FOUND.
Strange mystery of human sympathy! inexplicable, yet very real.
Irrational, yet very potent. The young mother has accepted an
invitation to a garden-party. She knows that she never looked better
than at present, with a shade of delicacy about her. She has got a new
bonnet that is particularly becoming, and which she desires to wear in
public. She has been secluded from society for several months, and she
longs to meet her friends again. She knows that she is interesting,
and believes herself to be more interesting than she really is. So she
goes. She is talking, laughing, a little flushed with pleasure, when
suddenly she becomes grave, the hand that holds the plate of
raspberries and cream trembles. All her pleasure is gone. She knows
that baby is crying. Her eye wanders in quest of her husband, she runs
to him, touches his arm, says--
"Do order the carriage; baby is crying."
It is all fiddle-de-dee. Baby has the best of nurses, the snuggest,
daintiest little cot; has a fresh-opened tin of condensed Swiss milk.
Reason tells her that; but no! and nurse cannot do anything to pacify
the child, baby is crying, nurse is in despair.
In like manner now did Judith argue with herself, without being able
to convince her heart. Her reason spoke and said to her--
No sound of cries comes from the asylum. There is no light in any
window. Every inmate is asleep, Jamie among them. He does not need you.
He is travelling in dreamland. The Scantlebrays have been kind to him.
The lady is a good, motherly body; the gentleman's whole soul is
devoted to finding amusement and entertainment for the afflicted
creatures under his care. He has played tricks before Jamie, made
shadow-pictures on the wall, told funny stories, made jacks-in-the-box
with his hands, and Jamie has laughed till he was tired, and his heavy
eyes closed with a laugh not fully laughed out on his lips. The
Scantlebrays are paid £70 for taking care of Jamie, and £70 in Judith's
estimation was a very princely sum. The £70 per annum Mr. Scantlebray
would corruscate into his richest fun, and Mrs. Scantlebray's heart
overflowed with warmest maternal affection.
But it was in vain that Judith thus reasoned, her heart would not be
convinced. An indescribable unrest was in her, and would not be laid.
She knew by instinct that Jamie wanted her, was crying for her, was
stretching out his hands in the dark for her.
As she sat on the step not only did reason speak, but judgment also.
She could do nothing there. She had acted a foolish part in coming all
that way in the dark, and without a chance of effecting any
deliverance to Jamie now she had reached her destination. She had
committed an egregious error in going such a distance from home, from
anyone who might serve as protector to her in the event of danger, and
there were other dangers she might encounter than having stones thrown
at her by drunken men. If the watch were to find her there, what
explanation of her presence could she give? Would they take her away
and lock her up for the rest of the night? They could not leave her
there. Large, warm drops, like tears from angels' eyes, fell out of
heaven upon her folded hands, and on her bowed neck.
She began to feel chilled after having been heated by her walk, so she
rose, and found that she had become stiff. She must move about,
however sore and weary her feet might be.
She had explored the lane as far as was needful. She could not see
from it into the house, the garden, and playground. Was it possible
that there was a lane on the further side of the house which would
give her the desired opportunity?
Judith resolved to return by the way she had come, down the lane into
the main street, then to walk along the front of the house, and
explore the other side. As she was descending the lane she noticed,
about twenty paces from the door, on the further side, a dense mass of
Portugal laurel that hung over the opposite wall, casting a shadow of
inky blackness into the lane. This she considered might serve her as
shelter when the threatening storm broke and the rain poured down. She
walked through this shadow, and would have entered the street, but
that she perceived certain dark objects passing noiselessly along it.
By the flashes of lightning she could distinguish men with laden
asses, and one she saw turn to enter the lane where she was. She drew
back hastily into the blot cast by the bush that swung its luxuriance
over the wall, and drew as closely back to the wall as was possible.
Thus she could not be seen, for the reflection of the lightning would
not fall on her; every glare made the shadow seem the deeper. Though
concealed herself, and wholly invisible, she was able to distinguish a
man with an ass passing by, and then halting at the door in the wall
that surrounded Mr. Obadiah's tenement. There the man knocked, and
uttered a peculiar whistle. As there ensued no immediate answer he
knocked and whistled again, whereupon the door was opened; and a word
or two was passed.
"How many do you want, sir?"
"Four."
"Any to help to carry the half-ankers!"
"No."
"Well, no odds. I'll carry one and you the t'other. We'll make two
journeys, that's all. I can't leave Neddy for long, but I'll go with
you to your house-door."
Probably the person addressed nodded a reply in the darkness; he made
no audible answer.
"Which is it, Mr. Obadiah, rum or brandy?"
"Brandy."
"Right you are, then. These are brandy. You won't take three brandies
and one rum?"
"Yes."
"All right, sir; lead the way. It's deuced dark."
Judith knew what this signified. Some of the householders of
Wadebridge were taking in their supplies of spirits from the
smugglers. Owing to the inconvenience of it being unlawful to deal
with these men for such goods, they had to receive their purchases at
night, and with much secrecy. There were watchmen at Wadebridge, but
on such nights they judiciously patrolled another quarter of the town
than that which received its supplies. The watchmen were municipal
officials, and were not connected with the excise, had no particular
regard for the inland revenue, anyhow, owed no duties to the officers
of the coast-guard. Their superior was the mayor, and the mayor was
fond of buying his spirits at the cheapest market.
Both men disappeared. The door was left open behind them. The
opportunity Judith had desired had come. Dare she seize it? For a
moment she questioned her heart, then she resolutely stepped out of
the shadow of the Portugal laurel, brushed past the patient ass,
entered the grounds of Mr. Scantlebray's establishment through the
open garden-door, and drew behind a syringa bush to consider what
further step she should take. In another moment both men were back.
"You are sure you don't mind one rum?"
"No."
"Right you are, then; I'll have it for you direct. The other kegs are
at t'other end of the lane. You come with me, and we'll have 'em down
in a jiffy."
Judith heard both men pass out of the door. She looked toward the
house. There was a light low down in a door opening into the garden or
yard where she was.
Not a moment was to be lost. As soon as the last kegs were brought in
the house-door would be locked, and though she had entered the garden
she would be unable to penetrate to the interior of the asylum.
Without hesitation, strong in her earnest purpose to help Jamie to the
utmost of her power, and grasping at every chance that offered, she
hastened, cautiously indeed, but swiftly, to the door whence the light
proceeded. The light was but a feeble one, and cast but a fluttering
ray upon the gravel. Judith was careful to walk where it could not
fall on her dress.
The whole garden front of the house was now before her. She was in a
sort of gravelled yard, with some bushes against the walls. The main
block of the house lay to her right, and the view of it was
intercepted by a wall. Clearly the garden space was divided, one
portion for the house, and another, that into which she had entered,
for the wing. That long wing rose before her with its windows all dark
above, and the lower or ground floor also dark. Only from the door
issued the light, and she saw that a guttering tallow candle was set
there on the floor.
Hastily she drew back. She heard feet on the gravel. The men were
returning, Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray and the smuggler, each laden with a
small cask of spirits.
"Right you are," said the man, as he set his keg down in the passage,
"that's yours, and I could drink your health, sir."
"You wouldn't--prefer?--" Mr. Scantlebray made contortions with his
hands between the candle and the wall, and threw a shadow on the
surface of plaster.
"No, thanks sir, I'd prefer a shilling."
Mr. Scantlebray fumbled in his pockets, grunted "Humph! purse
up-stairs." Felt again, "No," groped inside the breast of his
waistcoat, "another time--not forget."
The man muttered something not complimentary, and turned to go through
the yard.
"Must lock door," said Mr. Obadiah, and went after him. Now was
Judith's last chance. She took it at once; the moment the backs of the
two men were turned she darted into the passage and stood back against
the door out of the flare of the candle.
The passage was a sort of hall with slated floor, the walls plastered
and whitewashed at one time, but the wash and plaster had been picked
off to about five feet from the floor wherever not strongly adhesive,
giving a diseased and sore look to the wall. The slates of the floor
were dirty and broken.
Judith looked along the hall for a place to which she could retreat on
the return of the proprietor of the establishment. She had entered
that portion of the building tenanted by the unhappy patients. The
meanness of the passage, the picked walls, the situation on one side
of the comfortable residence showed her this. A door there was on the
right, ajar, that led into the private dwelling-house, but into that
Judith did not care to enter. One further down on the left probably
gave access to some apartment devoted to the "pupils," as Mrs.
Scantlebray called the patients.
There was, however, another door that was open, and from it descended
a flight of brick steps to what Judith conjectured to be the cellars.
At the bottom a second candle, in a tin candlestick, was guttering and
flickering in the draught that blew in at the yard door, and descended
to this underground story. It was obvious to the girl that Mr.
Scantlebray was about to carry or roll his kegs just acquired down the
brick steps to his cellar. For that purpose he had set a candle there.
It would not therefore do for her, to attempt to avoid him, to descend
to this lower region. She must pass the door that gave access to the
cellars, a door usually locked, as she judged, for a large iron key
stood in the lock, and enter the room, the door of which opened
further down the passage.
She was drawing her skirts together, so as to slip past the candle on
the passage floor for this purpose, when her heart stood still as
though she had received a blow on it. She heard--proceeding from
somewhere beneath down those steps--a moan, then a feeble cry of "Ju!
Where are you? Ju! Ju! Ju!"
She all but did cry out herself. A gasp of pain and horror did escape
her, and then, without a thought of how she could conceal herself, how
avoid Scantlebray, she ran down the steps to the cellar.
On reaching the bottom she found that there were four doors, two of
which had square holes cut in them, but with iron bars before these
openings. The door of one of the others, one on the left, was open,
and she could see casks and bottles. It was a wine and spirit cellar,
and the smell of wine issued from it.
She stood panting, frightened, fearing what she might discover,
doubting whether she had heard her brother's voice or whether she was
a prey to fancy. Then again she heard a cry and a moan. It issued from
the nearest cell on her right hand.
"Jamie! my Jamie!" she cried.
"Ju! Ju!"
The door was hasped, with a crook let into a staple so that it might,
if necessary, be padlocked. But now it was simply shut and a wooden
peg was thrust through the eye of the crook.
She caught up the candle, and with trembling hand endeavored to
unfasten the door, but so agitated was she, so blinded with horror,
that she could not do so till she had put down the candle again. Then
she forced the peg from its place and raised the crook. She stooped
and took up the candle once more, and then, with a short breath and a
contraction of the breast, threw open the door, stepped in, and held
up the light.
The candle flame irradiated what was but a cellar compartment vaulted
with brick, once whitewashed, now dirty with cobwebs and accumulated
dust and damp stains. It had a stone shelf on one side, on which lay a
broken plate and some scraps of food.
Against the further wall was a low truckle bed, with a mattress on it
and some rags of blanket. Huddled on this lay Jamie, his eyes dilated
with terror, and yet red with weeping. His clothes had been removed,
except his shirt. His long red-gold hair had lost all its gloss and
beauty, it was wet with sweat and knotted. The boy's face was ghastly
in the flickering light.
Judith dropped the candle on the floor, and rushed with outstretched
arms, and a cry--piercing, but beaten back on her by the walls and
vault of the cell--and caught the frightened boy to her heart.
"Jamie! O my Jamie! my Jamie!"
She swayed herself, crying, in the bed, holding him to her, with no
thought, her whole being absorbed in a spasm of intensest, most
harrowing pain. The tallow candle was on the slate floor, fallen,
melting, spluttering, flaming.
And in the door, holding the brandy keg upon his shoulders, stood,
with open eyes and mouth, Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray.