In Carlisle the time of the end was drawing near. Throughout the
death-day of the blacksmith at Wythburn the two men who were to die
for his crime on the morrow sat together in their cell in the Donjon
tower.
Ralph was as calm as before, and yet more cheerful. The time of
atonement was at hand. The ransom was about to be paid. To break the
hard fate of a life, of many lives, he had come to die, and death was
here!
Bent and feeble, white as his smock, and with staring eyes, Sim
continued to protest that God would not let them die at this time and
in this place.
“If He does,” he said, “then it is not true what they have told us,
that God watches over all!”
“What is that you are saying, old friend?” returned Ralph. “Death
comes to every one. The black camel kneels at the gate of all. If it
came to some here and some there, then it would be awful indeed.”
“But to die before our time is terrible, it is,” said Sim.
“Before our time--what time?” said Ralph. “To-day or to-morrow--who
shall say which is your time or mine?”
“Aye, but to die like this!” said Sim, and rocked himself in his seat.
“And is it not true that a short death is the sovereign good hap of
life?”
“The shame of it--the shame of it,” Sim muttered.
“That touches us not at all,” said Ralph. “Only the guilty can feel
the shame of a shameful death. No, no; death is kindest. And yet, and
yet, old friend, I half repent me of my resolve. The fatal warrant,
which has been the principal witness against us, was preserved in the
sole hope that one day it might serve you in good stead. For your
sake, and yours only, would to God that I might say where I came by it
and when!”
“No, no, no,” cried Sim, with a sudden access of resolution; “I _am_
the guilty man after all, and it is but justice that _I_ should die.
But that _you_ should die also--you that are as innocent as the babe
unborn--God will never look down on it, I tell you. God will never
witness it; never, never!”
At that moment the organ of the chapel of the castle burst on the ear.
It was playing for afternoon service. Then the voices of the choir
came, droned and drowsed and blurred, across the green and through the
thick walls of the tower. The sacred harmonies swept up to them in
their cell as the intoned Litanies sweep down a long cathedral aisle
to those who stand under the sky at its porch. Deep, rich, full, pure,
and solemn. The voice of peace, peace, and rest.
The two men shut their eyes and listened.
In that world on which they had turned their backs men were
struggling, men were fighting, men's souls were being torn by passion.
In that world to which their faces were set no haunting, hurrying
footsteps ever fell; no soul was yet vexed by fierce fire, no dross of
budded hope was yet laid low. All was rest and peace.
The gaoler knocked. A visitor was here to see Ralph. He had secured
the permission of the under sheriff to see him for half an hour alone.
Sim rose, and prepared to follow the gaoler.
“No,” said Ralph, motioning him back; “it is too late for secrets to
come between you and me. He must stay,” he added, turning to the
gaoler.
A moment later Robbie Anderson entered. He was deeply moved.
“I was ill and insensible at the time of the trial,” he said.
Then he told the long story of his fruitless quest.
“My evidence might have saved you,” he said. “Is it yet too late?”
“Yes, it is too late,” said Ralph.
“I think I could say where the warrant came from.”
“Robbie, remember the vow you took never to speak of this matter
again.”
At mention of the warrant, Sim had once more crept up eagerly. Ralph
saw that the hope of escape still clung to him. Would that muddy
imperfection remain with him to the last?
“Robbie, if you ever had any feeling for me as a friend and comrade,
let this thing lie forever undiscovered in your mind.”
Unable to speak, the young dalesman bent his head.
“As for Sim, it wounds me to the soul. But for myself, what have I now
to live for? Nothing. I tried to save the land to my mother and
brother. How is she?”
“Something better, as I heard.”
“Poor mother! And--Rotha--is she--”
“She is well.”
“Thank God! Perhaps when these sad events are long gone by, and have
faded away into a dim memory, perhaps then she will be happy in my
brother's love.”
“Willy?” said Robbie, with look and accent of surprise.
Then there was a pause.
“She has been an angel,” said Robbie feelingly.
“Better than that--she has been a woman; God bless and keep her!” said
Ralph.
Robbie glanced into Ralph's face; tears stood in his eyes.
Sim sat and moaned.
“My poor little Rotie,” he mumbled. “My poor little lost Rotie!”
The days of her childhood had flowed back to him. She was a child once
more in his memory.
“Robbie,” said Ralph, “since we have been here one strange passage has
befallen me, and I believe it is real and not the effect of a
disturbed fancy.”
“What is it, Ralph?” said Robbie.
“The first night after we were shut up in this place, I thought in the
darkness, being fully awake, that one opened the door. I turned my
head, thinking it must be the gaoler. But when I looked it was Rotha.
She had a sweet smile on her dear face. It was a smile of hope and
cheer. Last night, again, I was awakened by Sim crying in his
sleep--the strange, shrill, tearless night-cry that freezes the blood
of the listener. Then I lay an hour awake. Again I thought that one
opened the door. I looked to see Rotha. It was she. I believe she was
sent to us in the spirit as a messenger of peace and hope--hope of
that better world which we are soon to reach.”
The gaoler knocked. Robbie's time had expired. “How short these last
moments seem!” said Ralph; “yet an eternity of last moments would be
brief. Farewell, my lad! God bless you!”
The dalesmen shook hands. Their eyes were averted.
Robbie took his leave with many tears.
Then rose again the voices of the unseen choir within the chapel. The
organ pealed out in loud flute tones that mounted like a lark, higher,
higher, higher, winging its way in the clear morning air. It was the
chant of a returning angel scaling heaven. Then came the long sweeps
of a more solem harmony. Peace, peace! And rest! And rest!