Jane had remained in a state of great anxiety during her husband's
absence, watching and listening to every sound; every five minutes
raising the latch of the door, and looking out, hoping to see him
return. As the time went on, her alarm increased; she laid her head
down on the table and wept; she could find no consolation, no
alleviation of her anxiety; she dropped down on her knees and prayed.
She was still appealing to the Most High, when a blow on the door
announced her husband's return. There was a sulken gloom over his
countenance as he entered: he threw his gun carelessly on one side, so
that it fell, and rattled against the paved floor; and this one act was
to her ominous of evil. He sat down without speaking; falling back in
the chair, and lifting his eyes up to the rafters above, he appeared to
be in deep thought, and unconscious of her presence.
"What has happened?" inquired his wife, trembling as she laid her hand
on his shoulder.
"Don't speak to me now," was the reply.
"Joey," said the frightened woman in a whisper, "what has he done?"
Joey answered not, but raised his hand, red with the blood which was now
dried upon it.
Jane uttered a faint cry, dropped on her knees, and covered her face,
while Joey walked into the back kitchen, and busied himself in removing
the traces of the dark deed.
A quarter of an hour had elapsed--Joey had returned, and taken his seat
upon his low stool, and not a word had been exchanged.
There certainly is a foretaste of the future punishment which awaits
crime; for how dreadful were the feelings of those who were now sitting
down in the cottage! Rushbrook was evidently stupefied from excess of
feeling; first, the strong excitement which had urged him to the deed;
and now from the reaction the prostration of mental power which had
succeeded it. Jane dreaded the present and the future--whichever way
she turned her eyes the gibbet was before her--the clanking of chains in
her ears; in her vision of the future, scorn, misery, and remorse--she
felt only for her husband. Joey, poor boy, he felt for both. Even the
dog showed, as he looked up into Joey's face, that he was aware that a
foul deed had been done. The silence which it appeared none would
venture to break, was at last dissolved by the clock of the village
church solemnly striking two. They all started up--it was a warning--it
reminded them of the bell tolling for the dead--of time and of eternity;
but time present quickly effaced for the moment other ideas; yes, it was
time to act; in four hours more it would be daylight, and the blood of
the murdered man would appeal to his fellow-men for vengeance. The sun
would light them to the deed of darkness--the body would be brought
home--the magistrates would assemble--and who would be the party
suspected?
"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Jane, "what can be done?"
"There is no proof;" muttered Rushbrook.
"Yes, there is," observed Joey, "I left my bag there, when I stooped
down to--"
"Silence!" cried Rushbrook. "Yes," continued he, bitterly, to his wife,
"this is your doing; you must send the boy after me, and now there will
be evidence against me; I shall owe my death to you."
"Oh, say not so! say not so!" replied Jane, falling down on her knees,
and weeping bitterly as she buried her face in his lap; "but there is
yet time," cried she, starting up; "Joey can go and fetch the bag. You
will, Joey: won't you, dear? you are not afraid--you are innocent."
"Better leave it where it is, mother," replied Joey, calmly.
Rushbrook looked up at his son with surprise; Jane caught him by the
arm; she felt convinced the boy had some reason for what he said--
probably some plan that would ward off suspicion--yet how could that be,
it was evidence against them, and after looking earnestly at the boy's
face, she dropped his arm. "Why so, Joey?" said she, with apparent
calmness.
"Because," replied Joey, "I have been thinking about it all this time; I
am innocent, and therefore I do not mind if they suppose me guilty. The
bag is known to be mine--the gun I must throw into a ditch two fields
off. You must give me some money, if you have any; if not, I must go
without it; but there is no time to be lost. I must be off and away
from here in ten minutes; to-morrow ask every one if they have seen or
heard of me, because I have left the house some time during the night.
I shall have a good start before that; besides, they may not find the
pedlar for a day or two, perhaps; at all events, not till some time
after I am gone; and then, you see, mother, the bag which is found by
him, and the gun in the ditch, will make them think it is me who killed
him; but they will not be able to make out whether I killed him by
accident, and ran away from fear, or whether I did it on purpose. So
now, mother, that's my plan, for it will save father."
"And I shall never see you again, my child!" replied his mother.
"That's as may be. You may go away from here after a time, mother, when
the thing has blown over. Come, mother, there is no time to lose."
"Rushbrook, what say you--what think you?" said Jane to her husband.
"Why, Jane, at all events, the boy must have left us, for, you see, I
told Byres, and I've no doubt but he told the keeper, if he met him,
that I should bring Joey with me. I did it to deceive him; and, as sure
as I sit here, they will have that boy up as evidence against his
father."
"To be sure they will," cried Joey; "and what could I do? I dare not--I
don't think I could tell a lie; and yet I would not peach upon father,
neither. What can I do--but be out of the way?"
"That's the truth--away with you, then, my boy, and take a father's
blessing with you--a guilty father's, it is true; God forgive me. Jane
give him all the money you have; lose not a moment: quick, woman,
quick." And Rushbrook appeared to be in agony.
Jane hastened to the cupboard, opened a small box, and poured the
contents into the hands of Joey.
"Farewell, my boy," said Rushbrook; "your father thanks you."
"Heaven preserve you, my child!" cried Jane, embracing him, as the tears
rained down her cheeks. "You will write--no! you must not--mercy!--
mercy!--I shall never see him again!"--and the mother fainted on the
floor.
The tears rose in our hero's eyes as he beheld the condition of his poor
mother. Once more he grasped his father's hand; and then, catching up
the gun, he went out at the back door, and driving back the dog, who
would have followed him, made over the fields as fast as his legs would
carry him.