When Robbie Anderson left Wythburn, his principal and immediate
purpose was to overtake Simeon Stagg. It was of less consequence that
he should trace and discover Ralph Ray. Clearly it had been Ralph's
object on leaving home to keep out of reach of the authorities who
were in pursuit of him. But there was no saying what course a man such
as he might take in order to insure the safety of the people who were
dear to him, and to whom he was dear. The family at Shoulthwaite Moss
had been threatened with eviction. The ransom was Ralph's liberty. Sim
had been sent to say so. But a graver issue lay close behind. This
shadow of a great crime lay over Ralph's life. If Robbie could
overtake Sim before Sim had time to overtake Ralph, he might prevent a
terrible catastrophe. Even so fearless a man as Ralph was would surely
hesitate if he knew, though but on hearsay, that perhaps a horrible
accusation awaited him at Carlisle.
That accusation might be false--it must be false. Robbie believed he
could swear that it was a lie if he stood before the Throne of Grace.
But of what avail was the innocence of the accused in days when an
indictment was equal to a conviction!
Sim was an old man, or at least he was past his best. He was a frail
creature, unable to travel fast. There was little doubt in the mind of
the lusty young dalesman as he took his “lang stroke o' the ground”
that before many hours had gone by Sim would be overtaken and brought
back.
It was Sunday morning when little Liza Branthwaite ferreted Robbie out
of the Red Lion, and it was no later than noon of the same day when
Robbie began his journey. During the first few miles he could discover
no trace of Sim. This troubled him a little, until he reflected that
it was late at night when Sim started away, and that consequently the
tailor would pass the little wayside villages unobserved. After nine
or ten miles had been covered, Robbie met with persons who had
encountered Sim. The accounts given of him were as painful as they
were in harmony with his character. Sim had shrunk from the
salutations of those who knew him, and avoided with equal timidity the
gaze of those by whom he was not known. The suspicion of being
everywhere suspected was with the poor outcast abroad as well as at
home.
Quickly as the darkness fell in on that Sunday in mid-winter, Robbie
had travelled many miles before the necessity occurred to him of
seeking lodgings for the night. He had intended to reach the little
town of Winander that day, and he had done so. It was late, however,
and after a frugal supper, Robbie went off to bed.
Early next day, Monday, the young dalesman set about inquiries among
the townspeople as to whether a man answering to the description which
he gave of Sim had been seen to pass through the town. Many persons
declared that they had seen such a one the day before, and some
insisted that he was still in Winander. An old fellow in a smock, who,
being obviously beyond all active labor, employed his time and
energies in the passive occupation of watching everybody from the
corner of a street, and in chatting with as many as had conversation
to spend on his superannuated garrulity, affirmed very positively that
he had talked with Sim as recently as an hour ago.
Right or wrong, this was evidence of Sim's whereabouts which Robbie
felt that he could not ignore. He must at least test its truthfulness
by walking through the streets and inquiring further. It would be idle
to travel on until this clew had been cleared up.
And so Robbie spent almost the whole day in what proved to be a
fruitless search. It was apparent that if Sim had been in Winander he
had left it on Sunday. Robbie reflected with vexation that it was now
the evening of Monday, and that he was farther behind the man of whom
he was in pursuit than he had been at starting from Wythburn.
In no very amiable mood Robbie set out afresh just as darkness was
coming on, and followed the road as far as the village of Staveley.
Here there was nothing more hopeful to do at a late hour on Monday
night than to seek for a bed and sleep. On Tuesday morning Robbie lost
no time in making inquiries, but he wasted several hours in
ascertaining particulars that were at all reliable and satisfactory.
No one appeared to have seen such a man as Sim, either to-day,
yesterday, or on Sunday.
Robbie was perplexed. He was in doubt if it might not be his best
course to turn back, when a happy inspiration occurred to him.
What had the people said of Sim's shyness and timidity? Why, it was as
clear as noonday that the poor little man would try to avoid the
villages by making a circuit of the fields about them.
With this conviction, Robbie set out again, intending to make no pause
in his next stage until he had reached Kendal. Upon approaching the
villages he looked about for the footpaths that might be expected to
describe short arcs around them; and, following one of these, he
passed a cottage that stood at a corner of a lane. He had made many
fruitless inquiries hitherto, and had received replies that had been
worse than valueless; but he could not resist the temptation to ask at
this house.
Walking round the cottage to where the door opened on the front
farthest from the lane, Robbie entered the open porch. His unfamiliar
footstep brought from an inner room an old woman with a brown and
wrinkled face, who curtsied, and, speaking in a meek voice, asked, or
seemed to ask, his pleasure.
“Your pardon, mistress,” said Robbie, “but mayhap you've seen a little
man with gray hair and a long beard going by?”
“Do you say a laal man?” asked the old woman.
“Ey, wrinkled and wizzent a bit?” said Robbie.
“Yes,” said the woman.
Robbie was uncertain as to what the affirmation implied. Taking it to
be a sort of request for a more definite description, he continued,--
“A blate and fearsome sort of a fellow, you know.”
“Yes,” repeated the woman, and then there was a pause.
Robbie, getting impatient of the delay, was turning on his heel with
scant civility, when the old woman said, “Are you seeking him for
aught that is good?”
“Why, ey, mother,” said Robbie, regaining his former position and his
accustomed geniality in an instant. “Do you know his name?” she asked.
“Sim--that's to say Sim Stagg. Don't you fear me, mother; I'm a friend
to Sim, take my word.”
“You're a good-like sort of a lad, I think,” said the old woman; “Sim
was here ower the night last night.”
“Where is he now?” said Robbie.
“He left me this morning at t' edge o' t' daylight. He axed for t'
coach to Lancaster, and I telt him it started frae the Woodman, in
Kirklands, and so he went off there.”
“Kirklands; where's Kirklands?”
“In Kendal, near the church.”
It turned out that the good old woman had known Sim many years before,
when they were neighbors in a street of a big town. She had been with
Sim's wife in her last illness, and had cared for his little daughter
when the child's mother died.
Robbie did not know when the coach might leave Kendal for Lancaster;
Sim was several hours in front of them, and therefore he took a hasty
leave. The old woman, who lived a solitary life in the cottage, looked
after the young man with eyes which seemed to say that, in spite of
the instinct which prompted her to confide in Robbie, she half
regretted what she had done.