The air broke into a mist with bells,
The steeple rocked with the crowd, and cries;
Had I said "Good folks, mere noise repels,
But give me your sun from yonder skies,"
They had answered--"And afterwards what else?"
_The Patriot._
The inquest was held at the school-house.
For two hours the excitement in the village had been something
tremendous. A huge crowd had assembled outside the school to watch the
proceedings, and had recognised the various arrivals with breathless
awe. First of all Mr. and Mrs. Orton, in a hired fly from Stanton, the
dark and menacing brows of the lady boding ill for all her adversaries.
By special request of Mr. Fowler, who had been roused by her to the most
furious pitch of which his gentle nature was capable, all tidings of Mr.
Percivale's discoveries had been kept from them. They swept in, greeted
by a faint hissing from the rural population, and Mrs. Orton broke
afresh into loud grief at sight of the sheet which covered poor little
Godfrey's body.
Next arrived the coroner, driven by Mr. Fowler in his own dog-cart, and
two other official-looking personages, who walked straight in, while Mr.
Fowler nodded to some of those who stood near, with a steady
cheerfulness so unlike his crushed depression of yesterday that a sudden
wave of indefinable hope arose in the hearts of many.
Next, followed by four members of his crew, the stranger Mr. Percivale
walked quietly up the hill, and in at the wicket-gate. He was very pale
and there were purple marks under his eyes telling of want of sleep; but
the still confidence of his manner did not by any means quench the spark
that Mr. Fowler's aspect had kindled. A faint cheer followed him as he
vanished into the interior of the school-house; but in a moment he
reappeared, and stood at the door gazing down the hill as if expecting
some one.
And now was seen a spectacle which literally stopped the breath of the
momentarily increasing crowd--a sight so unexpected, so unaccountable,
that one old woman shrilly screamed out, "Lord ha' mercy on us!" and a
strange thrill passed over the assembly as a cart appeared, and stopped
before the entrance. In the cart was not only the Edge Valley constable,
but two from the Stanton constabulary, and in their charge was the widow
Parker, in hysterics, and Saul, seated with a smile on his face, and his
beautiful hair just lifted by the wind.
The sensation was tremendous; and it was greatly increased when, as the
sobbing, frantic widow staggered blindly up the path, Mr. Percivale was
seen to touch her kindly on the arm, and to whisper a few words which
had the effect of checking her loud distress and inducing her to compose
herself somewhat.
But it was not for her he had waited, for still he kept his place at the
door; and presently the sound of wheels was again heard, and up the hill
came the Misses Willoughby's wagonette. As it approached, some of the
spectators noticed that Mr. Percivale uncovered his bright hair, and so
stood until the carriage stopped, when he went forward, cap in hand, to
greet the ladies.
Miss Charlotte, Miss Emily, Miss Brabourne, and Mr. Cranmer were in the
wagonette, and it was at once remarked, that, though sad, they did not
seem to be in despair. All three ladies were in black, and the Misses
Willoughby greeted Mr. Percivale with particular politeness and
distinction.
As for him, he only saw "one face from out the thousands." She was
there, her hands touched his, she walked beside him up the shingly path.
Her eyes rested on his with trust and gratitude untold. It was enough.
For the moment he felt as if he had won his guerdon. They disappeared
within the school-house, and the crowd outside began loudly to speculate
on the turn that things were taking. Presently up the road hurried
Clapp, the landlord of the "Fountain Head," his wife on his arm, both in
their Sunday best, and both in such a state of excitement as rendered
them almost crazy. The neighbors gathered round to hear the startling
news that Mrs. Clapp had been subpoenaed as a witness in the case,
though what they had to do with it they were at a loss to know, unless
it were connected with the loyal William's illegal refusal to take Mr.
and Mrs. Orton in as his guests on the previous day.
"I don't care if they du gi' me a foine," cried he, stoutly. "A can
affoard to pay it, mates, a deal better 'n I can affoard to tak' vermin
into ma hoose!"
A murmur of applause greeted this spirited speech, and William was plied
right and left with questions. But he knew no more than they did, only,
in some mysterious way, an idea gained ground amongst them that the
strange owner of the white yacht had wrought a miracle, or something
very like it, for the preservation of Miss Elaine.
"What shall we du, mates, if a brings her aout safe an' saound?" cried
William. "Take aout the horses and drag 'im home, say I."
"Get a couple o' hurdles an' chair 'em," suggested another eager spirit;
and then the constable came to the door, and imperatively called Mr. and
Mrs. Clapp; when they had vanished, the door was shut, and a breathless
hush fell upon the crowd.
Oh, the sunny silence in the old house with the terrace! Oh, the slow,
slow motion of the hands of the clock as they crept round. Miss Ellen's
couch lay out in the sunshine, her wan hands were clasped, her eyes
fixed on the white road which descended from the school-house.
The school was on the other side of the valley. The building itself was
hidden by a thick clump of trees, but below, a long stretch of road was
clearly visible, leading down past the lower extremity of the Edge
Willoughby grounds. Here stood the smithy, and, just opposite that, the
road widened out into a triangular space, used as a village lounge of an
evening when the weather was fine. Every summer there was a school
feast, and all the children were marched down this road on their way to
Mr. Fowler's meadows where the feast was held; and it had been a custom,
ever since Elaine was a little child, for the whole procession to halt
when it came opposite the smithy, with waving banners and flying flags,
and, facing the terrace, to sing a hymn for the edification of the pale
invalid as she lay on her couch.
To-day, thoughts of Elsa's childhood came thronging to Miss Ellen's
mind. She saw her once more as she used to stand in her class, in her
clean white frock and blue ribbons, with her hair waving all about her.
Now, as Miss Ellen saw clearly, the past was utterly and completely the
past--gone and done away with for ever. In future it would not be in any
way possible to continue the life which had flowed on so evenly for
nearly fifteen years. Already the sisters talked of change, of travel.
Elsa must be taken away from the place where she had suffered so much.
Change of scene must be resorted to; everything that could be done must
be done to make her forget the horror of the last few days, and restore
to her nervous system its usually placid tone.
Little Miss Fanny, who had stayed at home to keep her sister company,
was trotting nervously in and out of the open door, now snipping a few
withered geraniums, now mixing the chough's food, and moving the
cockatoo's cage further into the shade. Jackie himself careered up and
down in the sunshine like a contented sort of Mephistopheles. He had
been down to the duck-pond, and chased away all the ducks, which was one
cause of deep satisfaction to him; over and above which, the cockatoo
was caged and he was free, so that he was able to march up and down
under the very nose of the captive bird, deriding him both by word and
gesture.
"My dear," said Miss Fanny, sitting down with a patient sigh, "how long
it seems!"
"Long? Yes!... Oh, Fanny, if anything should have gone wrong, if any
unforeseen piece of evidence----"
"My dear," said Miss Fanny again, in a confident manner, "any unforeseen
bit of evidence will be a help to our case."
"You really think so?"
"Think so? Why, the matter admits of no doubt at all. It is plain--even
the poor mother can't deny it; the boy himself admits it. He told Mr.
Percivale where to look for the cudgel with which the blow was struck."
"I should like to see Mrs. Orton's face. I wonder how she will take it,"
murmured Miss Ellen.
The clock struck.
"How late it is!" she sighed.
"Hark! What is that?" cried Miss Fanny. "What a strange sound! Don't you
hear it?"
"I hear something," answered the invalid, growing white, and grasping
the sides of her couch with straining fingers.
It was a hoarse deep roar, which for a moment they took to be the wind
or the sea, till, as it was repeated, and again yet louder, they knew it
for a sound which neither of them had ever heard before--the shouting of
an excited multitude. There is perhaps nothing else in the world which
so stirs the pulses, or sends the blood so wildly coursing in the veins.
Neither sister spoke a word. They held their breath, strained their
eyes, and waited, while the roar swept nearer, and swelled in volume,
and at last resolved itself into a tremendous "Hip--hip--hip--hurrah!"
Then, on the white stretch of road down the opposite hill, appeared a
flying company of boys, madly waving caps in the air. These were but the
forerunners of the great concourse behind. Edge Combe, albeit so
apparently small, boasted a population of a thousand souls, and quite
half of them were present that morning, besides a goodly sprinkling from
Brent, Philmouth, and Stanton. On they came, moving forward like a huge,
irregular wave, every hat waving, every throat yelling; and then there
flashed into sight a dozen or so of stout fellows, who bore on their
shoulders a young man, lifted high above the heads of the throng, a
young man whose head was bare, and whose conspicuously fair head caught
the light of every sunbeam.
"Fanny! Fanny!" gasped Miss Ellen, in the midst of hysterical tears and
laughter, "it is Mr. Percivale, they are chairing him. Who could have
believed such a thing, in our quiet village! And, Fanny--see--there is
the carriage--our carriage! There is Elsa--God bless the child! God
bless her, poor darling!... They have taken out the horses; they are
dragging them home in triumph. Look! the carriage is full of flowers;
the women and girls are throwing them--they all know what she has
suffered, they all sympathise, they all rejoice with us ... and that
wonderful young man has done it all. How shall we ever repay him?"
And now the crowd had come to the space opposite the smithy, and here
their leader, none other than the redoubtable William Clapp, waved his
arms frantically for a halt. The masses of hurrying people behind
stopped suddenly; there was an expectant murmur, a pause of wonder as
to what was now to happen. The whole thing was intensely dramatic; the
slope of the steep hillside lined with eager faces, the carriage in the
midst smothered in flowers, and in the foreground the figure of
Percivale, held up in the arms of the village enthusiasts against a
background of deep blue sky.
"Three cheers for Miss Willoughby!" yelled William, so loudly that his
voice carried back to the hindmost limits of the throng, and up to where
Miss Willoughby was seated. The cheer that arose in answer was
deafening, and Miss Ellen was so overcome that it was with difficulty
she could respond by waving her handkerchief.
Scarcely had the sounds died away, when out burst the bells in the
church tower, the ringers having raced off to set them going as soon as
ever the result was known. As if with one voice the crowd broke forth
into "See the conquering hero comes;" and so, with stamping feet and
shouting lungs, they wound their way up the hill in the sunshine towards
the drive gates of Edge Willoughby.