IN THE CORNFIELD
The little town of Grimleigh opened full on to the Channel. Its
extension had of necessity been lateral, by reason of the hills which
in the rear rose so precipitously as to be hopelessly inaccessible to
the builder. But at either extremity the gradient became easier, and
here row upon row of houses sloped down towards a lower plane built up
of silt. This, too, was well covered, though here again Nature had
intervened and the builder had perforce to stay his hand, threatened
by the water. A narrow stone jetty ran out abruptly into the harbour,
which, sheltered as it was by the high land around, afforded secure
haven for those fishers of the deep upon whom in a large degree
Grimleigh depended for its prosperity.
As you drew from the sea, the precipitous nature of the land ceased,
and far into the hazy distance the undulating down now waved with the
ripening corn. The comfortable-looking homesteads scattered here and
there seemed almost buried in the golden billows. The distinction,
too, between the land and sea folk was sharply marked. The one rarely
mingled with the other. When Grimleigh folk left Grimleigh it was
mostly for the sea, while Poldew--the market-town some ten miles
further inland--was the invariable goal of farmer and farm labourer.
Mr. Carwell owned the farm nearest to Grimleigh. It stretched directly
from the ridge where the hills sloped beachwards. A broad highway
running through the corn-lands lifted itself over the rise and dropped
gradually down until it ran into the High Street bisecting the silt.
Besides this main approach, the place was rich in paths, which ran
round the meadows; these the Grimleigh folk put to the fullest
possible use, both economic and romantic.
A month after the disappearance of Tera two figures might have been
seen climbing one of these paths. The one was Herbert Mayne, a smart
yeoman squire, of handsome countenance and somewhat fickle
disposition; the other Rachel Carwell, to whom for some time past the
young man had attached himself. Rachel was small and rather pale; but
you would not have denied her prettiness. Her brown curling hair and a
neat figure and large blue eyes were attractions quite strong enough
for the inflammable Herbert to lose his head over. In spite of her
modest slate-coloured garb and close bonnet, Rachel knew very well
that she was pretty. She in nowise resented Herbert's attentions, for
he was well-looking, well-to-do, and of a good yeoman family. Her
father, she knew, would approve of such a match, and as her own
inclinations leaned towards it, she grudged Herbert neither her
company nor her conversation. It is true that he had been wild, that
there were many tales current in the district about his attentions to
other girls, and that it was reported that he had once been in love
with a gipsy girl; but Rachel looked upon all these things as follies
of the past. Herbert was now a reformed character. He went to chapel,
he attended to his farm, and he cast no glance at another woman while
Rachel was by; and, although he had said no word of love to her, she
quite looked on him as her future husband. She was prepared to become
Mrs. Mayne whenever he should propose to raise her to that dignity.
There was no romance about Rachel or her courting: all was dull and
respectable, with just an element of religion thrown in, to render her
position irreproachable.
When the pair reached the brow of the hill, they cast one glance at a
distant field, where Farmer Carwell was cutting and binding his corn,
then turned to look back on Grimleigh and the distant ocean sparkling
in the strong sunshine. Rachel had taken Herbert's arm to climb the
hill, and she still leaned on it with girlish confidence in its strong
support. After a time they sat down on a convenient seat, and Rachel,
feeling hot, took off her close linen bonnet. Her hair was very
beautiful.
"What lovely curls you have!" said Herbert, admiringly. "It seems a
shame to hide them."
Rachel laughed and blushed, not ill pleased. When was a woman
impervious to flattery?
"It is not right that one of our congregation should give way to the
vanities of this world," she said demurely. "I should put on my bonnet
again, since my hair attracts your attention."
"No, don't, Rachel. I like to see a woman make herself look as pretty
as she can."
"Vanity and vexation of spirit, Herbert."
"Nonsense! I think our people are far too severe. Wouldn't you like to
wear dresses of a pretty colour, and a gold brooch and a hat with
flowers in it?"
"What is the use of thinking of such things?" said Rachel, rather
pettishly, for she had the true feminine instinct for fashion and
colour. "Father would never let me dress gaily; besides, think of the
scandal there would be if I appeared in Bethgamul as you describe."
"That native girl, Tera, was gaily enough dressed, Rachel; and no one
said anything in rebuke to her."
"You mean Bithiah," corrected Rachel, primly. "Don't call her by the
name her heathen father gave her; you forget, Bithiah was a king's
daughter--not an English girl. Mr. Johnson said that her father wished
her to be dressed like a parrot. After all, Bithiah was only a poor
heathen."
"Tera was; but Bithiah believed, and was baptized like a good
Christian."
"It did not do her much good, then," said Rachel, with jealousy,
"seeing that she ran away from our good minister. They will never find
her again."
"Never!" said Herbert, confidently. "She has vanished as completely as
though the earth had swallowed her up. Mr. Johnson thought that she
might have gone to London. Indeed, he went there to search for her."
"Why to London?"
"Oh, it seems that the captain of the ship she came to England in
lives in London--a man called Jacob Shackel, to whom Mr. Johnson
thought she might have gone. But Shackel knew nothing about her, and
Mr. Johnson came home in despair. I often wonder why she ran away."
"I don't," said Miss Carwell, shrewdly. "Everybody is making mystery
out of her disappearance, but I can't see it myself. She was in love
with my wicked cousin Jack--and ran away with him."
"You are wrong, Rachel. Mr. Brand, the missionary, asked Jack about
that, and he denied it. Besides, Jack was almost mad with grief when
he heard the girl was lost, and hunted for her everywhere. There isn't
a hole or corner in the country where he has not been to search for
her."
"Oh, Jack is very wicked and very clever," said Rachel, with a toss of
her head. "He never comes to chapel, and was always a scoffer at godly
things. He bowed down to that girl as though she were one of her own
idols. Jack has been gone from Grimleigh these two weeks. I believe
Bithiah ran away first, and he joined her. Bithiah indeed!"--this with
a more vigorous toss of the head--"she has forfeited all right to
that name by her conduct. I shall call her Tera. Well, Jack, believe
me--Jack and Tera, wherever they are, are together."
"But, Rachel, Jack left here to join his ship in London."
"So he says; but I don't believe him. Jack never did have any regard
for the truth. No, he has joined Bithiah; else why did she take her
pearls with her?"
This reasoning was so purely feminine that Herbert could neither
follow nor answer it. He was a friend of Finland's, and had received
from him so solemn an assurance about his ignorance of Tera's
whereabouts, that he did not for one moment believe that the lovers
were together. Moreover, before Jack had left for London he had asked
Mayne to watch Johnson, so as to discover, if possible, if the
minister were in anyway concerned in his ward's disappearance. In
pursuance of his promise, Herbert had made many inquiries about
Johnson, and had learned much concerning him which he now imparted to
Rachel.
"Do you know that our pastor is in debt?" he asked, with a certain
amount of hesitation.
"What! Mr. Johnson--in debt?" gasped Rachel, brokenly. "I don't
believe it; no, I can't. Why, he lives like a pauper--at least, well
within his income."
"He is hard up, for all that, Rachel. While at college he contracted
certain debts, and these are not yet paid. Now he is suffering for the
sins of his youth."
Rachel, who was a fervent admirer of the minister, jumped up, and
began to walk towards the distant cornfield. She seemed very angry. "I
would not talk of youthful sins if I were you," she said tartly to the
astonished Herbert, as he regained his place by her side; "you are not
so good yourself, or were not till lately."
"I never pretended to be a saint, Rachel. No man is, that I know
of--not even our precious pastor, in spite of what they say. He was in
love with Bithiah himself."
"I know that," retorted Miss Carwell, unexpectedly. "I have seen him
looking at her in chapel. Do you think I have no eyes in my head? Of
course Mr. Johnson loved her, and a very lucky girl she was to gain
the affection of such a man. But that her heart was set on worldly
things, she would have remained here and married our pastor, instead
of running away with that wicked cousin of mine. But these debts,
Herbert--who told you about them?"
"I heard of them from several people. But the main source is through
Mr. Johnson's servant, who found one or two of the letters asking for
payment, and read them."
"Oh, Herbert!--poor Mr. Johnson will be called to account by the
elders for this. They think it is a dire sin to owe money."
"No doubt; and he will probably be asked to resign the pastorate of
our Bethgamul. But----"
"Now don't you say a word against him," interrupted Rachel, with
crimson cheeks, "or I shall go away."
"Rachel, you are not in love with him, I hope?"
"No, Mr. Mayne, I am not. How dare you say such a thing to me! I am in
love with no one at present."
"Not with anyone?" whispered Mayne, looking directly at her.
"I refuse to answer questions which you have not the right to ask."
By her reply, Rachel hinted very plainly that Herbert could easily
become possessed of that right by the simple procedure of a proposal.
She quite expected him to do so, seeing that she had thus met him
half-way; but to her surprise and secret anger he appeared in no way
anxious to avail himself of the opportunity. Making no reply, he
walked on gloomily beside her, silent and ill pleased. This behaviour
both piqued and frightened her. So, determined not to say the first
word in reconciliation of their tiff, she, too, held her tongue. And
so they walked on.
By this time they had arrived nearly at the cornfield where the
harvesting was going on, under the personal supervision of Farmer
Carwell. The sturdy old man was no convert to the use of steam, and
his corn was reaped with sickle and scythe in the style of his
forefathers. A long line of men, whose bodies rose and fell in
rhythmic movement, swept the glittering blades through the thick
standing grain. At their heels scrambled a crowd of women and boys,
binding the swathes into sheaves. After them came the gleaners,
picking up what was left. The sun flamed hotly in a cloudless sky of
soft blue, and the yellow plain glowed like a furnace, Carwell, with
his coat off, was directing operations, and only desisted from
shouting and working when he saw his daughter approach with the silent
Herbert at her heels.
"Hey, lass! you are just in time to give us a hand," said he, wiping
the perspiration from off his brow. "And you too, Mayne; but maybe you
are too much taken up with your own crops to lend a hand with mine?"
"Oh, I'll help," said Herbert, slipping off his coat. "I just came up
with Rachel here, although by rights I should be back at the farm."
"I'm sorry you troubled to come with me, Mr. Mayne," replied Rachel,
not well pleased at this ungallant speech. "But we won't detain you
here. Please go back to your own land."
"Nay, nay," cried her father; "let the lad have a glass of beer and
give us a hand if he will. We need all the help we can get, for I
shouldn't be surprised if we have a deal of rain before the end of the
week."
"The weather looks set enough now," said Herbert, picking up a scythe.
"Phew! it's as hot as the tropics. Well, I'll mow. Rachel, will you be
my Ruth, and glean after me?"
Rachel tossed her head. "Indeed I will not, Mr. Mayne."
"It was 'Herbert' a few minutes ago," hinted the young man, dropping
his voice.
"Ah, you were good then. Just now I am not pleased with you."
It was on Herbert's lips to ask her the reason, when a commotion was
seen to take place amongst the harvesters. Excited voices were raised;
two or three men stepped into the standing corn, and all threw down
their hooks.
"Hullo, hullo!" cried the farmer, striding towards them. "What's all
this?"
The answer he received startled him. A woman shrieked, and then
several of them came tearing past, wild-eyed and white-faced. Rachel
looked at Mayne. "What--what is it?" she gasped. But without reply
Herbert rushed on towards the disordered group.
"What is the matter?" roared Carwell, parting the crowd right and
left. "What are ye----?"
Then his eye caught sight of a dark object lying in the middle of the
corn, and he recoiled. "A body!" he exclaimed, in horrified tone. "God
help us--the body of a lass!"
It was, indeed, the body of a woman. The harvesters examined it, but
they could not recognize the face. It had evidently lain there several
weeks among the standing corn. Recognition of its identity was
impossible; indeed rain and sun and wind had combined to blot out
well-nigh all semblance to humanity. But the dress showed these were
the remains of a woman. There was something very pitiful in this poor
clay lying there in the sunshine.
"Strangled!" muttered Carwell, bending over it; "there is a cord round
the throat. Send the women away," he shouted; "this is no sight for
them. Poor lass! Dead--and in my field. I wonder who she was. Keep
back, Rachel," he added, as his daughter, attracted by the news, came
swiftly up.
But Rachel did not pause. She had caught sight of the dead woman's
dress, and brushed past her father.
"Bithiah!" she cried. "It is Bithiah--Tera--Mr. Johnson's ward!"