Summer and winter came and went, and were followed by a gloomy and
dismal spring. The late-lying snow was dissolved by heavy rains so that
the mill stream was swollen beyond precedent, and rolled thundering
through the gorge with the force of a full-grown cataract. But the mill
was idle, and the wheel stood still. None came for flour now, nor to
bring grist; for many a week all work had been foregone.
Yet the house was not deserted. An elderly woman, with a forbidding face
that had once been handsome, moved to and fro behind the windows; and a
man, bent and feeble, with strangely-grizzled hair, sat motionless for
hours at a time in his study-chair. Sometimes, in his loneliness, he
would set his teeth edge to edge, and clench his thin hands desperately,
and utter an inarticulate sound of menace. But at a certain hour of the
evening he would arise and walk with noiseless steps to the door of a
darkened chamber. There he would pause and lean and listen. Presently
from within would be heard the shrill, petulant crying of an infant,
and anon the voice of its young mother, sad and tender, soothing and
pathetic: "Baby, baby, don't cry; hush, hush, hush! father will come to
us soon; he will come, he will come! he loves us and will never leave
us; hush, hush, hush!"
At these sounds the pallid visage of the man would quiver and darken,
and he would press his clenched hands upon his breast. Returning at
length to his study, he got upon his knees and stretched his arms
upwards.
"God--God of evil or of good, whichever you are--give my enemy into my
power! Let my curse work upon him till it destroy him: let my eyes see
him perish! He has robbed me of my love, and my hope, and my salvation;
he has defiled and dishonoured that which was mine; he has made my life
a desert and an abomination! Yet I would live, and suffer all this and
more, if he might perish by my curse, body and soul, for ever! Grant me
this, God or Devil, and after do with me what you will!"
Such was his prayer. But he never entered the darkened chamber where the
child and its young mother lay; he never looked upon them or spoke to
them, nor did his heart forgive them. He could not forgive till he had
had revenge. Since that hour in which he had first learnt the truth, and
with hysteric fury had sprung at the seducer's throat, his soul had been
empoisoned against them and all the world. He was possessed by that
devil to which he prayed, and good was evil to him.
One day he was standing in a kind of stupor at his window staring out
at the black mill-wheel, which was now the only object in the world
with which he felt himself in sympathy. There came a knock at the
door, and Jael, the housekeeper, entered. Since the calamity which had
befallen, her manner towards Gloam had undergone a change. She had
before exercised a kind of authority over him, such as a compact and
unsympathetic nature easily acquires over one of wider culture but
more sensitive than itself. But Gloam had become more terrible in his
desolation than a less naturally gentle man would have been; and Jael
feared him. She felt that he might murder her; and minded her steps,
lest in some sudden paroxysm he should leap out upon her.
She advanced a little way into the room, and stopped. He did not turn,
or show that he was aware of her presence. After a few moments she said:
"Master, he is coming back; David's coming home again, sir. He's going
to make it all right with Swanhilda--he means to marry her!"
Gloam did not stir; but as Jael watched him narrowly, she fancied that
his limbs and body slowly stiffened, until they became quite rigid; only
his head had a slight shivering motion. The woman shrank back a step,
with a feeling of alarm.
It seemed a long while before Gloam spoke, and the same slight,
involuntary shiver pervaded his voice. He still kept his face carefully
averted.
"David coming back?"
"Yes, sir; I had a message from him this morning."
"To ... marry her!"
"Yes, indeed, sir; he'll make an honest woman of her. What he has done
has laid heavy on his conscience ever since. And so he says he hopes
you'll forgive and forget, and that we'll all prosper and be happy in
the future."
Gloam's chest began to heave, and he folded his arms tightly across it.
There was another long pause, as though he feared to trust his voice to
speak. Finally the words came between his shut teeth:
"When--when--when?"
"Did you mean, when will he be here, sir? Well, he was expecting to
reach the next town late this afternoon; and from there he'd foot it
over here; and that wouldn't bring him here till nigh midnight. But
likely he'll wait over, and get here to-morrow morning. Luckily though
there's a moon to-night, to show him where to step, in case he comes
right on."
Gloam unfolded his arms, and raising his hands to his head, passed them
several times slowly through his hair; staring downwards, meanwhile, at
the wheel. The rigidity had passed away, and he seemed to be recovering
from the agitation into which the first shock of the news had thrown
him. Jael's mind was a good deal relieved at the absence of any signs of
hostility on his part against David; and she was just about withdrawing,
when Gloam turned quickly about and stepped after her.
For the first time in the interview she now saw his face; and the sight
so far startled her firm nerves as to draw from her a short low cry. It
was not that the face was pallid, furrowed, and wasted; it had been all
that from the first; but what appalled her was the ghastly expression of
the mouth and eyes. It was not a smile, unless an evil spirit smiles,
foreseeing the destruction of its victim. Evil it was--delightedly evil,
like the triumph of long-baffled hate. It was a cruel, hungry, debased
expression, hideously at variance with the passionate and ill-regulated
but refined character of the man. It suggested the idea that Gloam was
possessed by a strange spirit, more potent and more wicked than his own,
which commanded his body to what uses it pleased, in spite of all that
he could do.
For it was evident that he himself understood the cause of Jael's
dismay; and he made a violent effort to drive the awful look out of his
face. So far from succeeding, however, he was forced to break out into
a frantic laugh, which echoed shrilly through the silent house, and
seemed, to Jael's scared ears, a copy of the infernal cachinnation which
was wont to issue from the bewitched mill!
"Don't mind it, Jael," he said, as soon as he could speak; "it's
nervousness--it's the reaction from suspense! Wait,--have you told...?"
"Swanhilda, sir? not yet,--I thought I'd best break it gradually----"
"Don't tell her! don't hint it to her!" He spoke in a harsh whisper,
bending forwards towards her: "Because--because he might not come after
all!" Then the mocking devil seized upon him again; and though he folded
his arms and held down his head, the unholy laughter which he strove to
suppress shook his whole body and turned his white face dark.
The housekeeper was glad to escape from the room; for she thought
Gloam must have gone mad, and knew not what insane violence he might
commit. Her first impulse was to run out and summon help, but after
her immediate panic had cooled down, she thought better of such a
proceeding. The explanation of his behaviour which Gloam himself had
given seemed, upon reflection, reasonable enough. The abrupt manner
in which she had told the news had thrown him for the moment off his
balance. It was, upon the whole, rather a good sign than a bad one,
for it showed him not so much deadened by suffering as he had appeared
to be. When he had had time to rally, he would be his own gentle and
manageable self once more.
Meanwhile she made preparations to receive David on his return. The
young man's conduct towards Swanhilda had so angered his mother that
she had more than acquiesced in the banishment which Gloam's rage had
forced upon him. Not that she loved Swanhilda much; nor did the mere
immorality of her son's deed greatly afflict her. But she had never
ceased to have faith that, sooner or later, news would come of the
yellow-haired maiden's relatives beyond the sea. It would come, perhaps,
in the form of a wealthy and open-hearted gentleman; or of a lady, with
diamonds sparkling on her hands and bosom. They would say, "We have
learnt that the little niece or cousin whom we had thought lost, was
saved, and is living here with you." "Yes," Jael would reply; "and she
has been brought up as true a lady as if she were in a queen's palace;
for we knew she had blue blood in her veins, and would come by her own
at last." Then Swanhilda would appear, and captivate them with her
beauty and simplicity. But when they offered to take her away, the girl
would say, "Not without David, for I love him!" Whereupon, no doubt,
there would be objections and remonstrances; but David's handsome face
and engaging manners would half disarm them; and at the last Jael
herself would arise, and sacrificing the woman to the mother, would
declare openly, "He too is of gentle blood; his father was old Harold
Gloam; he is the descendant of gentlemen, and not unworthy of the girl
who loves him." So would resistance finally be overcome, and all
concerned be enriched.
Such had been Jael's dream; and her resentment at the revelation of
David's crime had been mainly aroused by the fact that it involved
the frustration of a chance of fortune her own espousal of which had
rendered especially dear to her. When the scheme was first conceived,
the young man had, indeed, acquiesced in it, but as time went on, and
inquiries proved fruitless, he had abandoned the hope of obtaining
wealth and station through Swanhilda's means. Yet the girl loved him,
and was very beautiful; much of their time was of necessity passed in
each other's society; and in the end the sin was sinned. Doubtless
he had regretted her ruin; but to make her honourable amends had not
been compatible with the projects of his ambition: and when Gloam's
unexpectedly violent outbreak had driven him forth upon the world, he
had perhaps deemed his banishment a not inconvenient pretext for freeing
himself from the encumbrances, such as they were, which might otherwise
have impeded him. He left Swanhilda behind, to pass her dark hour alone.
But, this being so, what was the occasion of his sudden change of
purpose? Was he penitent? or had he found that honour and expediency
could be made compatible after all? The letter which he had written to
Jael did not explicitly answer this question; but from hints which it
contained, the housekeeper had drawn favourable inferences; and she
looked forward to his coming with agreeable anxiety. She had told Gloam
the news, intending (should he refuse a reconciliation) to acknowledge
to him that his father was David's likewise. But his strange behaviour
had frightened this purpose out of her head; and when she recollected
it again, it seemed most advisable that the revelation should for the
present be postponed.