"Do you go and gather them then," said Patricia wearily. "I will wait
for you here."
Margery glided away, and her mistress sat down upon the dark-red earth
at the foot of the tree. There was a cold and sombre stillness in the
wood. The air smelt chill and dank, and the light came through the low,
closely woven roof of foliage, as though it were filtered through crape,
but at the end of the vista of trees shone a glory of sea and sky and
gold-green marsh. Patricia gazed with dreamy eyes. "It is all fair,"
she said. "What was it that Dr. Nash read? 'My lines are fallen in
pleasant places.' Riches and honor, and, they say, beauty, and many to
love me.--O Lord God! I wish for happiness!" She laid her cheek
against the cool earth, and the splendor before her wavered into a mist
of rose and azure. "Why should I weep," she said, "that my lines are
laid in pleasant places?"
Margery with her arms filled with flowers appeared at her side. "Here
are the purple flowers," she said. "Here is farewell-summer for me and a
passion-flower for you." She threw the blooms upon the ground, and
sitting down at her mistress's feet, began to weave them into garlands.
Presently she took up the passion-flower. "This grew beside the tobacco
house, close to the wall. Margery saw it, and ran to pluck it. The
door of the tobacco house was closed, but above the passion-flower was a
great crack between the logs." She began to laugh. "Margery heard a
strange thing, while she was plucking the passion-flower. Shall she tell
it to you?"
"If you like, Margery," said Patricia indifferently.
Margery leaned forward, and laid a cold, thin hand upon her mistress'
arm.
"There were seven men in the tobacco house. One said, 'When the
Malignants are put down, what then?' and another answered, 'Surely we
will possess their lands and their houses, their silver and their gold,
for is it not written, "The Lord hath given them a spoil unto their
servants."' Then the first said, 'Shall we not kill the Malignant,
Verney?' Margery heard no more. She came away."
Patricia rose to her feet, pale, with brilliant eyes.
"You heard no more?"
"No."
"Margery, show me the place where you listened."
Margery took up her staff, and led the way to the outskirts of the wood.
"There," she said, pointing with her staff. "There, where the elder
grows."
Patricia laid her hand on the mad woman's shoulder. "Listen to me,
Margery," she said in a low, distinct voice. "Listen very carefully.
Go quickly to the great house, and to my father, or to Woodson, or to
Sir Charles Carew give the message I am about to give you. Do you
understand, Margery?"
Margery nodding emphatically, Patricia gave the message, and watched her
flit away through the gloom of the cedars into the sunlight beyond; then
turned and went swiftly and noiselessly across the strip of field to the
tall, dark, windowless tobacco house. As she neared it, there came to
her a low and undistinguishable murmur of voices which rose into
distinctness as she entered the clump of alders.
Within the tobacco house were assembled the Muggletonian, the man
branded upon the forehead, the youth with the hectic cheek (who acted as
Secretary to the Surveyor-General), two newly purchased servants of
Colonel Verney, Trail and Godfrey Landless. In the uncertain light which
streamed from above through rents in the roof and crevices between the
upper logs the interior of the tobacco house looked mysterious,
sinister, threatening. Here and there tobacco still hung from the poles
which crossed from wall to wall, and in the partial light the long,
dusky masses looked wonderfully like other hanging things. The great
casks beneath had the appearance of shadowy scaffolds, and the men,
sitting or standing against them, looked larger than life. All was
dusk, subdued, save where a stray sunbeam, sifting through a crack in
the opposite wall, lit the ghastly face and shaven crown of the
Muggletonian.
Landless, leaning against a cask, addressed a man of a grave and
resolute bearing--one of the newly acquired servants of Verney Manor.
"Major Havisham, you are a wise and a brave man. I will gladly listen to
any counsel you may have to give anent this matter."
Havisham shook his head. "I have nothing to say. The spirit of the
father lives in the son. Skillful in planning, bold in action was
Warham Landless!"
"I am but the tool of Robert Godwyn," said Landless. "You approve, then,
of our arrangements?"
"Entirely. It is a daring enterprise, but if it succeeds--" he drew a
long breath.
"And if it fails," said Landless, "there is freedom yet."