"THAT FOR URITH."
Fox cowered, and retreated step by step before Urith, who stepped
forward at every step he retreated. He seemed to contract to a third of
his size before her eyes, over which a lambent, phosphorescent fire
played. They were fixed on his face; he looked up but once, and then,
scorched and withered, let his eyes fall, and did not again venture to
meet hers.
Her hands were on his shoulders. It might have been thought that she was
driving him backward, but it was not so. He recoiled instinctively; but
for her hands he might have staggered and fallen among the scattered
stones of the old chapel that strewed the floor.
"Answer me!" said Urith, again. "What did you mean, when you said--'This
for Julian?'"
"What did I mean?" he repeated, irresolutely.
"Answer me--what did you mean? I can understand that in thought Anthony
stood before you when you struck--once because I had cast you over, and
had taken him--once because he touched and hurt your eye--but why the
third time for Julian?"
He lifted one shoulder after the other, squirming uneasily under her
hands, and did not reply, save with a scoffing snort through his
nostrils.
"I know that you are waiting here for Anthony--and like yourself,
waiting to deal a treacherous blow. It is not such as you who meet a foe
face to face, after an open challenge, in a fair field."
"An open challenge, in a fair field!" echoed Fox, recovering some of his
audacity, after the first shock of alarm at discovery had passed away.
"Would that be a fair field in which all the skill, all the strength is
on one side? An open challenge! Did he challenge me when he struck me
with the gloves in the face and hurt my eye? No--he never warned me, and
why should I forewarn him?"
"Come!" said Urith, "go on before--up to Willsworthy; I will not run the
chance of being seen here talking with you, as if in secret. Go on--I
follow."
She waved him imperiously forth, and he obeyed as a whipped cur, sneaked
through the broken doorway forth into the lane. He looked down the road
to see if Anthony were ascending, but saw no one. Then he turned his
head to observe Urith, hastily sheathed his knife, and trudged forward
in the direction required.
Urith said nothing till the hall was entered, when she pointed to a
seat, and went with a candlestick into the kitchen to obtain a light.
She returned directly, having shut the doors between, so that no servant
could overhear what was said. The candlestick she placed on the table,
and then planted herself opposite Fox Crymes. He was sitting with his
back to the table, so that the light was off his face, and such as there
was from a single candle fell on Urith; but he did not look up. His eyes
were on the skirt of her dress and on her feet, and by them he could see
that she was quivering with emotion. He seemed to see her through the
flicker of hot air that rises from a kiln. He wiped his eyes, thinking
that his sight was disturbed, but by a second look ascertained that the
tremulous motion was in Urith. It was like the quiver of a butterfly's
wings when fluttering at the window trying to escape.
"I am ready," said Urith. "What did you mean when you said 'This for
Julian?'"
He half-lifted his cunning eyes, but let them fall again. He had
recovered his assurance and decided on his course.
"I suppose," sneered he, "that you will allow that I have a right to
chastise the man who insults our good name, to bring my sister into the
mouths of folk?"
"Has he done so?"
"You ask that?" he laughed, mockingly. "How remote this spot must be to
be where the breath of scandal does not blow. You ask that? Why, 'fore
heaven, I supposed that jealousy quickened and sharpened ears, but yours
must be singularly blunt, or, mayhap, deadened by indifference."
"Tell me plainly what you have to say."
"Do you not know that your Anthony was engaged, or all but engaged--had
been for some fifteen years--to my sister? Then he saw you under
remarkable circumstances, saw and attended you along the Lyke Way that
night of the fire on the moor. Then a spark of the wild fire fell into
his blood, and he forgot his old, established first love, and in a mad
humour took you. Take a scale," pursued Fox. "Put in one shell my sister
with her wealth, her civilized beauty, her heritage, the grand old house
of Kilworthy, and her representation of a grand old line. Put in
also"--he suited the action to his word, in imaginary scales in the air
before him, and saw the shrink of Urith's feet at each item he
named--"put in also his father's favor, Hall--where he was born and
bred, the inheritance of his family for many generations, with its
associations, his sister's company, the respect of his neighbours; all
that and more that I have not named into the one shell, and into the
other.--Come, come!"--he crooked his finger, and made a sign with his
knuckle, and a distorted face full of mockery and malice--"come, skip in
and sit yourself down with a couple of paniers of peat earth, that grows
only rushes. What say you? Do you outweigh Julian and all the rest? And
your peat earth, sour and barren, does that sink your scale heavier than
all the bags of gold and rich warm soil of Kilworthy and Hall combined?"
He glanced upward hurriedly, to see what effect his words had. All this
that he said Urith had said it to herself; but though the same thoughts
uttered to herself cut her like razors, they were as razors dipped in
poison, when coming articulate from the lips of Fox.
"Do you not suppose," continued he, "that after the first fancy was
over, Anthony wearied of you, and went back in heart out from this
wilderness, back to Goshen and to the Land of Promise rolled into one,
with the flesh-pots, and without hard labour? Of course he did. He were
a fool if he did not, or your hold over him must be magical indeed, and
the value of Willsworthy altogether extraordinary."
Again he furtively looked at her. Her eyes were off him, he felt it,
before he saw it. She was looking down at the floor, and her teeth were
fastened into her clenched hands. She was biting them to keep under the
hysteric paroxysm that was coming over her. He took a malevolent delight
in lashing her to a frenzy with his cruel words, and so avenging himself
on her for his rejection, avenging himself on her in the most terrible
way possible, by making her relations with her husband henceforth
intolerable.
She could no longer speak. He saw it, and he waited for no words. He
went on: "You married him; you married him, notwithstanding that he had
offered the grossest insult to the memory of your father. You married
him indecently early after your mother's death, and that was an outrage
on her memory. Whether you have the blessing of father and mother on
your union is more than doubtful. I should rather say that out of heaven
they fling their united curses on you for what you have done."
A hoarse sound issued from her throat. It was not a cry, nor a groan,
but like the gasp of a dying person.
"And now the curse is working. Of course Anthony is hungering after what
he has thrown away. But he cannot get Kilworthy. You stand in the way.
He can get Hall only by casting you over. That he will do."
Suddenly Urith became rigid as stone. She could not speak, she dropped
her hands, and looked with large fixed eyes at Fox. He saw, by the
cessation of the quiver of her skirt, that she had become stiff as if
dead.
"That," repeated Fox, "he is prepared to do. His father made him the
offer. If he would leave you, then, said the old Squire, all should be
as before. Anthony should go back to Hall, live with his father, be
treated as heir, and command his pocket--only you were to be discarded
wholly, and he was not to see you again."
Fox paused, and began his hissing whistle through his broken tooth. He
waited to let the full force of his words fall on her to crush her,
before he went on still further to maltreat her with words more terrible
than blows of bludgeons or stabs of poisoned knife.
Now he twisted his belt round, and laid the scabbarded hunting knife
before him on his lap, played with it, and then slowly drew forth the
blade.
"But now--" he said leisurely, "now I reckon you can see why I took out
my knife, and why I would strike him down before he leaves you and
returns to Hall. Already has there been talk concerning him and my
sister. He gave rise to it at the dance at the Cakes. But you know
better than I what happened there, as I went away with my father, who
arrived from London. When young blood boils, it is forgotten that the
sound of the bubbling is audible. When hearts flame, it is not
remembered that they give out light and smoke. I suppose that Anthony
and my sister forgot that they were in the midst of observant eyes when
they met again, as of old so often; just as they forgot that you existed
and were a bar between them. I tell you I do not know what took place
then, as I was not there, but you had eyes and could see, and may
remember."
He put the knife upright with the haft on his knee, and set his finger
at the end of the blade, balancing it in that position. She saw it, her
eyes were attracted by the blade; the light of the candle flashed on
the polished steel; then Fox turned the blade and the light went out,
then again it flashed, as the surface again came round over against the
candle.
"When Anthony is back at Hall, I know well what will take place. Even
now he comes over often to Kilworthy, too often, forgetful of you,
forgetful of all save his old regard, his love for Julian, that draws
him there; he cannot keep away even now. When he is at Hall nothing will
retain him, and he will bring my sister's fair name into the dirt. Have
I not a cause to take out this knife? Must I not stand as her guardian?
My father is old, he has no thoughts for aught save the Protestant cause
and Liberty and Parliamentary rights. He lets all go its own way, and,
unless I were present to defend my sister, he would wake, rub his eyes,
and find--find that all the world was talking about the affairs of his
house, and his grey hairs would be brought in shame to the grave. Julian
has no mother, and has only me. She and I have bickered and fought, but
I value the honour of my family, and for that I can, when need be,
strike a blow. You know now what it is I fear; you know what it is I
meant when I took out my knife and waited in the chapel for the man who
would bring my sister to dishonour. I could tell you more--I could tell
you that which would make you kiss the blade that tapped his blood, that
entered his false heart and let out the black falsity that is there,
but----" He looked hesitatingly at her, then slowly rose, and, watching
her, went backwards to the door.
She stood motionless, white, as though frozen, and as still; her hands
were uplifted. She had been about to raise them to her mouth again, but
the frost had seized them as they were being lifted, and were held
rigid, in suspense. Her eyes were wide and fixed, her mouth half-open,
and her lower jaw quivered as with intense cold, the only part of her in
which any motion remained. So stiff, so congealed did she seem, that it
occurred to Fox, as he looked at her, that were he to touch and stir her
wild flowing hair, it would break and fall like icicles on the floor. He
stepped back to the door, then held up his finger, with a smile about
his lips--
"I am coming back again. I am not going to run away."
A convulsive movement in her arms. Her hands went up with a jerk to her
mouth.
"No," said Fox; "do not bite your pretty hands. There"--he turned to the
table and picked up the old pair of gloves that lay there--"if you must
tear something, tear these. They will do you good."
He put the gloves to her hands, and they mechanically closed on them.
Her eyes were as stones. All light had deserted them, as fire had
deserted her blood, had died out of her heart.
Fox went out, and remained absent about five minutes. Suddenly the door
was dashed open, and he came in excitedly. "He is coming--he is hard at
hand. I have more to say. Do you mistrust me? Do you think I am telling
lies? I will say it to his face; and then----" He drew his knife and
made a stroke with it in the air, then sheathed it again. "Go," said he,
"go in yonder." He pointed to the well-chamber that opened out of the
hall. "Remain there. The rest I will tell Anthony to his face." He
caught her by the wrist and led her to the door, and almost forced her
into the little chamber.
Then he went across the hall to the door that led to the kitchen, opened
it, and looked into a small passage; crossed that to another door
communicating with the kitchen, and turned the key in it. He returned to
the hall, and was shutting the door behind him when Anthony entered from
outside.
Anthony raised his brows with surprise at the sight of Fox there, and
flushed with anger. This was the man who was going to displace him at
Hall, occupy his inheritance, and take his very name. And Fox--this
treacherous friend--had the daring to come to his house and meet him.
"What brings you here?" asked Anthony, roughly.
"An excellent reason, which you might divine."
Fox had completely recovered his assurance. He came across the room
toward the seat he had occupied before, and, with a "By your leave,"
resumed it. He thus sat with his face in shadow, and his back to the
door of the well-chamber.
"And, pray, what are you doing in my house? Hast come to see me or
Master Gibbs?"
"You--you alone."
Anthony threw himself into the settle; his brow was knit; he was angry
at the intrusion, and yet not altogether unwilling to see Fox--for he
desired to have a word with him relative to his proposed marriage with
Bessie, and assumption of his name.
"And I," said he; "I desire an explanation with you, Fox."
"Come, now!" exclaimed young Crymes. "I have a desire to speak with you,
and you with me. Which is to come first? Shall we toss? But, nay! I will
begin; and then, when I have done, we shall see what desire remains in
you to talk to me and pluck thy crow."
"I want then to know what has brought you here? Where is my wife? Where
is Urith? Have you seen her?" Anthony turned his head, and looked about
the room.
"What!" said Fox, with a jeer in his tone, "dost think because thou
runnest to Kilworthy to make love to my sister Julian, that I came here
to sweetheart thy wife?"
"Silence!" said Anthony, with a burst of rage, and sprang from his seat.
"I will not keep silence," retorted Fox, turning grey with alarm at the
hasty motion, and with concentrated rage. "Nay, Anthony, I will not be
silent! Answer me; hast thou not been this very day with Julian?"
"And what if I did see her? I went to Kilworthy to find you."
"You go there oftentimes to find me, but, somehow, always when I am out,
and Julian is at home. When I am not there, do you return here, or go
elsewhere? Nay, you console yourself for my absence by her
society--bringing her into ill-repute in the county."
"You lie!" shouted Anthony.
"I do not lie," retorted Fox. "Did you not remain with her to-day. Where
else have you been? Who drew your initials on the glass beside hers, and
bound them together with a true lover's knot?"
Anthony's head fell. He had planted himself on the hearthstone, with his
back to the fireplace--now without burning logs or peat in it. The flush
that had been driven by anger to his face deepened with shame to a dark
crimson.
Fox observed him out of his small keen eyes.
"Tell me this," he pursued. "Was it not indiscreet that thy father
should come in and find thee and Julian locked in each other's arms,
exchanging lovers' kisses?"
Anthony looked suddenly up, and in a moment all the blood left his face
and rushed to his heart. He saw behind the chair in which sat Fox, the
form of his wife. Urith--grey as a corpse, but with fire spirting from
her eyes, and her nostrils and lips quivering. Her hand was lifted,
clenched, on something, he could not see what.
"Tell me," repeated Fox, slowly rising, and putting his hand to his
belt. "Tell me--can you deny that?--can you say that it is a lie? Your
own father told me what he had seen. Did he lie?"
Anthony did not hear him, did not see him; his eyes were fixed in
sorrow, shame, despair, on Urith. Oh, that she should hear this, and
that he should be unable to answer!
"Strike--kill him!" her voice was hoarse--like that of a man; and she
dashed the gloves, torn to shreds by her teeth, against his breast.
Instantly, Fox's arm was raised, the knife flashed in the candle-light,
and fell on him, struck him where he had been touched by the gloves.
"That," the words attended the blows, "that for Urith." Anthony dropped
on the hearthstone.
Then, as Fox raised his arm once more--without a cry, without a word,
Urith sprang before him, thrust him back with all her force, that he
reeled to the table, and only saved himself from a fall by catching at
it, and she sank consciousless on the hearthstone beside Anthony.