who, after draining the contents, resumed the conversation. “Martin,”
said he, “Robert, poor lad, is az innocent az a lamb; and I know it.”
“And will you--can you, then, permit him to--”
“Hold thy tongue, buoy, and let me speak. Rob is innocent, but he's
James Ztapleton's zon; and if I were to take his head out of the halter,
and put my own into it, it wouldn't be many miles off self-murder. Rob
is innocent; for he never harmed a worm, except I made un do't; and he
can go up to his God without a blush:--I can't--may be, he couldn't, if
he came to my years; for there's no one do know what may happen to the
best ov us. I be zure I little thought, a score of years ago, when I
were tip-top man here, and had az good a character az any body in the
country, and there wer'n't a bad wish against mortal in my heart, that
I should ever be tied up here, where I be, accused of any crime
whatzoever--much less murder: but you zee I be; and there's no knowing,
as I zaid avore, what any ov us may come to. Bob's zure of peace
hereafter; and it be well vor un. I'd be hung willingly, to-morrow, if I
were in the like case; but I bean't. Oh! Martin, my buoy! I ha' much to
answer vor. I be brave, people zays, and zo I be; but there bean't a
man within a days' ride, zo aveard of death as I be; and I'll tell'ee
why:--it's because I ha' been zuch a viend--zuch a wretch, ov late
years.--I wouldn't die vor all the world. I do want time vor repentance!
and I must ha' it at any price!--Therefore, Bob must die vor me;--and,
may be, I does un a good turn; at least, I do think zo,--by zending un
to his grave avore he hath had temptation to be zinful.”
“Your doctrine is most atrocious!” exclaimed Martin. “Oh! why--why was I
reserved for this? From what you say, Saul, I fear--”
“That I killed Phil Govier?”
“I hope not!”
“Hoping's no good:--he hit I over the head with the butt-end of his
gun;--zee, here's the mark;--and when I came to myzelf, he was gwain to
do't again; zo I ztepped back three paces, lifted my piece, and blew out
his brains--bang!--Ay, Martin, it were your vather did it; and 'Zquire
Ztapleton's zon must zuffer vor it I thought I had managed capitally;
but things ha' come out I didn't dream of. Iv I be tried, I may be vound
guilty, and that won't do. Bob's zure to zuffer, poor lad!--But I must
not be tried.”
“But how do you make it appear that Robert is guiltless, when the proofs
are so strong against him?”
“Ah! that be my deepness! I hope I zhall be pardoned vor't. Ill tell'ee
just how 'twere. Bob were getting to bed, and he knowed I were gwain
through the village, up the hill, toward the copse t'other zide o' the
Nine Acres:--I'd a' promised a brace o' pheasants to Long Tom, the mail
coachman, the day bevore,--he'd got an order vor'em,--and in the copse
I were zure o' vinding'em, but nowhere else: zo Bob zays to I, 'Vather,'
zays he, 'I wish you'd take my t'other pair o' zhoes and leave'em at
Dick Blake's, as you do go along, and get he to heel-tap'em for me.' Zo,
I zaid I would; and zure enough, I took'em; but Dick were a-bed when I
come by, and I went on, with the zhoes in my pocket, to the copse. When
I got there, I looked about, and Ponto,--you know Ponto--he'll point
up--ay, if'twere a-top of a elm, as well as under his nose in a
stubble,--Ponto stood; and just above my head, on the lowest branch of
a beech, there were perched a cock pheasant wi' two hens,--one o' each
zide o' un--all dree within reach. I hit the cock and one o' the hens
down wi' the barrel o' my gun, and just as I were pouching'em, up come
the keeper. Phil and I, as every one knows, hadn't been good vriends vor
twenty long years. Zummat occurred betwixt us, and Phil was zoon on
the ground under me. I wasn't as cool as I should be over a rasher of
bacon--you may guess; but up he got again, and laid the butt-end of his
piece over my head. I were stunned for a second, but when I came to,
he'd a' got his gun by the muzzle, wi' the butt up over his head, and
aiming at me again. If he'd a hit me, I shouldn't ha' been talking
to you here now; zo I ztepped back, and to zave my own life, did as I
told'ee. When I zeed un draw up his legs, and then quiver all over just
avore a' died, all the blood in my body were turned into cold water. I
thought I should ha' shivered to death; and there I stood, staring at
Phil, where a' laid, as if I were 'mazed!--Just avore this, it begun to
znow, and while I were looking at Phil, it thickened zo, that I were
a'most zole-deep in it; zo then I begun to cast about how I should act,
to zave myzelf vrom zuspicion. While I were thinking, the znow stopped
vailing; and, thinks I, they'll vind out who 'twere by the vootmarks;
and if there were no vootmarks to zuspect any one else, they'd
guess 'twere I, vor vifty reasons: zo I took Bob's zhoes out o' my
pocket, put mine in their place, squeezed my veet into the lad's zhoes
as well as I could, walked straight whoam, and went to bed without a
zoul hearing me. I were wicked enough to put Bob's zhoes close under
his bed avore I went to my own; but I hope even that will be vorgiven
me:--zo Bob were taken up, and most likely will be vound guilty, upon
the evidence o' the zhoes. But vor vear of accidents, Martin, you must
contrive to let me out; vor I won't be tried, d'ye mind? therefore,
you must manage zo as I may 'scape, lad; and once out, I'll war'nt they
doan't catch I again.”
Martin Stapleton stood, with his eyes earnestly fixed on Saul, for
nearly a minute after the latter had finished his story of the death of
Philip Govier; his faculties were benumbed by what he had heard; and he
probably would have remained much longer motionless and speechless, had
not Saul seized him with both hands, and given him two or three violent
shakes. “Come, come,” said he, “doan't go to sleep like a horse,
standing up!--This bean't a time for dozing!--Odd! if I'd a' got poor
Bob here, I should ha' been vree half an hour ago. He'd ha' zet vire to
the house, and come and ha' pulled me out o' the vlames, by this time,
if he couldn't gi'e me my liberty any other way.”
“And yet, _you_, Saul,” said Martin reproachfully, “you scruple not to
sacrifice him to save yourself.”
“What be that to thee?--He'd do as I tell'ee, because I be his
vather--that is, he thinks zo. I ha' done what I did do, because he
yean't my zon;--but _thee_ bee'st, Martin--_thee_ bee'st--and thee
knows it;--thy heart tells thee I ha'n't been lying to thee:--thee'rt my
zon,--and I do expect that thou'lt do thy duty; thou canst do't, and no
harm come to thee. Bob would risk all vor me, though I ha'n't been the
best o' vathers to un.”
“What would you have me do?” asked Martin, rather petulantly. “How shall
I act?--What do you wish of me?”
“Just to let I get t'other zide o' these walls,” replied Saul; “I doan't
care how;--I leave that to you;--choose your own way; it doan't much
matter to I,--doan't'ee zee?--zo as I gets out Why, you'd a' married
Peggy, if zo be as I'd ha' let'ee--wouldn't 'ee, now?--in spite ov old
Ztapleton, and the whole vlock of your ztiff-backed aunts--wouldn't'ee,
now? answer me that!”
“I should--I should:--but mention it no more; you make my blood curdle.”
“Well, then,” pursued Saul, heedless of the passionate request of
Martin; “you zee, I'd no vear ov your seducing the girl; and you
can't think I should ha' put up a gate against my daughter's being a
young'zquire's wife--if that young'zquire weren't what he were.”
“Talk to me no more on this subject:--I will--I do believe all you
have said; only, I beseech you, don't--don't dwell on this,” exclaimed
Martin, wiping large drops of “the dew of mental anguish” from his brow.
“Well, well, Martin! cheer up, lad,” said Saul, fondling the youth;
“cheer up, and I won't:--but, I zay, how shall we act?”
“Oh! I know not--In assisting you to escape I become an accessary to
Robert's death;--and if I refuse--”
“You do hang your vather,” interrupted Braintree; “an awkward place vor
a body to stand in, Martin;--but blood's thicker than water;--I be
your vather, and he yean't even one o' your kin. I won't dreaten'ee wi'
blabbing and telling who you be, on my trial.”
“I care not, Saul, if you did.”
“I know,--I know;--but I doan't dreaten 'ee wi't, doan't'ee mind?--Keep
znug, and be a'zquire.”
“Indeed, I shall not. I will tell the whole story to-morrow; and if I
can save poor Robert--”
“If't'an't at my expense, do zave un, and I'll thank 'ee; but I think
it yean't possible. As to your up and telling old Ztapleton who you be,
that will be zilly ov'ee;--but it be your business;--I've put'ee into a
good nest, and if you do throw yourzelf out on't, 't'ean't my fault; my
intention were good. Howsomever, Martin, gi'e me dree hours' law; and
doan't give tongue, and zo get a hue and cry a'ter me, avore I can get
clear.”
At this moment a loud tapping was heard at the door; Martin started, and
exclaimed,--“If that should be my father!”
“Vather, indeed!” said Saul; “you do vorget yourself; you must ha' lost
your wits, to be vrighted zo-vashion; you ha'n't a' fastened the door,
have'ee? and your vather, as you do call un, would hardly be polite
enough to knock. There yean't much ceremony used wi' a prisoner. Why
doan't 'ee zay, 'come in?'” Before Martin could utter the words, the
door was opened, and a fair, curly-headed youth, who was Martin's
immediate attendant and frequent companion, peeped in, and said, in a
loud whisper,--“Master Martin! the 'squire is inquiring for you: where
will you please to be?--in the fen, setting night-lines for eels, or up
at Gorbury, seeing the earths well stopped? The fox-hounds throw off
at Budford Copse, to-morrow, you know;--or shall I say you're here, or
where?”
“You need not tell any lies about the matter, Sam, thank you,” said
Martin; “I shall be in the parlour almost directly.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Sam. “I wish you'd been down in the hall just
now, though. Constable Abel has been making a speech about drink being
the beginning of every thing bad; and, if he says true, Abel must be
ripe for mischief, for he got three parts gone before he had done;
and he's coming up stairs with the brass top of his long staff
downward.--Eh! Why, this can't be he, surely, coming at this rate?”
A series of sounds had struck Sam's ear which resembled those of three
or four persons running up stairs in a hurry, and then galloping along
the passage toward the place where he stood. A moment had scarcely
elapsed, from the time he had done speaking, when the door was burst
wide open, and Ponto, the prisoner's dog, dashed into the room. He
had been howling round the house for a considerable time; and probably
watched for an opportunity of stealing in to join his master. He flew
toward Saul; gambolled round him; leaped up to his face, and exhibited,
by his looks, his low barks, and his actions, the joy he felt at being
again in the presence of his master.
As soon as Sam, by the order of Martin, had retired from the door, Saul
pointed to the dog, and, without uttering a word, gazed reproachfully at
young Stapleton.
“I understand you,” said Martin; “but you don't know what I may do yet;
therefore, pray, spare me those looks.”
“Wou'lt do't, then--wou'lt do't?” eagerly asked Saul: “Ah! I knew thee
wouldst. Ponto yean't my zon, and yet--but, odd! there bean't a minute
to lose. Abel will be here directly. Ponto, my dog, thou'lt zave us a
mort o' trouble. Tell'ee what, Martin,--only cut the rope, and go to
bed. Never mind the cuffs;--cut the rope vor me, and I be zafe out wi'
your pocket-knife,--make haste,” continued Saul, in a hurried tone, as
Martin searched his pockets with a tremulous hand;--“here, lad, let I
veel vor un--here a' is--now cut--cut through: gi'e me dree hours' law,
as I told'ee, and then do as you like.--Why, lad! thee'lt be a month;
I'd ha' cut down an oak by this time.”
“What have I done?” exclaimed Martin, as he, at length, separated the
rope.
“Done! why, done your duty,” was Saul's reply; “kneel down there,
Martin, and take a vather's blessing vor't;--a vather's blessing,
lad, let un be ever zo bad a man, won't do thee hurt.” Martin, almost
unconsciously, knelt, and the murderer, placing his hand on the young
man's head, solemnly and most affectionately blessed him.
When Abel entered, Martin had nearly reached the door; he pushed the
constable aside, and rushed out of the room, in a manner that perfectly
amazed the old man. “Well!” said he, as he endeavoured to strut, but in
fact, staggered in rather a ludicrous manner, toward the prisoner;--“if
that's behaviour to a parochial functionary--if any jury will say it
is--I'll resign my staff of office. What do you think, Saul?”
“Bad manners, Yeabel;--bad manners, in my mind,” replied Braintree; “but
he be vexed like;--and I'll tell'ee why:--I ha' been trying to coax un
over to help me out o' the house.”
“You ha'n't, surely, Saul!”
“I tell'ee I have, then--why not? Wouldn't you? answer me that!--but the
young dog revuzed; zo then I abuzed un, and a' left me in a pet. But, I
zay, Yeabel, you be drunk, or handy to't, bean't'ee?--You shouldn't do
that! It's wrong ov'ee, Yeabel: every man, in my mind, should do his
duty; and you bean't doing yours to get voggy wi' stout October, when
you've a-got a prisoner in hand.”
“None of your sneering, Saul; I am _compos_ and capable,” said Abel.
“You bean't, Yeabel! upon my life, you bean't!” replied Saul; “you
shouldn't do so--no, truly. Why, now, suppose I were to 'scape.”
“Escape!” exclaimed Abel, cocking his hat; “elude my vigilance!--come,
that's capital!”
“Why, you'll vall asleep avore half the night be over.”
“What! sleep upon my post!--never, Saul,--never.”
“You'll prance up and down there all night, I'll war'nt, then, and 20
keep me from getting a bit of rest:--you be aveard to lie down, ay, or
zit.”
“I am afraid of nothing and nobody,” replied Abel, indignantly; “and you
know it, neighbour Braintree: but no sneering of yours, will tempt me;
I'm up to thee, Saul; so be quiet;--or say your prayers. I'm never so
fit to serve my King and country, or the parochial authorities, as when
my wits are sharpened by an extra cup or two.”
“Or dree, I z'pose?” added Saul.--“Poor zoul! thee wants a little spirit
put into thee.”
“I want spirit! when did I lack it?” exclaimed Abel.--“Not a man in the
parish ever attempts to raise a hand against me.”
“No, truly, Yeabel; I'll zay this vor thee, thou'rt such a weak,
harmless, old body, that a man would as zoon think of wopping his
grandmother as wopping thee.”
Abel's wrath was now roused, and he began to speechify and swagger. Saul
said no more, but stretched himself upon the mattress which the 'squire
had humanely ordered to be placed on the floor, within reach of his
tether, holding the rope under him, so that, without turning him over,
it was impossible to discover that it had been severed. Just previously
to the constable's entrance, Panto, in obedience to the command of Saul,
had retreated beneath a large oak table, the flap of which altogether
concealed him from observation; and there lay the well-trained animal,
with his head resting on his fore-paws, and his eyes fixed on Saul,
perfectly motionless, and watching for further commands.
About an hour after midnight, when all seemed quiet below-stairs, Saul
turned on his mattress, and beheld Abel still tottering to and fro, like
an invalid grenadier upon guard. He waited for an opportunity, when the
constable's back was toward him, to start up, seize Abel by the throat,
and lay him flat upon the floor. “Yeabel,” said he, in a low tone, “I
hope I ha'n't hurt thee much. I be zorry to harm thee at all, old buoy;
but needs must. I be gwain off, Yeabel;--I doan't mean to put the county
to the expense o' prosecuting me,--zo I be gwain.--Doan't be aveard,--I
won't choke thee:--there,” added he, relaxing his powerful gripe;
“I'll let thee breathe; but if thee speaks--remember, Yeabel,--I be a
desperate man,--and I must zilence thee:--one knock o' the head'ud do't;
zo keep thy peace, and do as I tells thee quietly;--I won't have a word,
mind me. Take thic thingumbob out o' thy waistcoat pocket, and unvasten
these bracelets thou'st put about my wrists. Iv thy conscience to thy
King and country won't let thee do't wi'out being put in bodily vear,
I'll trouble thee wi' another grip o' the droat But, I doant wish any
thing o' the zort myzelf, unless needs must--Ponto, dog!”
Ponto started up and was by his master's side in a moment.
“That infernal dog here too!” ejaculated Abel.
“Ay, zure!--but zilence! It yean't wize vor I to let thee open thy lips:
zo go to work like a dummy. Make haste, and dost hear, Yeabel? put down
the handcuffs quietly. Now doan't tempt me to hurt thee, by making
a vool o' thyzelf. Be ruled, that's a good vellow. I can get
off,--doan't'ee zee?--spite o' the cuffs; but it will be more
convenient and agreeable to leave'em behind.” By this time, Abel had set
Braintree's arms completely at liberty.
“Now, Yeabel,” continued Saul, still kneeling over the constable,--“now,
old blade, I'll leave thee wi' Ponto; but doan't thee move or call out,
if thee values thy old droat. He'll worry thee like a wolf'ud a wether,
if thee moves or makes as much noise as a mouse: but be quiet--be still,
and he'll ztand over thee and not harm thee vor hours. Thee knowest
the dog; and thee know'st me well enough to be zertain I wouldn't leave
thee, vit to make alarm, if I wer'n't zure o' the dog. I doan't want
to hurt thee, zo I leaves thee wi' un: but, mind--he'll hold thy droat
a little tighter than I did, if thee wags a hair.--Ponto!” added Saul,
turning to the fine animal, who seemed to be listening to what he had
said; “mind un, Ponto!--Steady, good dog!--Soho! and steady! but mind
un!”
[Illustration: 098]
To use a sporting phrase, Ponto immediately “stood;” he threw himself
into an attitude that even Saul, as he departed, pronounced to be
beautiful. His eye was keenly fixed upon Abel; the roots of his ears
were elevated and brought forward; one of his fore-legs was held up,
and curved so that the claws nearly touched his body; his tail no longer
curled, but stood out straight on a level with his back; every muscle in
his frame seemed, as it were, to be upon the alert; he appeared on
the point of making a spring forward; but no statue ever stood more
motionless on its pedestal, than Ponto did over the prostrate and
terrified constable.
Braintree lost no time after he left the room which had been his
temporary prison: he descended cautiously to the ground-floor, and
versed as he had been in his boyhood, and for several years after time
had written man upon his brow, in the topography of the old Hall, he
easily found an outlet, and escaped without creating any alarm.
In a paddock adjoining the pleasure-grounds of the Hall, he caught a
horse, which had been turned out on account of a sand-crack; twisted a
hazel, from the hedge, into a halter and mouthpiece; leaped the fence;
and, in less than half an hour, by dint of hard galloping across
the country,--clearing every thing as though he was riding a
steeple-chase,--Saul reached his own cottage. Meg and her daughter
were still up, the wife weeping, and the child praying for Saul's safe
deliverance. He beat at the door, and Meg clasped the girl to her breast
and exclaimed, “Oh! what now?--what now? They're surely coming for thee,
Peggy. They'll leave me to murder myself--childless!”
“Open the door, Meg--my own Meg!” said Saul, without; “'tis I, Meg;--thy
poor Zaul.”
Braintree was soon by his own hearth, with his wife and daughter weeping
and hanging round his neck.
“Well, and how is it, Saul?” inquired Meg, as soon as she could find
utterance.
“Art discharged, father?” said Peggy.
“No, child,” replied Saul; “I be 'scaped! I shouldn't ha' zeen thee,
wench, nor thy mother neither, but whoam laid in my road. I be zafe yet
till day-light, if Ponto's as true as I've a' zeen un avore now. But I
shouldn't zay _if_ vor I be zure ov un.”
In reply to the inquiries of his wife, Said briefly related the result
of his conversation with Martin, the manner of his escape from old Abel,
and his intention to fly the country for ever, if he could. “Not,” added
he, “that I think they could bring aught whoam to me, upon trial; though
I didn't think zo, when I were tied up by a rope to a chimney-bar, in
the Hall; but now it ztrikes I, there wouldn't be much danger ov my
getting acquitted--and vor why?--It's clear the man were killed by
_one_--not _two_. Now, if Bob's vound guilty, I must be turned
out innocent; and guilty a' will be vound, or else I've blundered
blessedly.”
“Heavens above us, Saul! what d'ye mean?” cried Meg. Braintree now
frankly told his wife the circumstances relative to Robert's shoes; and
concluded, with a forced smile, sighing deeply as he spoke,--“And zo,
the young un be nicked for no-man's-land, wi'out a bit of a doubt;--that
be certain, I reckon.”
“Oh! Saul!” cried Meg, “Saul Braintree, what hast thee done?--thou hast
murdered thy son!”
“Murdered my viddlestick! He's the'zquire's--Jemmy Ztapleton's
buoy;--Martin be mine.”
“Martin Stapleton, father!” almost shrieked Peggy.
“Ay, wench; and he cut the cord vor me, like a Briton.”
“Said! Saul!” replied Meg, “doan't thee smile; my poor heart be
bursting. I never thought I should see this night!”
“Woe's me, mother; I was almost killed wi' trouble before, and now such
news as this!” sobbed Peggy, pressing her hands to her eyes.
“What be the matter, missus?--All's right;--doan't be dashed.”
“If thou didst kill Govier, Saul,” said Meg, “thou bee'st a vather, vor
all that; and I do pity thee:--thou hast laid a trap vor thy own son.
When thou went'st away a smuggling that time, just after the 'squire
had discharged thee, and when we knowed he was looking out for another
nurse--”
“Well, what then?” interrupted Saul.
“Why, Saul, thou didst tempt me to change the children. I promised thee
I would:--I tried, and I couldn't!--Thee thought'st to deceive 'Squire
Stapleton, but I deceived thee, Saul. I couldn't send away my own
boy--my virst-born--my darling. If thee wert a mother, thee wouldst
vorgive me. Oh! that I had done as thee told me! Saul, Saul, thee hast
murdered thy child! Bob's thy own vlesh and blood,--and Martin Stapleton
be no kin to thee.”
“Oh! mother!” said Peggy, dropping on her knees; “I am almost ashamed
to say how I thank you for those words; they have a'most saved my
life;--but then, my brother--my poor, poor brother!”
“Bob my own vlesh and blood!” said Saul, turning pale as a dying man
while he spoke; “Bob my zon, a'ter all!--Tell'ee he an't! I won't
believe thee:--dost hear?”
“As I hope to be vorgiven vor all I've done here below, he is;” replied
his wife.
“Meg, Meg!” said Saul, dropping on a bench, and throwing himself back
against the wall; “you ha' turned me zick as a dog.” Margaret and her
daughter now threw themselves about Braintree's neck again, and began to
weep and wail in the most violent and passionate manner: Saul remained
motionless only for a few moments. “Gi'e me air,” said he, suddenly
pushing them aside and leaping up; “I be choking! I'd gi'e the
world now, if I had it, that instead o' zhooting Phil, Phil had zhot
I!--Deceived! bevooled! in thic vashion!--Meg, doan't thee bide near me,
or I shall lay hands on thee presently; I do know I shall.”
“I don't vear thee, Saul,” said Meg; “thee never didst lay a vinger in
wrath on me yet. If thee'rt a' minded to kill me, do't!--I wont vly vrom
the blow.--My Bobby in gaol, accused of murder, and my husband guilty of
doing it!”
“You lie, you vool!” vociferated Saul; “'twere no murder! We vought,
hand to hand, vor life or vor death, and I got the best o't. If I hadn't
a' killed he, he'd ha' killed I; zo how can'ee make it murder?”
“The lord judge will make it out so, I fear,” said Peggy; “won't he,
think you, mother?”
“No doubt on't; and Saul knows it,” replied Meg. “Oh! Bob, my child--my
dear--dear boy!”
“Good night, Meg!” interrupted Saul. “I be off;--you do know I can't
abide to hear a woman howl.”
“But where art gwain, Saul?”
“No matter;--thou'lt hear time enough o' me:--good night!”
“Nay, but what'll thee do?--Peggy, down on thy knees wi' me, girl, and
beg him to tell us, what we be to do!--Oh! Saul--bide a bit; I woan't
let thee see a tear--look, they be all scorched up.--I won't vex thee,
any way, if thou'lt but bide and Comfort us.”