POOR MARTIN.
EVE was uneasy all next day—at intervals—she could do nothing
continuously—because of her promise. The recollection that she had
bound herself to meet Watt on the Raven Rock at sundown came on her
repeatedly during the day, spoiling her happiness. She would not have
scrupled to fail to keep her promise, but that the horrible boy would
be sure to force himself upon her, and in revenge do some dreadful
mischief. She was so much afraid of him, that she felt that to keep her
appointment was the lesser evil.
As the sun declined her heart failed her, and just before the orb set
in bronze and gold, she asked Jane, the housemaid, to accompany her
through the fields to the Raven Rock.
Timid Eve dare not trust herself alone on the dangerous platform with
that imp. He was capable of any devilry. He might scare her out of her
wits.
Jane was a good-natured girl, and she readily obliged her young
mistress. Jane Welsh’s mother, who was a widow, lived not far from
Morwell, in a cottage on the banks of the Tamar, higher up, where a
slip of level meadow ran out from the cliffs, and the river made a loop
round it.
As Eve walked through the fields towards the wood, and neared the trees
and rocks, she began to think that she had made a mistake. It would not
do for Jane to see Watt. She would talk about him, and Barbara would
hear, and question her. If Barbara asked her why she had gone out at
dusk to meet the boy, what answer could she make?
When Eve came to the gate into the wood, she stood still, and holding
the gate half open, told Jane she might stay there, for she would go on
by herself.
Jane was surprised.
‘Please, Miss, I’ve nothing to take me back to the house.’ Eve hastily
protested that she did not want her to return: she was to remain at
the gate—’And if I call—come on to me, Jane, not otherwise. I have a
headache, and I want to be alone.’
‘Very well, Miss.’
But Jane was puzzled, and said to herself, ‘There’s a lover, sure as
eggs in April.’
Then Eve closed the gate between herself and Jane, and went on. Before
disappearing into the shade of the trees, she looked back, and saw the
maid where she had left her, plaiting grass.
A lover! A lover is the philosopher’s stone that turns the sordid alloy
of life into gold. The idea of a lover was the most natural solution of
the caprice in Miss Eve’s conduct. As every road loads to Rome, so in
the servant-maid mind does every line of life lead to a sweetheart.
Jane, having settled that her young mistress had gone on to meet a
lover, next questioned who that lover could be, and here she was
utterly puzzled. Sure enough Miss Eve had been to a dance at the
Cloberrys’, but whom she had met there, and to whom lost her heart,
that Jane did not know, and that also Jane was resolved to ascertain.
She noiselessly unhasped the gate, and stole along the path. The
burnished brazen sky of evening shone between the tree trunks, but the
foliage had lost its verdure in the gathering dusk. The honeysuckles
poured forth their scent in waves. The air near the hedge and deep into
the wood was honeyed with it. White and yellow speckled currant moths
were flitting about the hedge. Jane stole along, stealthily, from tree
to tree, fearful lest Eve should turn and catch her spying. A large
Scotch pine cast a shadow under it like ink. On reaching that, Jane
knew she could see the top of the Raven Rock.
As she thus advanced on tiptoe she heard a rustling, as of a bird in
the tree overhead. Her heart stood still. Then, before she had time
to recover herself, with a shrill laugh, a little black figure came
tumbling down before her out of the tree, capered, leaped at her, threw
his arms round her neck, and screamed into her face, ‘Carry me! Carry
me! Carry me!’
Then his arms relaxed, he dropped off, shrieking with laughter, and
Jane fled, as fast as her limbs could bear her, back to the gate,
through the gate and away over the meadows to Morwell House.
Eve had gone on to the platform of rock; she stood there irresolute,
hoping that the detested boy would not appear, when she heard his laugh
and shout, and the scream of Jane. She would have fainted with terror,
had not at that moment a tall man stepped up to her and laid his hand
on her arm. ‘Do not be afraid, sweet fairy Eve! It is I—your poor slave
Martin,—perfectly bewitched, drawn back by those loadstone eyes. Do
not be frightened, Watt is merely giving a scare to the inquisitive
servant.’
Eve was trembling violently. This was worse than meeting the ape of
a boy. She had committed a gross indiscretion. What would Barbara
say?—her father, if he heard of it, how vexed he would be!
‘I must go back,’ she said, with a feeble effort at dignity. ‘This is
too bad; I have been deceived.’ Then she gave way to weakness, and
burst into tears.
‘No,’ he said carelessly, ‘you shall not go. I will not suffer you
to escape now that I have a chance of seeing you and speaking with
you. To begin at the beginning—I love you. There! you are all of a
tremble. Sit down and listen to what I have to say. You will not? Well,
consider. I run terrible risks by being here; I may say that I place my
life in your delicate hands.’
She looked up at him, still too frightened to speak, even to comprehend
his words.
‘I do not know you!’ she whispered, when she was able to gather
together the poor remnants of her strength.
‘You remember me. I have your ring, and you have mine. We are, in a
manner, bound to each other. Be patient, dear love; listen to me. I
will tell you all my story.’
He saw that she was in no condition to be pressed. If he spoke of love
she would make a desperate effort to escape. Weak and giddy though she
was, she would not endure that from a man of whom she knew nothing. He
saw that. He knew he must give her time to recover from her alarm, so
he said, ‘I wish, most beautiful fairy, you would rest a few minutes
on this piece of rock. I am a poor, hunted, suffering, misinterpreted
wretch, and I come to tell you my story, only to entreat your sympathy
and your prayers. I will not say a rude word, I will not lay a finger
on you. All I ask is: listen to me. That cannot hurt you. I am a
beggar, a beggar whining at your feet, not asking for more alms than a
tear of pity. Give me that, that only, and I go away relieved.’
She seemed somewhat reassured, and drew a long breath.
‘I had a sister of your name.’
She raised her head, and looked at him with surprise.
‘It is an uncommon name. My poor sister is gone. I suppose it is your
name that has attracted me to you, that induces me to open my heart to
you. I mean to confide to you my troubles. You say that you do not know
me. I will tell you all my story, and then, sweet Eve, you will indeed
know me, and, knowing me, will shower tears of precious pity, that
will infinitely console me.’
She was still trembling, but flattered, and relieved that he asked for
nothing save sympathy. That of course she was at liberty to bestow on
a deserving object. She was wholly inexperienced, easily deceived by
flattery.
‘Have I frightened you?’ asked Martin. ‘Am I so dreadful, so unsightly
an object as to inspire you with aversion and terror?’ He drew himself
up and paused. Eve hastily looked at him. He was a strikingly handsome
man, with dark hair, wonderful dark eyes, and finely chiselled features.
‘I said that I put my life in your hands. I spoke the truth. You have
but to betray me, and the police and the parish constables will come in
a _posse_ after me. I will stand here with folded arms to receive them;
but mark my words, as soon as they set foot on this rock, I will fling
myself over the edge and perish. If _you_ sacrifice me, my life is not
worth saving.’
‘I will not betray you,’ faltered Eve.
‘I know it. You are too noble, too true, too heroic to be a traitress.
I knew it when I came here and placed myself at your mercy.’
‘But,’ said Eve timidly, ‘what have you done? You have taken my ring.
Give it back to me, and I will not send the constables after you.’
‘You have mine.’
‘I will return it.’
‘About that hereafter,’ said Martin grandly, and he waved his hand.
‘Now I answer your question, What have I done? I will tell you
everything. It is a long story and a sad one. Certain persons come
out badly in it whom I would spare. But it may not be otherwise.
Self-defence is the first law of nature. You have, no doubt, heard a
good deal about me, and not to my advantage. I have been prejudiced in
your eyes by Jasper. He is narrow, does not make allowances, has never
recovered the straitlacing father gave him as a child. His conscience
has not expanded since infancy.’
Eve looked at Martin with astonishment.
‘Mr. Jasper Babb has not said anything—’
‘Oh, there!’ interrupted Martin, ‘you may spare your sweet lips the
fib. I know better than that. He grumbles and mumbles about me to
everyone who will open an ear to his tales. If he were not my brother——’
Now Eve interrupted him. ‘Mr. Jasper your brother!’
‘Of course he is. Did he not tell you so?’ He saw that she had not
known by the expression of her face, so, with a laugh, he said, ‘Oh
dear, no! Of course Jasper was too grand and sanctimonious a man to
confess to the blot in the family. I am that blot—look at me!’
He showed his handsome figure and face by a theatrical gesture and
position. ‘Poor Martin is the blot, to which Jasper will not confess,
and yet—Martin survives this neglect and disrespect.’
The overweening vanity, the mock humility, the assurance of the man
passed unnoticed by Eve. She breathed freely when she heard that he was
the brother of Jasper. There could have been no harm in an interview
with Jasper, and consequently very little in one with his brother. So
she argued, and so she reconciled herself to the situation. Now she
traced a resemblance between the brothers which had escaped her before;
they had the same large dark expressive eyes, but Jasper’s face was not
so regular, his features not so purely chiselled as those of Martin. He
was broader built; Martin had the perfect modelling of a Greek statue.
There was also a more manly, self-confident bearing in Martin than in
the elder brother, who always appeared bowed as with some burden that
oppressed his spirits, and took from him self-assertion and buoyancy,
that even maimed his vigour of manhood.
‘I dare say you have had a garbled version of my story, continued
Martin, seating himself; and Eve, without considering, seated herself
also. Martin let himself down gracefully, and assumed a position where
the evening light, still lingering in the sky, could irradiate his
handsome face. ‘That is why I have sought this interview. I desired
to put myself right with you. No doubt you have heard that I got into
trouble.’
She shook her head.
‘Well, I did. I was unlucky. In fact, I could stay with my father no
longer. I had already left him for a twelvemonth, but I came back, and,
in Scriptural terms, such as he could understand, asked him to give me
the portion of goods that fell to me. He refused, so I took it.’
‘Took—took what?’
‘My portion of goods, not in stock but in money. For my part,’ said
Martin, folding his arms, ‘it has ever struck me that the Prodigal Son
was far the nobler of the brothers. The eldest was a mean fellow, the
second had his faults—I admit it—but he was a man of independence of
action; he would not stand being bullyragged by his father, so he went
away. I got into difficulties over that matter. My father would not
overlook it, made a fuss, and so on. My doctrine is: Let bygones be
bygones, and accept what comes and don’t kick. That my father could not
see, and so I got locked up.’
‘Locked up—where?’
‘In a pill-box. I managed, however, to escape; I am at large, and at
your feet—entreating you to pity me.’
He suited the action to the word. In a moment he was gracefully
kneeling before her on one knee, with his hand on his heart.
‘Oh, Miss Eve,’ he said, ‘since I saw your face in the moonlight I have
never forgotten it. Wherever I went it haunted me. I saw these great
beautiful eyes looking timidly into mine; by day they eclipsed the sun.
Whatever I did I thought only of you. And now—what is it that I ask of
you? Nothing but forgiveness. The money—the portion of goods that fell
to me—was yours. My father owed it to you. It was intended for you. But
now, hear me, you noble, generous-spirited girl; I have borrowed the
money, it shall be returned—or its equivalent. If you desire it, I will
swear.’ He stood up and assumed an attitude.
‘Oh, no!’ said Eve; ‘you had my money?’
‘As surely as I had your ring.’
‘Much in the same way,’ she said, with a little sharpness.
‘But I shall return one with the other. Trust me. Stand up; look me in
the face. Do I bear tho appearance of a cheat, a thief, a robber? Am I
base, villanous! No, I am nothing but a poor, foolish, prodigal lad,
who has got into a scrape, but will get out of it again. You forgive
me. Hark! I hear someone calling.’
‘It is Barbara. She is looking for me.’
‘Then I disappear.’ He put his hand to his lips, wafted her a kiss,
whispered ‘When you look at the ring, remember poor—poor Martin,’ and
he slipped away among the bushes.