ON THE BARE PLAIN.
"In vain I look from height and tower,
No wished-for form I see;
In vain I seek the woodbine bower--
He comes no more to me."
So sang Rosaline Bell in the beams of the morning sun. They came
glinting between the hyacinths in the window, and fell on the cups and
saucers. Rosaline stood at the kitchen-table, washing up the
breakfast-things. She wore a light print gown, with a white linen
collar fastened by a small silver brooch.
An expression of intense happiness sat on her beautiful face. This old
song, that she was singing to herself in a sweet undertone, was one
that her mother used to sing to her when she was a child. The words
came from the girl half unconsciously; for, while she sang, she was
living over again in thought last night's meeting with Frank Raynor on
the Bare Plain.
"Rosie!"
The fond name, called in her mother's voice, interrupted her. Putting
down the saucer she was drying, she advanced to the staircase-door,
which opened from the kitchen, and stood there.
"Yes, mother! Did you want me?"
"Has your father gone out, Rose?"
"Yes. He said he should not be long."
"Oh no, I dare say not!" crossly responded Mrs. Bell; her tone plainly
implying that she put no faith whatever in any promise of the sort.
"They'll make a day of it again, as they did yesterday. Bring me a
little warm water in half-an-hour, Rose, and I'll get up."
"Very well, mother."
Rose returned to her tea-cups, and resumed her song; resumed it in
very gladness of heart. Ah, could she only have known what this day
was designed to bring forth for her before it should finally close,
she had sunk down in the blankness of despair! But there was no
foreshadowing on her spirit.
"'Twas at the dawn of a summer morn,
My false love hied away;
O'er his shoulder hung the hunter's horn,
And his looks were blithe and gay.
"'Ere the evening dew-drops fall, my love,'
He thus to me, did say,
'I'll be at the garden-gate, my love'--
And gaily he rode away."
Another interruption. Some one tried the door--of which Rosaline had a
habit of slipping the bolt--and then knocked sharply. Rosaline opened
it. A rough-looking woman, miserably attired, stood there: an
inhabitant of one of the poorest dwellings in this quarter.
"I wants to know," cried this woman, in a voice as uncouth as her
speech, and with a dialect that needs translation for the uninitiated
reader, "whether they vools o' men be at work to-day."
"I think not," replied Rosaline.
"There's that man o' mine gone off again to the Golden Shaaft, and
he'll come hoam as he did yesternight! What tha plague does they
father go and fill all they vools up weth lies about they Whistlers
for? That's what I'd like to know. If Bell had heered they Whistlers,
others 'ud hev heered they."
"I can't tell you anything at all about it, Mrs. Janes," returned
Rosaline, civilly but very distantly; for she knew these people to be
immeasurably her inferiors, and held them at arm's-length. "You can
ask my father about it yourself; he'll be here by-and-by. I can't let
you in now; mother's just as poorly as ever to-day, and she cannot
bear a noise."
Closing the door as she spoke, and slipping the bolt, lest rude Mrs.
Janes should choose to enter by force, Rosaline took up her song
again.
"I watched from the topmost, topmost height,
Till the sun's bright beams were o'er,
And the pale moon shed her vestal light--
But my lover returned no more."
Whether the men were still incited by a dread of the Seven Whistlers,
and were really afraid to descend into the mines, or whether they used
the pretext as an excuse for a second day's holiday, certain it was
that not a single man had gone to work. Ross, the overseer, reiterated
his threats of punishment again and again; and reiterated in vain.
As a general rule, there exists not a more sober race of men than that
of the Cornish miners; and the miners in question had once been no
exception to the rule. But some few years before this, on the occasion
of a prolonged dispute between masters and men, many fresh workmen had
been imported from distant parts of England, and they had brought
their drinking habits with them. The Cornish men caught them up in a
degree: but it was only on occasions like the present that they
indulged them to any extent, and therefore, when they did so, it was
the more noticeable.
Mr. John Float at the Golden Shaft was doing a great stroke of
business these idle days. As many men as could find seats in his
hospitable house took possession of it. Amongst them was Josiah Bell.
Few had ever seen Bell absolutely intoxicated; but he now and then
took enough to render him more sullen than usual; and at such times he
was sure to be quarrelsome.
Turning out of the Golden Shaft on this second day between twelve and
one o'clock, Bell went down the street towards his home, with some
more men who lived in that direction. Dr. Raynor chanced to be
standing outside his house, and accosted Bell. The other men walked
on.
"Not at work yet, Bell!"
"Not at work yet," echoed Bell, as doggedly as he dared, and standing
to face the doctor.
"How long do you mean to let this fancy about the Seven Whistlers
hinder you? When is it to end?"
Bell's eyes went out straight before him, as if trying to foresee what
and where the end would be, and his tones lost their fierceness. This
fancy in regard to the Seven Whistlers--as the doctor styled it--had
evidently taken a serious, nay, a solemn hold upon him. Whether or not
the other men anticipated ill-fortune from it, most indisputably Bell
did so.
"I don't know, sir," he said, quite humbly. "I should like to see the
end."
"Are you feeling well, Bell?" continued Dr. Raynor, in a tone of
sympathy--for the strange grey pallor was on the man's face still.
"I'm well enough, doctor. What should ail me?"
"You don't look well."
Bell shifted his stick from one hand to the other. "The Whistlers gave
me a turn, I suppose," he said.
"Nonsense, man! You should not be so superstitious."
"See here, Dr. Raynor," was the reply--and the tone was lowered in
what sounded very like fear. "You know of the hurt I got in the pit in
Staffordshire--which lamed me for good? Well, the night before it I
heard the Seven Whistlers. They warned me of ill-luck then; and now
they've warned me again, and I know it will come. I won't go down the
mine till three days have passed. The other men may do as they like."
He walked on with the last words. Mr. Blase Pellet, who had been
looking on at the interview from over the way, gazed idly after Bell
until he had turned the corner and was out of sight. All in a moment,
as though some recollection came suddenly to him, Blase tore off his
white apron, darted in for his hat, and ran after Bell; coming up with
him just beyond the parsonage.
What Mr. Blase Pellet communicated to him, to put Bell's temper up as
it did, and what particular language he used, was best known to
himself. If the young man had any conscience, one would think that
remorse, for what that communication led to, must lie on it to his
dying day. Its substance was connected with Rosaline and Frank Raynor.
He was telling tales of them, giving his own colouring to what he
said, and representing the latter gentleman and matters in general in
a very unfavourable light indeed.
"If he dares to molest her again, I'll knock his head off," threatened
Bell to himself and the Bare Plain, as he parted with Pellet, and made
his way across it, muttering and brandishing his stick. The other men
had disappeared, each within his home. Bell was about to enter his,
when Mrs. Janes came out of her one room, her hair hanging, her gown
in tatters, her voice shrill. She placed herself before Bell.
"I've been asking about my man. They tells me he es in a-drinking at
the Golden Shaaft. I'll twist hes ears for he when he comes out on't
And now I'm a-going to have it out with you about they Whistlers! Ef
the----"
Mrs. Janes's eloquence was summarily arrested. With an unceremonious
push, Josiah Bell put her out of his way, strode on to his own door,
and closed it against her.
Rosaline was alone, laying the cloth for dinner. Bell, excited by
drink, abused his daughter roundly, accusing her of "lightness" and
all sorts of unorthodox things. Rosaline stared at him in simple
astonishment.
"Why, father, what can you be thinking of?" she exclaimed. "Who has
been putting this into your head?"
"Blase Pellet," answered Bell, scorning to equivocate. "And I'd a mind
to knock him down for his pains--whether it's true or whether it's
not."
"True!--that I could be guilty of light conduct!" returned Rosaline.
"Father, I thought you knew me better. As to Mr. Raynor, I don't
believe he is capable of an unworthy thought. He would rather do good
in the world than evil."
And her tone was so truthful, her demeanour so consciously dignified,
that Bell felt his gloomy thoughts melt away as if by magic; and he
wished he _had_ knocked Mr. Pellet down.
The day went on to evening, and tea was being taken at Dr. Raynor's.
Five o'clock was the usual hour for the meal, and it was now nearly
seven: but the doctor had been some miles into the country to see a
wealthy patient, and Edina waited for him. They sat round the table in
the best parlour; the one of which the bow-window looked on to the
street; the other room was chiefly used for breakfast and dinner.
Its warm curtains were drawn before the window now, behind the small
table that held the stand of beautiful white coral, brought home years
ago by Major Raynor; the fire burned brightly; two candles stood near
the tea-tray. Behind the doctor, who sat facing the window, was a
handsome cabinet, a few choice books on its shelves. Frank, reading a
newspaper and sipping his tea, sat between his uncle and Edina.
This was the night of the ball at The Mount. Edina was going to it. A
most unusual dissipation for her; one she was quite unaccustomed to.
Trennach afforded no opportunity for this sort of visiting, and it
would have been all the same to Miss Raynor if it had. As she truly
said, she had not been to a dance for years and years. Frank was
making merry over it, asking her whether she could remember her
"steps."
"I am sorry you accepted for me, papa," she suddenly said. "I have
regretted it ever since."
"Why, Edina?"
"It is not in my way, you know, papa. And I have had the trouble of
altering a dress.
"Mrs. St. Clare was good enough to press your going, Edina--she
candidly told me she wanted more ladies--and I did not like to refuse.
She wanted _me_ to go," added Dr. Raynor, with a broad smile.
"I'm sure, papa, you would be as much of an ornament at a ball as I
shall be--and would be far more welcome to Mrs. St. Clare," said
Edina.
"Ornament? Oh, I leave that to Frank."
"I dare say you could dance, even now, as well as I can, papa."
Something like a flash of pain crossed his face. _He_ dance now! Edina
little thought how near--if matters with regard to himself were as he
suspected--how very near he was to the end of all things.
"You looked tired, papa," she said.
"I am tired, child. That horse of mine does not seem to carry me as
easily as he did. Or perhaps it is I who feel his action more. What do
you say, Frank?"
"About the horse, uncle? I think he is just as easy to ride as he
always was."
Dr. Raynor suppressed a sigh, and quitted the room. Frank rose, put
his elbow on the mantelpiece, and glanced at his good-looking face in
the glass.
"What time do you mean to start, Edina?"
"At half-past eight. _I_ don't wish to go in later than the card
says--nine o'clock. It is a shame to invite people for so late an
hour!"
"It is late for Trennach," acknowledged Frank; "but would be early for
some places. Mrs. St. Clare has brought her fashionable hours with
her."
At that moment, the entrance-door was pushed violently open, and an
applicant was heard to clatter in, in a desperate hurry. Frank went
out to see.
Mrs. Molly Janes was lying at home, half killed, in immediate need of
the services of either Dr. or Mr. Raynor. Mr. Janes had just staggered
home from his day's enjoyment at the Golden Shaft: his wife was unwise
enough to attack him in that state; he had retaliated and nearly
"done" for her. Such was the substance of the report brought by the
messenger--a lad with wild eyes and panting breath.
"You will have to go, Frank," said the doctor. "I am sorry for it, but
I am really not able to walk there to-night. My ride shook me
fearfully."
"Of course I will go, sir," replied Frank, in his ready way. "I shall
be back long before Edina wants me. What are Mrs. Janes's chief
injuries?" he asked, turning to the boy.
"He heve faaled on her like a fiend, master," answered the alarmed
lad. "He've broke aal her bones to lerrups, he heve."
A bad account. Frank prepared to start without delay. He had left his
hat in the parlour; and whilst getting it he said a hasty word to
Edina--he had to go off to the cottages on the Bare Plain. Edina
caught up the idea that it was Mrs. Bell who needed him: she knew of
no other patient in that quarter.
"Come back as quickly as you can, Frank," she said. "You have to
dress, you know. Don't stay chattering with Rosaline."
"With Rosaline!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Oh, I see. It is not Mrs.
Bell who wants me; it is Molly Janes. She and her husband have been at
issue again."
With a gay laugh at Edina's advice touching Rosaline, and the rather
serious and meaning tone she gave it in, Frank hastened away. The fact
was, some odds and ends of joking had been heard in the village
lately, coupling Frank's name with the girl's, and they had reached
the ears of Edina. She intended to talk to Frank warningly about it on
the first opportunity.
When about half-way across the Bare Plain, Frank saw some man before
him, in the moonlight, who was not very steady on his legs. The lad
had gone rushing forward, thinking to come in at the end of the fight;
should it, haply, still be going on.
"What, is it you, Bell!" exclaimed Frank, recognizing the staggerer as
he overtook and passed him. "You've had nearly as much as you can
carry, have you not?" he added, in light good-nature.
It was Bell. Stumbling homewards from the Golden Shaft. A very early
hour indeed, considering the state he was in, for him to quit the
seductions of that hostelry. He had been unwise enough to go back to
it after his dinner, and there he had sat until now. Had he chosen to
keep sober, the matter whispered by Blase Pellet would not have
returned to rankle in his mind: as he did not, it had soon begun to do
so ominously. With every cup he took, the matter grew in his
imagination, until it assumed an ugly look, and became a very black
picture. And he had now come blundering forth with the intention of
"looking out for himself," as ingeniously suggested by Blase Pellet
that day when they were parting. In short, to track the steps and
movements of the two suspected people; to watch whether they met, and
all about it.
"Perhaps other folks will have as much as they can carry soon," was
his insolent retort to Frank, lifting the heavy stick in his hand
menacingly. At which Frank only laughed, and sped onwards.
A terribly savage mood rushed over Josiah Bell. Seeing Frank strike
off towards Bleak Row, he concluded that it was to his dwelling-house
he was bent, and to see Rosaline. And he gnashed his teeth in fury,
and gave vent to a fierce oath because he could not overtake the steps
of the younger man.
Bursting in at his own door when he at length reached it, he sent his
eyes round the room in search of the offenders. But all the living
inmates that met his view consisted of his wife in her mob-cap and
white apron, knitting, as usual, in her own chair, and the cat
sleeping upon the hearth.
"Where's Rosaline?"
Mrs. Bell put down her knitting--a grey worsted stocking for Bell
himself--and sighed deeply as she gazed at him. He had not been very
sober at dinnertime: he was worse now. Nevertheless she felt thankful
that he had come home so soon.
"She's gone out!" he continued, before Mrs. Bell had spoken: and it
was evident that the fact of Rosaline's being out was putting him into
a furious passion. "Who is she with?"
"Rose went over after tea to sit a bit with Granny Sandon. Granny's
worse to-day, poor thing. I'm expecting her back every minute."
Bell staggered to the fireplace and stood there grasping his stick.
His wife went on with her knitting in silence. To reproach him now
would do harm instead of good. It must be owned that his exceeding to
this extent was quite an exceptional case: not many times had his wife
known him do it.
"Where's Raynor?" he broke out.
"Raynor!" she echoed, in surprise. "Do you mean Mr. Frank Raynor? I
don't know where he is."
"He came in here a few minutes ago."
"Bless you, no, not he," returned the wife, in an easy tone, thinking
it the best tone to assume just then.
"I tell ye I saw him come here."
"The moonlight must have misled you, Josiah. Mr. Raynor has not been
here to-day. Put down your stick and take off your hat: and sit down
and be comfortable."
To this persuasive invitation, Bell made no reply. Yet a minute or two
he stood in silence, gazing at the fire; then, grasping his stick more
firmly, and ramming his hat upon his head, he staggered out again,
banging the door after him. Mrs. Bell sighed audibly; she supposed he
was returning to the Golden Shaft.
Meanwhile Frank Raynor was with Mrs. Molly Janes. Her damages were not
so bad as had been represented, and he proceeded to treat them: which
took some little time. Leaving her a model of artistically-applied
sticking-plaster, Frank started homewards again. The night was most
beautiful; the sky clear, except for a few fleecy clouds that now and
then passed across it, the silvery moon riding grandly above them.
Just as Frank came opposite the Bottomless Shaft, he met Rosaline, on
her way home from Granny Sandon's.
They stopped to speak--as a matter of course. Frank told her of the
affray that had taken place, and the punishment of Molly Janes. While
Rosaline listened, she kept her face turned in the direction she had
come from, as though she were watching for some one: and her quick
eyes discerned a figure approaching in the moonlight.
"Good-night--you pass on, Mr. Frank," she suddenly and hurriedly
exclaimed. "I am going to hide here for a minute."
Darting towards the Bottomless Shaft, she took refuge amongst the
surrounding mounds: mounds which looked like great earth batteries,
thrown up in time of war. Instead of passing on his way, Frank
followed her, in sheer astonishment: and found her behind the furthest
mound at the back of the Shaft.
"Are you hiding from _me?_" he demanded. "What is it, Rosaline? I
don't understand."
"Not from you," she whispered. "Why didn't you go on? Hush! Some one is
going to pass that I don't want to see.
"Who is it? Your father? I think he has gone home."
"It is Blase Pellet," she answered. "I saw him at the shop-door as I
came by, and I think he is following me. He talks nonsense, and I
would rather walk home alone. Listen! Can we hear his footsteps, do
you think, sir? He must be going by now."
Frank humoured her: he did not particularly like Blase Pellet himself,
but he had no motive in remaining still, except that it was her wish.
On the contrary, he would have preferred to be going homewards, for he
had not much time to lose. Whistling softly, leaning against the
nearest mound, he watched the white clouds coursing in the sky.
"He must have passed now, Rosaline."
She stole cautiously away, to reconnoitre; and came back with a
beaming face.
"Yes," she said, "and he has gone quickly, for he is out of sight. He
must have run, thinking to catch me up."
"I wonder you were not afraid to go through the mounds alone and pass
close to the Bottomless Shaft!" cried Frank, in a tone of raillery, no
longer deeming it necessary to lower his voice. "Old Sandon's ghost
might have come up, you know, and carried you off.
"I am not afraid of old Sandon's ghost," said Rosaline.
"I dare say not!" laughed Frank.
In a spirit of bravado, or perhaps in very lightness of heart,
Rosaline suddenly ran through the zigzag turnings, until she stood
close to the mouth of the Shaft. Frank followed her, quickly also, for
in truth he was impatient to be gone.
"I am listening for the ghost," said she, her head bent over the
yawning pit. It was a dangerous position: the least slip, one
incautious step nearer, might have been irredeemable: and Frank put
his arm round her waist to protect her.
Another half-moment passed, when---- They hardly knew what occurred. A
howl of rage, a heavy stick brandished over them in the air, and
Rosaline started back, to see her father. Old Bell must have been
hiding amongst the mounds on his own score, looking out for what might
be seen.
Down came the stick heavily on Frank's shoulders. An instant's tussle
ensued: a shout from a despairing, falling man; a momentary glimpse of
an upturned face; a cry of horror from a woman's voice; an agonized
word from her companion; and all was over. Francis Raynor and the
unhappy Rosaline stood alone under the pitiless moonlight.