It was for the moment an inexpressible relief to Dolly, to recognise in
the person who forced himself into the path so abruptly, and now stood
directly in her way, Hugh of the Maypole, whose name she uttered in a
tone of delighted surprise that came from her heart.
‘Was it you?’ she said, ‘how glad I am to see you! and how could you
terrify me so!’
In answer to which, he said nothing at all, but stood quite still,
looking at her.
‘Did you come to meet me?’ asked Dolly.
Hugh nodded, and muttered something to the effect that he had been
waiting for her, and had expected her sooner.
‘I thought it likely they would send,’ said Dolly, greatly reassured by
this.
‘Nobody sent me,’ was his sullen answer. ‘I came of my own accord.’
The rough bearing of this fellow, and his wild, uncouth appearance, had
often filled the girl with a vague apprehension even when other people
were by, and had occasioned her to shrink from him involuntarily. The
having him for an unbidden companion in so solitary a place, with the
darkness fast gathering about them, renewed and even increased the alarm
she had felt at first.
If his manner had been merely dogged and passively fierce, as usual,
she would have had no greater dislike to his company than she always
felt--perhaps, indeed, would have been rather glad to have had him at
hand. But there was something of coarse bold admiration in his look,
which terrified her very much. She glanced timidly towards him,
uncertain whether to go forward or retreat, and he stood gazing at her
like a handsome satyr; and so they remained for some short time without
stirring or breaking silence. At length Dolly took courage, shot past
him, and hurried on.
‘Why do you spend so much breath in avoiding me?’ said Hugh,
accommodating his pace to hers, and keeping close at her side.
‘I wish to get back as quickly as I can, and you walk too near me,
answered Dolly.’
‘Too near!’ said Hugh, stooping over her so that she could feel his
breath upon her forehead. ‘Why too near? You’re always proud to ME,
mistress.’
‘I am proud to no one. You mistake me,’ answered Dolly. ‘Fall back, if
you please, or go on.’
‘Nay, mistress,’ he rejoined, endeavouring to draw her arm through his,
‘I’ll walk with you.’
She released herself and clenching her little hand, struck him with
right good will. At this, Maypole Hugh burst into a roar of laughter,
and passing his arm about her waist, held her in his strong grasp as
easily as if she had been a bird.
‘Ha ha ha! Well done, mistress! Strike again. You shall beat my face,
and tear my hair, and pluck my beard up by the roots, and welcome, for
the sake of your bright eyes. Strike again, mistress. Do. Ha ha ha! I
like it.’
‘Let me go,’ she cried, endeavouring with both her hands to push him
off. ‘Let me go this moment.’
‘You had as good be kinder to me, Sweetlips,’ said Hugh. ‘You had,
indeed. Come. Tell me now. Why are you always so proud? I don’t quarrel
with you for it. I love you when you’re proud. Ha ha ha! You can’t hide
your beauty from a poor fellow; that’s a comfort!’
She gave him no answer, but as he had not yet checked her progress,
continued to press forward as rapidly as she could. At length, between
the hurry she had made, her terror, and the tightness of his embrace,
her strength failed her, and she could go no further.
‘Hugh,’ cried the panting girl, ‘good Hugh; if you will leave me I will
give you anything--everything I have--and never tell one word of this to
any living creature.’
‘You had best not,’ he answered. ‘Harkye, little dove, you had best not.
All about here know me, and what I dare do if I have a mind. If ever you
are going to tell, stop when the words are on your lips, and think of
the mischief you’ll bring, if you do, upon some innocent heads that you
wouldn’t wish to hurt a hair of. Bring trouble on me, and I’ll bring
trouble and something more on them in return. I care no more for them
than for so many dogs; not so much--why should I? I’d sooner kill a man
than a dog any day. I’ve never been sorry for a man’s death in all my
life, and I have for a dog’s.’
There was something so thoroughly savage in the manner of these
expressions, and the looks and gestures by which they were accompanied,
that her great fear of him gave her new strength, and enabled her by a
sudden effort to extricate herself and run fleetly from him. But Hugh
was as nimble, strong, and swift of foot, as any man in broad England,
and it was but a fruitless expenditure of energy, for he had her in his
encircling arms again before she had gone a hundred yards.
‘Softly, darling--gently--would you fly from rough Hugh, that loves you
as well as any drawing-room gallant?’
‘I would,’ she answered, struggling to free herself again. ‘I will.
Help!’
‘A fine for crying out,’ said Hugh. ‘Ha ha ha! A fine, pretty one, from
your lips. I pay myself! Ha ha ha!’
‘Help! help! help!’ As she shrieked with the utmost violence she could
exert, a shout was heard in answer, and another, and another.
‘Thank Heaven!’ cried the girl in an ecstasy. ‘Joe, dear Joe, this way.
Help!’
Her assailant paused, and stood irresolute for a moment, but the shouts
drawing nearer and coming quick upon them, forced him to a speedy
decision. He released her, whispered with a menacing look, ‘Tell HIM:
and see what follows!’ and leaping the hedge, was gone in an instant.
Dolly darted off, and fairly ran into Joe Willet’s open arms.
‘What is the matter? are you hurt? what was it? who was it? where is
he? what was he like?’ with a great many encouraging expressions and
assurances of safety, were the first words Joe poured forth. But poor
little Dolly was so breathless and terrified that for some time she
was quite unable to answer him, and hung upon his shoulder, sobbing and
crying as if her heart would break.
Joe had not the smallest objection to have her hanging on his shoulder;
no, not the least, though it crushed the cherry-coloured ribbons sadly,
and put the smart little hat out of all shape. But he couldn’t bear to
see her cry; it went to his very heart. He tried to console her, bent
over her, whispered to her--some say kissed her, but that’s a fable. At
any rate he said all the kind and tender things he could think of and
Dolly let him go on and didn’t interrupt him once, and it was a good ten
minutes before she was able to raise her head and thank him.
‘What was it that frightened you?’ said Joe.
A man whose person was unknown to her had followed her, she answered; he
began by begging, and went on to threats of robbery, which he was on the
point of carrying into execution, and would have executed, but for Joe’s
timely aid. The hesitation and confusion with which she said this, Joe
attributed to the fright she had sustained, and no suspicion of the
truth occurred to him for a moment.
‘Stop when the words are on your lips.’ A hundred times that night, and
very often afterwards, when the disclosure was rising to her tongue,
Dolly thought of that, and repressed it. A deeply rooted dread of the
man; the conviction that his ferocious nature, once roused, would stop
at nothing; and the strong assurance that if she impeached him, the
full measure of his wrath and vengeance would be wreaked on Joe, who
had preserved her; these were considerations she had not the courage to
overcome, and inducements to secrecy too powerful for her to surmount.
Joe, for his part, was a great deal too happy to inquire very curiously
into the matter; and Dolly being yet too tremulous to walk without
assistance, they went forward very slowly, and in his mind very
pleasantly, until the Maypole lights were near at hand, twinkling their
cheerful welcome, when Dolly stopped suddenly and with a half scream
exclaimed,
‘The letter!’
‘What letter?’ cried Joe.
‘That I was carrying--I had it in my hand. My bracelet too,’ she said,
clasping her wrist. ‘I have lost them both.’
‘Do you mean just now?’ said Joe.
‘Either I dropped them then, or they were taken from me,’ answered
Dolly, vainly searching her pocket and rustling her dress. ‘They are
gone, both gone. What an unhappy girl I am!’ With these words poor
Dolly, who to do her justice was quite as sorry for the loss of the
letter as for her bracelet, fell a-crying again, and bemoaned her fate
most movingly.
Joe tried to comfort her with the assurance that directly he had housed
her in the Maypole, he would return to the spot with a lantern (for it
was now quite dark) and make strict search for the missing articles,
which there was great probability of his finding, as it was not likely
that anybody had passed that way since, and she was not conscious that
they had been forcibly taken from her. Dolly thanked him very heartily
for this offer, though with no great hope of his quest being successful;
and so with many lamentations on her side, and many hopeful words on
his, and much weakness on the part of Dolly and much tender supporting
on the part of Joe, they reached the Maypole bar at last, where the
locksmith and his wife and old John were yet keeping high festival.
Mr Willet received the intelligence of Dolly’s trouble with that
surprising presence of mind and readiness of speech for which he was so
eminently distinguished above all other men. Mrs Varden expressed her
sympathy for her daughter’s distress by scolding her roundly for being
so late; and the honest locksmith divided himself between condoling with
and kissing Dolly, and shaking hands heartily with Joe, whom he could
not sufficiently praise or thank.
In reference to this latter point, old John was far from agreeing with
his friend; for besides that he by no means approved of an adventurous
spirit in the abstract, it occurred to him that if his son and heir had
been seriously damaged in a scuffle, the consequences would assuredly
have been expensive and inconvenient, and might perhaps have proved
detrimental to the Maypole business. Wherefore, and because he looked
with no favourable eye upon young girls, but rather considered that they
and the whole female sex were a kind of nonsensical mistake on the part
of Nature, he took occasion to retire and shake his head in private at
the boiler; inspired by which silent oracle, he was moved to give Joe
various stealthy nudges with his elbow, as a parental reproof and gentle
admonition to mind his own business and not make a fool of himself.
Joe, however, took down the lantern and lighted it; and arming himself
with a stout stick, asked whether Hugh was in the stable.
‘He’s lying asleep before the kitchen fire, sir,’ said Mr Willet. ‘What
do you want him for?’
‘I want him to come with me to look after this bracelet and letter,’
answered Joe. ‘Halloa there! Hugh!’
Dolly turned pale as death, and felt as if she must faint forthwith.
After a few moments, Hugh came staggering in, stretching himself and
yawning according to custom, and presenting every appearance of having
been roused from a sound nap.
‘Here, sleepy-head,’ said Joe, giving him the lantern. ‘Carry this, and
bring the dog, and that small cudgel of yours. And woe betide the fellow
if we come upon him.’
‘What fellow?’ growled Hugh, rubbing his eyes and shaking himself.
‘What fellow?’ returned Joe, who was in a state of great valour and
bustle; ‘a fellow you ought to know of and be more alive about. It’s
well for the like of you, lazy giant that you are, to be snoring your
time away in chimney-corners, when honest men’s daughters can’t cross
even our quiet meadows at nightfall without being set upon by footpads,
and frightened out of their precious lives.’
‘They never rob me,’ cried Hugh with a laugh. ‘I have got nothing to
lose. But I’d as lief knock them at head as any other men. How many are
there?’
‘Only one,’ said Dolly faintly, for everybody looked at her.
‘And what was he like, mistress?’ said Hugh with a glance at young
Willet, so slight and momentary that the scowl it conveyed was lost on
all but her. ‘About my height?’
‘Not--not so tall,’ Dolly replied, scarce knowing what she said.
‘His dress,’ said Hugh, looking at her keenly, ‘like--like any of ours
now? I know all the people hereabouts, and maybe could give a guess at
the man, if I had anything to guide me.’
Dolly faltered and turned paler yet; then answered that he was wrapped
in a loose coat and had his face hidden by a handkerchief and that she
could give no other description of him.
‘You wouldn’t know him if you saw him then, belike?’ said Hugh with a
malicious grin.
‘I should not,’ answered Dolly, bursting into tears again. ‘I don’t wish
to see him. I can’t bear to think of him. I can’t talk about him any
more. Don’t go to look for these things, Mr Joe, pray don’t. I entreat
you not to go with that man.’
‘Not to go with me!’ cried Hugh. ‘I’m too rough for them all. They’re
all afraid of me. Why, bless you mistress, I’ve the tenderest heart
alive. I love all the ladies, ma’am,’ said Hugh, turning to the
locksmith’s wife.
Mrs Varden opined that if he did, he ought to be ashamed of himself;
such sentiments being more consistent (so she argued) with a benighted
Mussulman or wild Islander than with a stanch Protestant. Arguing from
this imperfect state of his morals, Mrs Varden further opined that he
had never studied the Manual. Hugh admitting that he never had, and
moreover that he couldn’t read, Mrs Varden declared with much severity,
that he ought to be even more ashamed of himself than before, and
strongly recommended him to save up his pocket-money for the purchase
of one, and further to teach himself the contents with all convenient
diligence. She was still pursuing this train of discourse, when Hugh,
somewhat unceremoniously and irreverently, followed his young master
out, and left her to edify the rest of the company. This she proceeded
to do, and finding that Mr Willet’s eyes were fixed upon her with an
appearance of deep attention, gradually addressed the whole of her
discourse to him, whom she entertained with a moral and theological
lecture of considerable length, in the conviction that great workings
were taking place in his spirit. The simple truth was, however, that Mr
Willet, although his eyes were wide open and he saw a woman before
him whose head by long and steady looking at seemed to grow bigger
and bigger until it filled the whole bar, was to all other intents and
purposes fast asleep; and so sat leaning back in his chair with his
hands in his pockets until his son’s return caused him to wake up with
a deep sigh, and a faint impression that he had been dreaming about
pickled pork and greens--a vision of his slumbers which was no doubt
referable to the circumstance of Mrs Varden’s having frequently
pronounced the word ‘Grace’ with much emphasis; which word, entering
the portals of Mr Willet’s brain as they stood ajar, and coupling itself
with the words ‘before meat,’ which were there ranging about, did in
time suggest a particular kind of meat together with that description of
vegetable which is usually its companion.
The search was wholly unsuccessful. Joe had groped along the path a
dozen times, and among the grass, and in the dry ditch, and in the
hedge, but all in vain. Dolly, who was quite inconsolable for her loss,
wrote a note to Miss Haredale giving her the same account of it that she
had given at the Maypole, which Joe undertook to deliver as soon as the
family were stirring next day. That done, they sat down to tea in the
bar, where there was an uncommon display of buttered toast, and--in
order that they might not grow faint for want of sustenance, and
might have a decent halting-place or halfway house between dinner and
supper--a few savoury trifles in the shape of great rashers of broiled
ham, which being well cured, done to a turn, and smoking hot, sent forth
a tempting and delicious fragrance.
Mrs Varden was seldom very Protestant at meals, unless it happened that
they were underdone, or overdone, or indeed that anything occurred to
put her out of humour. Her spirits rose considerably on beholding these
goodly preparations, and from the nothingness of good works, she passed
to the somethingness of ham and toast with great cheerfulness. Nay,
under the influence of these wholesome stimulants, she sharply reproved
her daughter for being low and despondent (which she considered an
unacceptable frame of mind), and remarked, as she held her own plate for
a fresh supply, that it would be well for Dolly, who pined over the loss
of a toy and a sheet of paper, if she would reflect upon the voluntary
sacrifices of the missionaries in foreign parts who lived chiefly on
salads.
The proceedings of such a day occasion various fluctuations in the human
thermometer, and especially in instruments so sensitively and delicately
constructed as Mrs Varden. Thus, at dinner Mrs V. stood at summer heat;
genial, smiling, and delightful. After dinner, in the sunshine of the
wine, she went up at least half-a-dozen degrees, and was perfectly
enchanting. As its effect subsided, she fell rapidly, went to sleep for
an hour or so at temperate, and woke at something below freezing. Now
she was at summer heat again, in the shade; and when tea was over, and
old John, producing a bottle of cordial from one of the oaken cases,
insisted on her sipping two glasses thereof in slow succession, she
stood steadily at ninety for one hour and a quarter. Profiting by
experience, the locksmith took advantage of this genial weather to smoke
his pipe in the porch, and in consequence of this prudent management, he
was fully prepared, when the glass went down again, to start homewards
directly.
The horse was accordingly put in, and the chaise brought round to the
door. Joe, who would on no account be dissuaded from escorting them
until they had passed the most dreary and solitary part of the road,
led out the grey mare at the same time; and having helped Dolly into her
seat (more happiness!) sprung gaily into the saddle. Then, after many
good nights, and admonitions to wrap up, and glancing of lights, and
handing in of cloaks and shawls, the chaise rolled away, and Joe trotted
beside it--on Dolly’s side, no doubt, and pretty close to the wheel too.