass.
Thomas Rocliffe was a stupid man, and the magistrates had difficulty
with him. They managed, however, to extract from him the following
statement on oath:
He and Samuel had been out the previous day along with Jonas Kink,
his brother-in-law, looking for Mehetabel. Jonas thought she had
gone to the Moor and had drowned herself, and he had said he did
not care "such a won'erful sight whether she had."
On the morning of the event of his death Jonas had come to them,
and asked them to attend him again, and from what he, Thomas, had
heard from Sally, he said that they had been on the wrong scent
the night before, and that they must look for Matabel nigher, in
or about the village.
They had gone together, he and Jonas and his son Samuel, along the
lane that led out of the Punch-Bowl towards Thursley by the
Colpus's farm, and as they went along, in the deep lane, Jonas
shouted out that he saw his wife coming along. Then he, Thomas
and Samuel looked, and they also saw her. She was walking very
slow, and "was cuddlin' the baby," and did not seem to know where
she was going, for she went wide of the stile. Then Jonas got up
over the stile, and told Thomas and Samuel to bide where they
were till he called them. They did so, and saw him address
Mehetabel, who was surprised when he spoke to her, and then
something was said between them, and she pulled a big stone out
of her pocket and raised it over her head, stepped forward,
"sharp-like," and knocked him with it, on the head, so that he
fell like one struck with a thunderbolt, backward into the kiln.
Thereupon he and Samuel came up over the hedge, and he jumped
into the kiln, and found his brother-in-law there, huddled up
in a heap at the bottom. He managed with difficulty to heave
him out, and with the assistance of Samuel and Farmer Colpus, to
lay him on the grass, when all three supposed he was dead.
When they said that he was dead, then Mehetabel laughed.
This statement produced a commotion in court. Then they got a
hurdle or gate, he couldn't say which, and lifted the deceased
on to it and carried him home to the Punch-Bowl. It was only when
they laid him on the bed that they saw he still breathed. They
heard him groan, and he moved one hand--the right. He was rather
stiff and awkward with his left since his accident.
This evidence was corroborated at every point by the testimony of
Samuel, who was quite positive that Mehetabel had struck Jonas on
the head. Like all stupid people, the two Rocliffes were ready to
swear to and maintain with tenacity those points which were false
or inaccurate, and to hesitate about asserting with confidence such
as were true, and could not be other than true. It is not always
in the power of a wise and observant man to discriminate between
facts and imagination, and a dull and undeveloped intelligence is
absolutely incapable of distinguishing between them.
The evidence of the surgeon was to the effect that Jonas Kink had
died from the consequences of fracture of the skull, but whether
caused by a blow from a stone or from a fall he was unable to
state. There were contusions on his person. He probably struck
his head against the bricks of the kiln as he fell or was thrown
into it. Abrasions of the skin were certainly so caused. When he,
the witness, arrived at the Punch-Bowl, Kink was already dead. He
might have been dead an hour, the body was not absolutely cold.
When asked whether the piece of ironstone on the table might have
dealt the blow which had broken in the skull of Jonas, he replied,
that it might have done so certainly, and the fracture of the skull
was quite compatible with the charge advanced that it had been so
caused.
The next witness summoned was Betty Chivers, who gave her evidence
with great reluctance, and with many tears. It was true that the
stone produced in court had been taken by her from the hand of the
accused, and that immediately on her return from the farm of Mr.
Colpus. Mehetabel had not told her that she had met her husband,
had not said that he was dead, but had admitted that she had armed
herself with the stone for the purpose of self-defence against
Jonas, her husband, who, she believed, desired to take the child
from her.
Mehetabel was asked if she had anything to say, and when she
declined to say anything, was committed for trial at the ensuing
assizes at Kingston.
Throughout the hearing she had been uneasy. The cell where she had
been confined was close to the court, and she had been obliged to
leave her child with a woman who had attended to her; and with this
person the infant would not be at rest. Faintly, and whenever there
was a lull in the court, she could hear the wail of her child, the
little voice rising and falling, and she was impatient to be back
with it, to still its cries and console the little heart, that was
frightened at the presence of strangers and separation from its
mother.
Through all the time that she was in court, Mehetabel was listening
for the voice of the little one, and paying far more attention to
that, than to the evidence produced against her.
It was not till Mehetabel was removed to Kingston on Thames and put
in the prison to await her trial, that the full danger that menaced
was realized by her, and then it was mainly as it affected her
child, that it alarmed her. Life had not been so precious, that
she valued it, save for the sake of this feeble child so dependent
on her for everything.
Her confidence in justice was no longer great. Ever since her
marriage--indeed, ever since Mrs. Verstage had turned against her,
she had been buffeted by Fortune, devoid of friends. Why should a
Court of Justice treat her otherwise than had the little world
with which she had been brought in contact.
In Kingston prison the wife of the jailer was kind, and took a
fancy to the unhappy young mother. She sat with and talked to her.
"If they hang me," said Mehetabel, "what will become of my baby?"
"It will go to a relation."
"It has no relations but Sally Rocliffe, and she has ill-wished it.
She will be unkind to it, she wants it to die; and if it lives,
she will speak to my child unkindly of me."
She wiped her eyes. "I cannot bear to think of that. I might make
up my mind to die, if I knew my baby would be kindly cared for and
loved--though none could love it and care for it as I do. But I
could not die thinking it was taught that I was a bad woman, and
heard untrue things said of me every day. I know Sally, she would
do that. I had rather my child went on the parish, as I did, than
that Sally Rocliffe should have it. I was a charity girl, and I
was well cared for by Susanna Verstage, but that was a chance, or
rather a Providence, and I know very well there are not many
Susanna Verstages in the world. There is not another in Thursley,
no, nor in Witley either."
"Your child could not go on the parish. Your husband, as I have
been told, had a freehold of his own and some money."
"He lost all his money."
"But the farm was his, and that must be worth a few hundred pounds,
so that it would not be possible for the child to go on the parish."
"Then it must go to Sally Rocliffe. There is no other relation."
This was now the great trouble of Mehetabel. She had accepted the
inevitable, that wrong judgment would be pronounced, and that she
would be hung. Then the thought that her little darling would be
placed under the charge of the woman who had embittered her married
life, the woman who believed her to be guilty of murder,--this
was more than she could endure.
She had passed completely from confidence that her innocence would
be acknowledged and that she would at once be released, a condition
in which she had rested previous to her appearance before the
magistrates at Godalming, into the reverse state, she accepted,
now that she was in prison, awaiting her trial, as a certainty that
she would be condemned and sentenced to the gallows.
This frame of mind in which she was affected the jailer's wife, and
made her suppose that Mehetabel was guilty of the crime wherewith
she was charged.
All Mehetabel's thoughts and schemings were directed towards the
disposal of her child and its welfare after she was taken from it.
All the struggle within her torn heart was to reconcile herself to
the parting, and to have faith in Providence that her child would
be cared for when she was removed.
How that could be she saw not; and she came at length to hope that
when she was taken away the poor little orphan babe would follow
her. In that thought she found more comfort than in the anticipation
of its living, ill-treated by its aunt, and brought up to be
ashamed of its mother.
"You say," said Mehetabel to the jaileress, "that they don't hang
women in chains now. I am glad of that. But where will I be buried?
Do you think it could be contrived that if my baby were to die at
some time after me it might be laid at my side? That is the only
thing I now desire--and that--oh! I think I could be happy if I
were promised that."
CHAPTER XLVII.
BEFORE THE JUDGE.
Previous to the Assizes, Joe Filmer arrived in Kingston in a trap
drawn by old Clutch. He was admitted into the prison on his
expressing his desire to see Mehetabel.
After the first salutations were passed, Joe proceeded to business.
"You see, Matabel," said he, "the master don't want you to think
he won't help you out o' this little mess you've got into. But he
don't want Polly to know it. The master, he's won'erful under that
young woman's--I can't say thumb, but say her big toe. So if he
does wot he does about you, it's through me, and he'll sit
innercent like by the fire twiddlin' of his thumbs, and talkin'
of the weather. Master would be crafty as an old fox if he weren't
stupid as an owl. I can't think how he can have allowed himself to
get so much into Polly's power. It is so; and when he wants to do
a thing without her knowin', he has to do it underhand ways. Well,
he thort if he let our 'oss and trap go, as Polly'd be suspectin'
something, and Polly's terrible set against you. So he told me to
take a holiday and visit a dyin' aunt, and borrow old Clutch and a
trap from the Angel at Gorlmyn. Clutch have been there all along,
ever since your affair. There's no keepin' him away. So I came
here; and won'erful slow Clutch was. When I came to Kingston I put
up at the Sun, and sez I to the ostler: Be there a good lawyer
hereabouts, think you? 'Well,' sez he, 'I'm a stranger to Kingston.
I were born and bred at Cheam, but I was ostler first in Chertsey,
and then for six months at Twickenham. But there's a young woman
I'm courtin', I think she does the washin' for a soort of a lawyer
chap, and I'll ax she at my dinner time.' So he did, and he came
back and told me as the gal sed her master was a lawyer. She didn't
think much of the missus, she was mean about perquisates, but the
master was decent enough, and never came pokin into the kitchen
except when he wanted to have his socks dried. So I reckon he'll do
the job for you. Well, I gave that there ostler threepence, and
axed him to do me the favor of tellin' that there lawyer that I'd
be glad to stand him a glass o' ale if he'd step over to the bar
of the Angel. I'd got a bit of business I wanted to consult him
about. Well, he came, affable enough, and I told him all--as how I
wanted him to defend you, and get you out of this tidy hobble you
was in, and wot it 'ud cost. Then he thought a bit, and said that
he could get up the case, but must engage counsel. He was only a
turnkey, or some name like that; I sed, sed I, he was to manage
all, and he might take it or lump it on these terms: Five and
twenty pounds if he got you off clear, and if he didn't, and you
was hanged, then nuthin'."
Joe smiled and rubbed his hands in self-satisfaction. Then he
continued: "You know the master stands behind me. He'll find the
money, so long as Polly don't know; but he thort, and so does I,
as it could be done cheapest if I took it on me. So I sed to the
lawyer chap, who was makin' faces as if he'd got a herrin' bone in
his teeth, sez I, 'I'm nort but an ostler in a little country inn,
and it's not to be supposed I've much savin's. Nor is Matabel any
relation, only she wos maid in the inn whilst I wos ostlin', so I
feels a sort o' a likin' for the girl, and I don't mind standin'
five and twenty pound to get her off. More I can't give.' That,
Matabel, was gammon. The master wouldn't stick at five and twenty,
but he told me to try on this little game. He's deep is the master,
for, all the innercence he puts on. I said to the ostler I'd give
him half-a-crown for the gal as washes, as she introduced me to the
lawyer. That there turnkey, as he calls himself, he sez he must get
the counsel, and I sez, that, of course, and it comes out of the
five and twenty. Then he made more faces, but I stuck to it, and I
believe he'll do it. He axed me about particulars, and I sed he wos
to consult you. The master sed that durin' the trial I wos to be
nigh the lawyer, and if he seemed to flag at all I wos to say,
'Another five pound, old ginger, if you gets her off.' So I think
we shall manage it, and Polly be never the wiser."
The Assizes began. Mehetabel, in her prison, could hear the church
bells ring merry peals to welcome the judge. She was in sore anxiety
about the child, that had failed greatly of late. The trouble in
which its mother had been involved had told on its never strong
constitution. Even had she been occupied with her own defence and
ultimate fate, the condition of the babe imperiously demanded that
the main solicitude of its mother should be devoted to it, to still
its cries, to relieve its pains, to lull it to necessary sleep.
When Mahetabel knew that she was in a few minutes to be summoned to
answer in court for her life, she hung over the little sufferer,
clasped it and its crib in her arms, and laid her cheek beside its
fevered face on the pillow. She could rest in no other position. If
she left the child, it was to pace the cell--if she turned her
thoughts to her defence, she was called back by a peevish cry to
consider the infant.