ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT.
Highly pleased with these reflections, what did I do but take a pipe,
and sit like a lord at my own doorway, having sent poor Bunny with a
smack to bed, because she had shown curiosity: for this leading vice of
the female race cannot be too soon discouraged. But now I began to fear
almost that it would be growing too dark very soon for me to see what
became of the carriage returning with those two worships. Moreover, I
felt that I had no right to let them go so easily, without even knowing
Sir Philip's surname, or what might be the especial craze which had led
them to honour me so. And sundry other considerations slowly prevailed
over me; until it would have gone sore with my mind, to be kept in the
dark concerning them. So, when heavy dusk of autumn drove in over the
notch of sandhills from the far-away of sea, and the green of grass was
gone, and you hardly could tell a boy from a girl among the children
playing, unless you knew their mothers; I rejoicing in their pleasures,
quite forgot the justices. For all our children have a way of letting
out their liveliness, such as makes old people feel a longing to be in
with them. Not like Bardie, of course; but still a satisfactory feeling.
And the better my tobacco grew, the sweeter were my memories.
Before I had courted my wife and my sweethearts (a dozen and a-half
perhaps, or at the outside say two dozen) anything more than twice
apiece, in the gentle cud of memory; and with very quiet sighs indeed,
for echoes of great thumping ones; and just as I wondered what execution
a beautiful child, with magnificent legs, would do when I lay in the
churchyard--all of a heap I was fetched out of dreaming into
common-sense again. There was the great yellow coach at the corner of
the old grey wall that stopped the sand; and all the village children
left their "hide-and-seek" to whisper. Having fallen into a different
mood from that of curiosity, and longing only for peace just now, or
tender styles of going, back went I into my own cottage, hoping to hear
them smack whip and away. Even my hand was on the bolt--for a bolt I had
now on account of the cats, who understand every manner of latch,
wherever any fish be--and perhaps it is a pity that I did not shoot it.
But there came three heavy knocks; and I scarcely had time to unbutton
my coat, in proof of their great intrusion, before I was forced to show
my face, and beg to know their business.
"Now, Dyo, Dyo," said that damned Stew [saving your presence, I can't
call him else]; "this is a little too bad of you! Retiring ere dusk!
Aha! aha! And how many hours after midnight will you keep your hornpipes
up, among the 'jolly sailors!' Great Davy, I admire you."
I saw that it was not in his power to enter into my state of mind: nor
could I find any wit in his jokes, supposing them to be meant for such.
"Well, what did your worships think of Porthcawl?" I asked, after
setting the chairs again, while I bustled about for my tinder-box: "did
you happen to come across the man whose evil deeds are always being
saddled upon me?"
"We found a respectable worthy Scotchman, whose name is Alexander
Macraw; and who told us more in about five minutes than we got out of
you in an hour or more. He has given us stronger reason to hope that we
may be on the right track at last to explain a most painful mystery, and
relieve Sir Philip from the most cruel suspense and anxiety."
At these words of Squire Anthony, the tall grey gentleman with the
velvet coat bowed, and would fain have spoken, but feared perhaps that
his voice would tremble.
"Macraw thinks it highly probable," Justice Stew continued, "that the
ship, though doubtless a foreigner, may have touched on the opposite
coast for supplies, after a long ocean voyage: and though Sir Philip has
seen your boat, and considers it quite a stranger, that proves nothing
either way, as the boat of course would belong to the ship. But one very
simple and speedy way there is of settling the question. You thought
proper to conceal the fact that the Coroner had committed to your charge
as foreman of the jury--and a precious jury it must have been--so as to
preserve near the spot, in case of any inquiry, the dress of the poor
child washed ashore. This will save us the journey to Sker, which in the
dusk would be dangerous. David Llewellyn, produce that dress, under my
authority."
"That I will, your worship, with the greatest pleasure. I am sure I
would have told you all about it, if I had only thought of it."
"Ahem!" was all Squire Stew's reply, for a horribly suspicious man hates
such downright honesty. But without taking further notice of him, I
went to my locker of old black oak, and thence I brought that upper
garment something like a pinafore, the sight of which had produced so
strong an effect upon the Coroner. It was made of the very finest linen,
and perhaps had been meant for the child to wear in lieu of a frock in
some hot climate. As I brought this carefully up to the table, Squire
Stew cried, "Light another candle," just as if I kept the village shop!
This I might have done at one time, if it had only happened to me, at
the proper period, to marry the niece of the man that lived next door to
the chapel, where they dried the tea-leaves. She took a serious liking
to me, with my navy trousers on; but I was fool enough to find fault
with a little kink in her starboard eye. I could have carried on such a
trade, with my knowledge of what people are, and description of foreign
climates--however, it was not to be, and I had to buy my candles.
As soon as we made a fine strong light, both the gentlemen came nigh,
and Sir Philip, who had said so little, even now forbore to speak. I
held the poor dress, tattered by much beating on the points of rocks;
and as I unrolled it slowly, he withdrew his long white hands, lest we
should remark their quivering.
"You are not such fools as I thought," said Stew; "it is a coronet
beyond doubt. I can trace the lines and crossings, though the threads
are frayed a little. And here in the corner, a moneygrum--ah! you never
saw that, you stupes--do you know the mark, sir?"
"I do not," Sir Philip answered, and seemed unable to fetch more words;
and then like a strong man turned away, to hide all disappointment. Even
Anthony Stew had the manners to feel that here was a sorrow beyond his
depth, and he covered his sense of it, like a gentleman, by some petty
talk with me. And it made me almost respect him to find that he dropped
all his banter, as out of season.
But presently the tall grey gentleman recovered from his loss of hope,
and with a fine brave face regarded us. And his voice was firm and very
sweet.
"It is not right for me to cause you pain by my anxieties; and I fear
that you will condemn me for dwelling upon them overmuch. But you, Mr
Stew, already know, and you my friend have a right to know, after your
kind and ready help, that it is not only the piteous loss of two little
innocent children, very dear ones both of them, but also the loss of
fair repute to an honourable family, and the cruel suspicion cast upon
a fine brave fellow, who would scorn, sir, who would scorn, for the
wealth of all this kingdom, to hurt the hair of a baby's head."
Here Sir Philip's voice was choked with indignation more than sorrow,
and he sat down quickly, and waved his hand, as much as to say, "I am an
old fool, I had much better not pretend to talk." And much as I longed
to know all about it, of course it was not my place to ask.
"Exactly, my dear sir, exactly," Squire Anthony went on, for the sake of
saying something; "I understand you, my dear sir, and feel for you, and
respect you greatly for your manly fortitude under this sad calamity.
Trust in Providence, my dear sir; as indeed I need not tell you."
"I will do my best; but this is now the seventh disappointment we have
had. It would have been a heavy blow, of course, to have found the poor
little fellow dead. But even that, with the recovery of the other, would
have been better than this dark mystery, and, above all, would have
freed the living from these maddening suspicions. But as it is, we must
try to bear it, and to say, 'God's will be done.' But I am thinking too
much about ourselves. Mr Stew, I am very ungrateful not to think more of
your convenience. You must be longing to be at home."
"At your service, Sir Philip--quite at your service. My time is entirely
my own."
This was simply a bit of brag; and I saw that he was beginning to
fidget; for, bold as his worship was on the bench, we knew that he was
but a coward at board, where Mrs Stew ruled with a rod of iron: and now
it was long past dinner-time, even in the finest houses.
"One thing more, then, before we go," answered Sir Philip, rising;
"according to the newspaper, and as I hear, one young maiden was really
saved from that disastrous shipwreck. I wish we could have gone on to
see her; but I must return to-morrow morning, having left many anxious
hearts behind. And to cross the sands in the dark, they say, is utterly
impossible."
"Not at all, Sir Philip," said I, very firmly, for I honestly wished
to go through with it; "although the sand is very deep, there is no
fear at all, if one knows the track. It is only the cowardice of these
people ever since the sand-storm. I would answer to take you in the
darkest night, if only I had ever learned to drive," But Anthony Stew
broke in with a smile, "It would grieve me to sit behind you, Dyo, and
I trow that Sir Philip would never behold Appledore again. There is
nothing these sailors will not attempt."
Although I could sit the bow-thwart of a cart very well, with a boy to
drive me, and had often advised the hand at the tiller, and sometimes as
much as held the whip, all this, to my diffidence, seemed too little to
warrant me in navigating a craft that carried two horses.
Sir Philip looked at me, and perhaps he thought that I had not the cut
of a coachman. However, all he said was this:
"In spite of your kindness, Mr Stew, and your offer, my good sir"--this
was to me, with much dignity--"I perceive that we must not think of it.
And of what use could it be except to add new troubles to old ones? Sir,
I have trespassed too much on your kindness; in a minute I will follow
you." Anthony Stew, being thus addressed, was only too glad to skip into
the carriage. "By, by, Dyo," he cried; "mend your ways, if you can, my
man. I think you have told fewer lies than usual; knock off one every
time of speaking, and in ten years you will speak the truth."
Of this low rubbish I took no heed any more than any one would who knows
me, especially as I beheld Sir Philip signalling with his purse to me,
so that Stew might not be privy to it. Entering into the spirit of this,
I had some pleasant memories of gentlemanly actions done by the superior
classes towards me, but longer agone than I could have desired. And now
being out of the habit of it, I showed some natural reluctance to begin
again, unless it were really worth my while. Sir Philip understood my
feelings, and I rose in his esteem, so that half-guineas went back to
his pocket, and guineas took the place of them.
"Mr Llewellyn, I know," he said, "that you have served your country
well; and it grieves me to think that on my account you have met with
some harsh words to-day."
"If your worship only knew how little a thing of that sort moves me when
I think of the great injustice. But I suppose it must be expected by a
poor man such as I am. Justice Stew is spoiled by having so many rogues
to deal with. I always make allowance for him; and of course I know that
he likes to play with the lofty character I bear. If I had his house and
his rich estate--but it does not matter--after all, what are we?"
"Ah, you may well say that, Llewellyn. Two months ago I could not have
believed--but who are we to find fault with the doings of our Maker? All
will be right if we trust in Him, although it is devilish hard to do.
But that poor maid at that wretched place--what is to become of her?"
"She has me to look after her, your worship, and she shall not starve
while I have a penny."
"Bravely said, Llewellyn! My son is a sailor, and I understand them. I
know that I can trust you fully to take charge of a trifle for her."
"I love the maid," I answered truly; "I would sooner rob myself than
her."
"Of course you would, after saving her life. I have not time to say much
to you, only take this trifle for the benefit of that poor thing."
From a red leathern bag he took out ten guineas, and hastily plunged
them into my hand, not wishing Stew to have knowledge of it. But I was
desirous that everybody should have the chance to be witness of it, and
so I held my hand quite open. And just at that moment our Bunny snored.
"What! have you children yourself, Llewellyn? I thought that you were an
old bachelor."
"An ancient widower, your worship, with a little grandchild; and how to
keep her to the mark, with father none and mother none, quite takes me
off my head sometimes. Let me light your honour to your carriage."
"Not for a moment, if you please; I wish I had known all this before. Mr
Stew never told me a word of this."
"It would have been strange if he had," said I; "he is always so bitter
against me, because he can never prove anything."
"Then, Llewellyn, you must oblige me. Spend this trifle on clothes and
things for that little snorer."
He gave me a little crisp affair, feeling like a child's caul dried, and
I thought it was no more than that. However I touched my brow and
thanked him as he went to the carriage-steps; and after consulting all
the village, I found it a stanch pledge from the Government for no less
than five pounds sterling.