BROUGHT TO THE SURFACE.
The Reverend Titus Backup, in charge just now of the spiritual welfare
of Trennach, had read out the banns of marriage on three separate
Sundays, between Aaron Pitt, bachelor, and Naomi Perkins, spinster. On
the Monday morning following the last announcement, Aaron, who was a
young miner, and Naomi, who was nothing at all, and not good for much,
either, in the shape of usefulness, presented themselves at the church
with their respective friends, for the purpose of being united in
matrimony.
This was the second marriage ceremony that Mr. Backup had had to
perform since his sojourn at Trennach. He got through it pretty much
as he had got through the first: namely, with a good deal of inward
doubt and hesitation, but successfully as to the result; inasmuch as
he was able, at the conclusion, to pronounce the couple man and wife
without having broken down.
Clerk Trim was present, flourishing in all the importance of his
office. Mrs. Trim also. Being on intimate terms with the parties in
private life, Mrs. Trim had smartened herself up, and stepped into the
church to look on, making one with the rest at the altar-rails. After
the ceremony, came the business in the vestry. Trim took out the
register book, and was opening it to place it before Mr. Backup, when
a fresh entry, caught his eye. The clerk knew every page of the
register as well as he knew his own Sunday shoes: which were made
after the fashion of pumps, adorned with big ties of black ribbon.
"Mercy 'pon us!" cried he in his astonishment. "Here's a new marriage
wrote down!"
The exclamation caused the party to gather round him. Mr. Backup,
remembering the circumstances of the marriage, and that he himself was
in the well-kept secret, turned nervous at once.
"Why, it's--it's--it's Mr. Frank Raynor!" went on the clerk, staring
at the page, and mastering its revelations slowly in his
consternation. "And Miss--Miss---- Well, if ever I was so struck in my
life! Did you marry them, sir?" holding out the book to the parson.
"Is that your reverence's own signature?"
His reverence took the book, muttered something quite foreign to the
subject, that no one in the world could hear distinctly, himself
included, and proceeded to enter the present marriage. As it was upon
the same page, the parties signing it after him had the satisfaction
of gratifying their own curiosity; and read, plainly as ink could show
it, the names of Francis Raynor and Margaret St. Clare.
Now, had Clerk Trim haply been alone when he made this discovery, he,
being a reticent and prudent man, would probably have kept the news to
himself. But unfortunately he was not alone. Six or eight people were
present, besides the parson; and, half of them being females, the
reader may be left to judge what chance there was of its being kept
secret.
The first to spread it abroad was Mrs. Trim. The wedding company
having dispersed--without any invitation to her to accompany them to
the house of the bride's mother and partake of the feasting, of which
she had cherished a slight hope--Mrs. Trim betook herself to Float the
druggist's. She had no particular work on hand that morning, and
thought she could not do better than consecrate it to gossip. Mrs.
Float, who was so far an invalid as to be unable to do much
for herself, having been crippled years ago by an attack of
rheumatic-fever, was in her usual chair by the fireside in the small
parlour behind the shop, and Blase Pellet was pouring out some hot
milk for her. Let the weather be ever so warm, Mrs. Float would not go
without her fire: and perhaps she needed it. She was a stout, easy
sort of woman, who took the best and the worst sides of life equally
calmly; even her husband's attachment to the Golden Shaft. Of Blase
Pellet she was very fond: for he was always ready to render her little
services, as he might have been to a mother. Blase Pellet had his good
and his bad qualities--as most people have: it was chiefly on the
subject of Rosaline Bell that he was crazed.
"I'll do that," said Mrs. Trim, taking the warming-can from him. "You
are wanted in the shop, Mr. Pellet. A customer followed me in."
Putting the can within the fender, she gave the cup to Mrs. Float; and
at the same time regaled her with an account of the discovery in the
register. Mrs. Float, lifting the cup to her mouth with her crippled
hands, listened and stared, and for once felt some surprise; whilst
Blase Pellet, behind the counter, changing one volume for another,
caught a word here and there.
"What's that you have been saying about Mr. Raynor?" he demanded,
reappearing before Mrs. Trim, after despatching the customer. "I don't
believe a word of it."
"Then you can disbelieve it," was the tart retort; for Mrs. Trim did
not like cold water thrown upon her assertions. "Mr. Baackup himself
maarried him; there's his reverence's own name writ to the wedding.
"Married him to Miss St. Clare?"
"To Miss Margaret St. Clare. That's the pretty one. Don't you go
disputing a body's word again, Blase Pellet. Fact es fact. Did you
suppose they'd write down a lie? They registers 'ud be pewerly
ticklish consarns to sarve out in thaat form."
A summons at the other counter with some copper money, called Mr.
Blase away again. This time he was wanted to make up a complicated
prescription for hair-oil; comprising various choice ingredients.
Whilst he was doing it, his thoughts ran in so deep a groove that he
scented it with oil of turpentine instead of bergamot. And when the
purchaser complained, Mr. Blase, after sniffing and looking, and
finding out what he had done, being powerless to alter it, protested
that it was a new scent just come down from London.
"What a fool I have been!" ran his reflections. "If it is Miss St.
Clare that he has been in love with--and married her, too, in
secret--it can't have been Rosaline Bell: and when Rosaline said, poor
girl, that there was nothing between them, she must have told the
truth. And there I've been and gone and stirred up all this blessed
commotion about the old man!--and who is to know whether I shall be
able to lay it?"
At any rate, Mr. Blase Pellet endeavoured to "lay" it. He went forth
at once, and earnestly assured every one who would listen to him, that
he found he had been mistaken in fancying he had had the dream.
It chanced that on this same Monday morning, Frank Raynor was about to
depart for London. Whatever disorder might have fastened upon Dr.
Raynor, one thing was certain--it fluctuated greatly. And though only
a few days had elapsed since the return of Edina, he had so visibly
improved, both in appearance and strength, that she thought he was
getting well: and Frank felt less scruple in leaving him.
Frank, in his sanguine way, believed he had only to go to London to
drop into some good thing; that the one and the other would be, as it
were, a simultaneous process. On the spot one can do anything, he
observed, when discussing the point with Dr. Raynor. Dr. Raynor did
not oppose his going. Rather the contrary. If Frank went at all, now
was the best time: for he knew that this spurt of health in himself,
this renewed capacity of exertion, would not last long. During his
stay in London, Frank was to look out for, and engage, an assistant
for his uncle; a qualified medical man, who might become the partner
of Dr. Raynor, and might eventually succeed to his practice. In short,
it was just the same sort of thing that Frank was hoping to find for
himself with some first-rate medical man in London.
On the previous day, when the congregation was pouring out of church,
after Mr. Backup's sermon, Frank and Daisy had contrived to exchange a
few words, under cover of the crowd. He told her that he was at length
starting for town; and should only return to claim her. It might be in
a week's time--if he were fortunate and found what he wanted at once;
or it might be a fortnight. Longer than that it could not be; for his
uncle had given that as the extreme limit of his absence. Daisy
returned the brief pressure of his hand, which he managed to give
unseen, and glanced at him with her bright eyes, that had a whole sea
of hope in their depths. The world looked very fair to them; and they
felt that they had need of patience to endure this enforced separation
before they might enter on its enjoyment together.
On that same Sunday evening, Dr. Raynor spoke finally to Frank. They
were sitting together, talking of this approaching sojourn in town:
and of the great things it was to accomplish.
"Frank," said the doctor, rousing himself from a reverie, "has it ever
occurred to you that in carrying out the idea of settling in London,
you may be throwing away the substance for the shadow?"
Frank Raynor's gay blue eyes took a wondering expression as they went
out to the speaker.
"In what way, Uncle Hugh?"
"It seems to me that the very thing you are about to seek there is
lying ready to your hand here."
Frank understood now. "You mean that I should remain with you, Uncle
Hugh?"
"Yes. As my partner now, Frank. As my successor hereafter."
Frank Raynor slightly shook his head, but made no other answer.
"I say to you, Frank, what I would say to no one else: that the time
before some one must succeed to my place and practice is growing
limited. It may be only a few weeks; it may be a few months: more than
twelve months I do not think it can be. If----"
"Oh, Uncle Hugh!"
"Let me finish. I know I have your sympathy, my boy, and your best
wishes, but all the sympathy and the good wishes in the world cannot
alter the fiat which I fear has gone forth. Hear me, Frank. This has
become a good practice now: it is a thousand pities that you should
reject it and let it fall to a stranger."
"But, if I get a better practice than this in London, Uncle Hugh?" he
argued. "I mean, a more lucrative one."
"But that is uncertain."
"Not very uncertain," said sanguine Frank.
"At any rate, you will have to pay for it. Pay in proportion to its
merits."
"Of course. But I can do that. Uncle Francis is going to make up my
legacy to three thousand pounds, you know."
"I know that he says so."
"But--you can't doubt his word!" cried Frank, his eyes lifted again in
genuine amazement.
"Not his word, Frank: no, nor his intention: both are honest as the
day. I only doubt his power."
"His power! What, with all that accumulated money just dropped into
his hands!"
"But it has not yet dropped into them. It seems that a doubt exists as
to where the money is, or even whether any exists at all."
"Oh, Uncle Hugh, it is sure to be found. I dare say it has already
turned up."
"Well, I hope it has, Frank, and that you will reap all you expect.
Let it pass so. Still, you must spend the money to ensure a practice;
and the practice may not turn out as lucrative as you may be led to
expect. The practice here is certain; you need not spend any money in
securing it; and in a short time, a little sooner or a little later,
it will be all in your hands."
"Uncle Hugh, you are very generous, very thoughtful for me; but indeed
I could not settle at Trennach. There are reasons----"
Frank pulled up hastily. He was going on to say that for certain
reasons this one small spot, in the whole length and breadth of the
world's surface, was barred to him. Rather would he pass his life in
some desert unfrequented by man, than within sight and sound of the
Bare Plain.
"I do not like Trennach," he went on. "I could not remain here. For
the last two or three months," he added, in his candour, "I have been
as restless as possible, wanting to get away from it."
"You want to be amongst a more civilized community," said the doctor,
good-naturedly.
"Well--yes, Uncle Hugh. I do--when one is setting up for life."
"Then there's nothing more to be said," concluded Dr. Raynor.
So Frank held to his plan and his journey, and this morning was
starting in pursuance of it. Never again, as he hoped, should he be
living at Trennach. Just a few days, as it was arranged, he would
remain to introduce the new doctor--who would probably come down when
he did--to people and places; and then he would bid it farewell for
ever, carrying Daisy with him.
Taking leave of his uncle and Edina, he set out to walk to the
station, his light overcoat thrown back, and greeting every one he met
with a kindly word and a gay smile. The sky overhead was blue and
calm, giving promise that the day would be fair to its end; just as
Frank's hopeful heart seemed to assume that his life's journey would
be fair throughout its course.
"Good-morning, Mr. Raynor."
The salutation came from the young parson. He stood leaning on the
stile of the Rectory garden, which overlooked the high-road. Frank,
answering cordially, was intending to pass onwards. But Mr. Backup
motioned to retard him.
"I am off to London," said Frank, gaily. "Can I do anything for you?"
"I will not detain you a moment; I want to say just a word," spoke the
clergyman, feeling already uncommonly shy and nervous at the thought
of what that word was. "Mr. Raynor, I--I--I beg you to believe that I
have implicitly kept secret that--that matter which you requested me
to keep. But----"
"I know you have," cried Frank, extending his hand in token of
gratitude, "and I thank you heartily. Not a soul knows of it."
"But--I was about to say that I fear it is a secret no longer. Another
wedding took place in the church this morning, and the clerk read the
entry of yours in it. Other people read it. They saw it in signing the
book."
The information was about as complete a damper for Frank Raynor as
could have been administered to him. He stood perfectly still, his
lips settling into a grave expression. Not that Frank cared very much
that the fact itself should transpire: he had thought lately that if
it did so, it might be a stroke of good luck for him, by giving him
Daisy, who was now kept from him. But what struck him was, that if
this were true, it would stop his journey to London. Instead of going
there, he must bend his steps to The Mount; for he could not leave
Daisy to bear the brunt of the discovery alone.
"I knew Aaron Pitt was to be married this morning, but I declare that
I never gave a thought to the register," spoke he aloud. "They saw it,
you say. Did they make any comment?"
"A few comments were made. Clerk Trim was so much surprised that he
asked whether it was really my signature, and whether I married you.
It crossed my mind to say you did not wish it talked about just at
present, and to beg them to keep it secret. But as so many people were
there I thought it would be quite useless to do so."
"Quite useless," decided Frank. "Well, this has come upon me
unexpectedly, and--and it will change my immediate plans. I must go on
to The Mount now, instead of to the station."
"I am very sorry," began the clergyman, as nervously as though it were
through some fault of his own. "There are not two registers, you see,
Mr. Raynor, and----"
"Oh, don't be sorry," interrupted Frank, recovering his spirits and
his lightness of heart and tone. "I'm not sure but it may turn out for
the best. Upon my return from London, a few days hence, I was going to
declare it myself."
Shaking hands warmly, Frank continued his way, striding over the
ground at a great rate. Instead of branching off at the turning that
led to the railway, he strode straight on towards The Mount.
"All for the best," he repeated to himself, referring to his parting
words to the parson. "It may end in my taking Daisy up with me to-day.
It shall end so, if my will is worth anything."
Boldly went he to The Mount, knocking and ringing freely. Far from
feeling small for having, so to say, run away with the prettiest
daughter of the house, for which act he might expect reproach and
obloquy, he seemed to think he had come on some errand that merited
reward. One of the men-servants threw open the door.
"Can I see Mrs. St. Clare?"
"Mrs. St. Clare is not at home, sir."
"Indeed!" returned Frank, in surprise. For it was not her habit to go
out so early.
"My mistress and the young ladies have left home this morning, sir,"
explained the man. "They have gone for a week or so."
"Where to?"
"I don't know, sir. It was uncertain. Perhaps as far as Malvern: Miss
Lydia likes Malvern: or perhaps only to one of the seaside places on
this coast."
"You cannot tell me where a letter would find Mrs. St. Clare?"
"No, sir. My mistress said that all letters might wait here until she
came back."
So there was no help for it: he could not make the communication to
Mrs. St. Clare. But in all probability she would hear nothing of the
news before her return. Daisy would be sure to write to him, and Edina
had been requested to forward his letters to town.
"It must have been rather a sudden thought of Mrs. St. Clare's, this
going from home: was it not?"
"Quite so, sir. It was Miss Lydia who started it, while the ladies
were sitting in the drawing-room yesterday afternoon. Tabitha never
heard a word about packing up, sir, till she was at her tea."
Frank looked at his watch. There might still be time to catch his
train if he started at once for the station. He set out; and just
accomplished it. But that he did so was owing to the fact that the
train, as usual, came up considerably behind its time.
It is a great deal easier in this world to raise a storm than to allay
one: and so Mr. Blase Pellet found to his cost. He had thoroughly
aroused the public mind on the subject of the missing miner; and the
public mind refused to be calmed again.
Day by day, since the discovery in the register, did the astounding
news of Frank's private marriage make a deeper impression upon Blase
Pellet. He saw things now with very different eyes from what he had
formerly seen them. He told himself that Rosaline's version of her
intimacy with Mr. Raynor--namely, that it bore no particular intimacy,
and had nothing hidden beneath its surface--was the truth. The relief
to himself was wonderfully great. All his love for her, that he had
been angrily trying to repress, increased tenfold: and he began to see
that the love might indeed go on to fruition. At least, that if it did
not do so, the fault would lie in his own insensate folly. If he could
only stop this commotion about Bell, so that the man might rest where
he was, undiscovered, he should make his way with Rosaline. But the
public seemed anything but inclined to let it stop there: and Blase
Pellet gave many a hard word to the said public. Just at present
Trennach appeared to have nothing to do but to go about suggesting
disagreeable surmises.
One story led to a second; one supposition to another. From the first
startling rumour, that Bell might be lying at the bottom of the shaft
(as shown to Mr. Pellet in a remarkable dream), Trennach passed on to
believing that he was there; and, next, to say that he must be
searched for.
In vain Blase Pellet, mortified, agitated, and repentant, sought to
prove that Bell was not there; that no foundation could exist for the
notion; that he was now fully convinced his dream had not been a dream
at all, but the baseless fabric of a fancy. Trennach did not listen to
him. Excitement had gone too far for that. It was just possible, of
course, that poor Bell might not be in the pit; but they thought he
was there; and, at any rate, they meant to see for themselves. As
simple-minded, well-meaning Andrew Float expressed it: "Dreams didna
come for nought." Blase Pellet could have bitten out his false tongue.
How easy the future would now have seemed but for this storm! Frank
Raynor removed from his path by marriage, his own success with
Rosaline could only be a question of time: but if this stir, which he
had invoked, could not be stilled, and it went on to any discovery,
Rosaline would probably make it an excuse for throwing him off for
ever. That it would in any case grieve and anger her frightfully, and
that she would detect the falsity of his "dream," he knew by instinct;
and Blase felt tempted to wish he had been born dumb.
When we go out of our way to delude the world from interested motives,
and do it, moreover, by a lie, the chances are that the step recoils
unpleasantly upon us. In some way or other we are repaid in our own
coin. It may not be immediately; it may not be for years to come; but
rely upon it, it does come home to us sooner or later. We see the
blind folly we were guilty of: not to speak of the sin: and we cry out
in our flood-tide of repentance, Oh, that I had not quitted the
straightforward path! As Blase Pellet was crying now.
The owner of the land, one of those mine-owners whose wealth is
fabulous, became interested in the case. He came forward, and gave
orders that the pit should be examined, to ascertain whether or
not the missing man was there. The necessary machinery was soon
brought into requisition--where wealth commands, difficulties are
lightened--and the Bottomless Shaft was searched.
Yes. Josiah Bell was brought up to the surface. His attire was
recognized as that which he had worn the day of his disappearance: and
there remained no doubt that he had met his death that same night by
falling down the pit.
Amidst startling commotion, an inquest was called. Of course the
question now was, how he got down there: a question that puzzled his
friends and the world in general. For it was a well-known fact that
Bell gave way to superstitious fancies, and would not be likely to
approach the shaft alone at night.
But no evidence came forward that could throw light on the mystery.
Those who had seen him last in life--the pitmen with whom he had been
drinking at the Golden Shaft, and his wife at home, who had been the
last person, so far as was known, to exchange a word with him--told
what they had to tell. Their testimony amounted to nothing. Neither,
for that matter, did Mr. Blase Pellet's. Very much to his dismay, Mr.
Pellet was summoned as a witness, and was sharply questioned by the
coroner about his dream.
And Blase, in sheer helplessness and some terror, took up the dream
again; the dream which he had been trying lately to repudiate. No
other course than to take it up seemed open to him, now that matters
had come to this pass and Bell had been actually found. If he disowned
the dream, the next inquiry would be, How then did you come to know
anything of the matter: what told you that the man was lying there?
So, with clouded face and uneasy voice, Mr. Blase gave the history of
his dream: and when asked by a juryman why he had gone about lately
protesting that he was sure he had not had any dream, he replied that,
seeing the public were growing so excited, he had deemed it better to
disavow it, thinking it might calm them down again. The coroner, who
seemed to be unfortunately sceptical as to dreams in general, eyed the
witness keenly, and made him repeat the dream--at least what he
remembered of it--three times over. Blase declared he had never been
able to recollect much of it, except the fact that he had seen Bell
lying at the foot of the pit, dead. And then he had awakened in a
state of inconceivable fright.
"Had you any animosity against the deceased during his life?"
questioned the coroner, still regarding the witness intently.
"Oh dear, no, sir," returned Blase. "We were always the best of
friends. He was a sort of relation of mine. At least his wife is."
That no animosity had existed between them could be testified to by
the community in general, as the coroner found. He was looking at
Blase still.
"And you positively state, young man, that you had no grounds
whatever, except this dream, for suspecting or knowing that the
deceased was down the shaft?"
Blase coughed. "None."
"You do not know how he got down?"
"Good gracious I know! Not I, sir."
Blase had answered readily, and with much appearance of earnestness.
The coroner was conscious that dim doubts of Mr. Blase Pellet's strict
veracity were floating in his own mind, chiefly arising from his
incredulity as to dreams; but the doubts were not sufficient to act
upon, neither did he perceive that they could be in any way supported.
So he released the witness. And the inquest came to an end, the jury
returning an open verdict--
"That Josiah Bell met with his death through falling down the pit; but
that what caused his fall there was no evidence to show."