blow. But like a tiger she leaped at him again, and bit at his hand and
screamed. In her mad fury she could scarce form and utter words.
Sampson Tramplara backed to the gate, defending himself with his pistol.
He struck her repeatedly, but she felt nothing. If he had cut her with
a knife she would not have known it, dominated as she was by her fury.
'You fool, Joyce, let me alone, or I will kill you!'
'You've killed the maister, you've killed 'n. I'll tear you to bits, I
will.'
'Stand back! look to your master. If you want him to live, you must
mind him at once.'
That answered; that alone could have answered.
She drew back.
'I'll see,' she said; 'if you've killed 'n, you'll niver escape me.
I'll hunt you over airth and under water; I'll go after'y through the
very fire. You'll not escape me. I'll see if he be alive or dead, but
happen what may,' she said, and raised his whip over her head, 'you
shall take that for a first taste.' Then she brought the lash down with
all the weight of her arm, and the force her fury lent her, across his
face. The lash cut it, and he staggered back and put his hands over his
eyes, and cried out with pain. Then she stepped back to where Herring
lay in the road. Young Tramplara stood for a moment, blinded with the
blow and convulsed with rage. His first impulse was to rush after her
and beat her down and stamp the life out of her. But prudence
prevailed; he took the opportunity to unhitch his horse, mount, and ride
away.
Joyce flung herself in the road beside Herring. All the rage and
roughness went out of her instantly. She felt him, to find if his bones
were broken. Then she drew him up and laid his head in her bosom, and
listened for his breath.
'My maister! my dear, dear maister!' she cried, between fear and tears.
'My darling, my darling maister! speak now, speak, do'y?'
She rocked herself from side to side, moaning, swaying his head in her
arms.
'Oh, maister, maister! what can I do?' She put her mouth to his, and
breathed into his lungs the contents of her own. 'I'll give'y all the
life that be in me, and welcome, if only I can make thee open your eyes
again. You must not die. Speak, and let me know that you hear me. It
be Joyce, your own poor Joyce, that has'y, and is a rocking of'y, and
calling of'y to wake up. Maister, darling maister, do'y hear me? None
shall touch you but me. I'll die afore I lets another near'y.' Then
her tears broke forth; she felt her utter helplessness. 'They'll be
coming for to take'y away, but they shall not do it.' She laid him back
in the road, then stood up, removed the gate, and put it in its place;
and then lifting Herring, she partly carried, partly drew him away,
through the gate-opening into the wood; there she could hide both him
and herself.
She took him again in her arms, and swayed herself to and fro, moaning
and then breaking into snatches of song. In the wood she resolved she
would remain; no one should take him from her. If he were dead, there
he should lie, dead, in her arms, on her lap, and she would sit over him
watching and waiting patiently till she died also, and the leaves came
down--copper-gold off the beech, and russet-brown off the oak--and
buried them together.
But no! no!--he must not die! What could she do for him? He had known
exactly what was right to do for her when 'she were all a broked in
pieces.' He had known how to mend her, so that now she was well and
strong again. But then he was a 'skollard' and she--she was but a poor
ignorant savage. What should she do? Go to a cottage and ask that he
might be taken in there? Her heart shrank from this. She could not
breathe in a house. There, others would surround him, and she would be
thrust out. No! she would nurse him there, under the sky and the green
trees, where the wind blew, and the grass sprang up, and the birds sang.
All at once a thought struck her. In her sense of loneliness,
helplessness, misery, an unutterable yearning came over her for some
help that she could not define, not even understand. It was a vague
effort of the poor dumb soul within to articulate a cry for help to--she
knew not whom. She threw herself on her knees beside the body, and
stretched her arms from which depended the wretched rags torn to shreds,
upwards towards the sky, and raised her face, quivering with agony, and
cried hoarsely, again and again--'Our Vaither--kinkum-kum--kinkum-kum!
Glory rallaluley!'
The star that Sampson Tramplara had seen and would have stamped out was
shining aloft, and it smote through the leafy vault over her head, and
sparkled in the tears that streamed over her cheeks.
So, throughout the night, she rocked her burden, and moaned, and pressed
it to her bosom, and then knelt and wept, and cried--'Kinkum-kum!
Kinkum-kum!'
*CHAPTER XXX.*
*BETWEEN CUP AND LIP.*
That same evening which had seen Herring flung senseless in the road was
to decide the fate of Orange Tramplara. She was to be married that
evening to Captain Trecarrel in the little chapel at his place. A
dispensation had been obtained from the bishop (_in partibus_) to allow
of the celebration out of canonical hours. The reason for this was that
a priest was on his way to Plymouth from Camelford, and would arrive
only in the afternoon--indeed, somewhat into the evening--by coach, and
he would have to proceed very early next morning on his way to Plymouth.
Consequently, the only manner in which it was convenient for the pair to
receive the nuptial benediction from a Catholic priest was for the
function to take place in the chapel at Trecarrel that evening somewhat
late. On the morrow the Protestant ceremony was to be performed in
Launceston parish church, followed by the wedding breakfast. Thus it
happened that, about the time the accident--if accident it may be
called--happened to John Herring, as related in the last chapter, Orange
was dressing for the marriage ceremony that was to take place in the
Catholic chapel at Trecarrel, and Mirelle was assisting her, at Orange's
special request.
Mirelle was not to be a bridesmaid. Orange had asked her to be one; she
could not well have failed to do so; but Mirelle had declined, and the
request had not been urged. Mirelle was glad to escape thus. She would
have to be present during the ceremony at Trecarrel, but she would kneel
in some shady corner, where her face could not be seen and her tears
noticed. Mirelle had passed a trying time. A weight lay on her heart
which she was unable to shake off. Even Mrs. Trampleasure had observed
the change in her appearance: the sunken eyes, and the transparency of
her cheek; but Mirelle had explained this by the climate, which affected
her. She had been accustomed to sun. Cloud and rain depressed her, and
affected both her health and her spirits. Orange was elated; victory
was all but achieved. In a few hours she would be Mrs. Trecarrel of
Trecarrel, and be translated to another sphere from that in which
circled her father and mother, Miss Bowdler, and the Reverend Flamank.
Bah! her bridesmaids expected to be made much of after she was lady of
Trecarrel, to be invited to her dances, to meet county people at her
receptions, to be still 'Dear Jane,' and 'Darling Sophy,' and 'My sweet
Rose.' They were very much mistaken. Once she had risen to her new
perch she would peck at every presumptuous fowl that aspired to sit
beside her.
'Mrs. Trecarrel of Trecarrel!' repeated Orange, as she surveyed herself
in the glass. She would become her station, with her proud, handsome
face and erect bearing. She had the figure and the dignity of a
duchess. At least she supposed she had. That she was a fine woman
could not be disputed, with a swelling bust, large and luscious eyes, a
bright colour, ripe and sensuous lips, and magnificent dark, glossy, and
abundant hair. A slight down, not enough to disfigure, showed on her
upper lip--the badge of a warm and passionate nature.
'Father will be too much engaged to worry me,' she thought, 'and
mother's cold will keep her from wetting her feet at Trecarrel. That is
a comfort. As for Sampson, he shall not cross my threshold, unless I
invite him to shoot rabbits when I am sure no gentleman will be
present.'
Mirelle was engaged on the rich but coarse hair of Orange. The delicate
white fingers trembled, and were less skilful than usual.
'Really, Mirelle, you are clumsy this evening,' said Orange; 'you pull
my hair and hurt me.' She looked before her into the glass.
'Are you crying, child?'
'No, Orange.'
'I thought I saw something glistening in your eye.'
Mirelle had the strength to repress her tears. She devoted her whole
attention to that on which she was engaged.
'You will come occasionally and see me,' said Orange. 'I shall be so
pleased to show you all I am doing; and I am certain the Captain will be
delighted. Now, don't run the hair-pins into my head! I tell you, you
hurt me. Really, Mirelle, you are very clumsy. What ails you this
evening?'
Mirelle made no reply.
'Try on the orange-wreath and the veil, child,' said Miss Trampleasure.
Mirelle took up the wreath and adjusted it.
'The Captain has always been partial towards you,' continued Orange.
She was aware that what she said gave pain, but then, what triumph is
complete without the infliction of wounds and agonies?
'Do you not think Harry is a handsome man? I do not believe I have ever
seen, even in a woman, such beautiful and expressive eyes. There,
Mirelle, is a pin with a large Cornish crystal in the head; put it in my
hair and fasten my wreath with it.'
Mirelle did not, could not, speak. It was as much as she could do to
maintain the mastery over her feelings.
'Do you know, you palefaced witch, I was at one time almost jealous of
you. I thought the Captain was attentive to you--more attentive than he
ought to be, and that you were trying to draw him away from me. Of
course that was natural. Every girl begrudges another her lover, and
would rob her of him if she could. It is a natural instinct. But Harry
never really cared for you; he told me so; he was only playing---- Good
heavens, Mirelle!' Orange sprang up, and the tears, tears of pain,
started into her eyes. In a moment, in a flash of passion, she struck
Mirelle on the cheek with her open hand.
'Do you know what you have done? You have run the pin into my head.
Look--look!' She snatched off her veil. 'How can I wear this? There
is a spot of blood on it.'
Then Mirelle burst into tears. She had an excuse for them--she had been
struck.
'I am sorry,' said Orange; 'but really you hurt me. Look at the blood,
and convince yourself. I did not mean to strike you; but the pain was
sharp, and I forgot myself. Do control yourself. Hark! I hear horses'
feet. The carriage will be here directly, and we shall start for
Trecarrel. Dry your eyes and control your feelings. You must not let
people see that you have been crying, or they will say'--her malice
gained the mastery once more--'that you loved the Captain, and were
envious of me.'
Mirelle covered her face.
'Of course,' said Orange, looking hard at her, with her red lips
twitching, 'there is not a shadow of truth in this; still, tongues are
sharp and venomous, and such things will be said if you give occasion
for them.'
Mirelle stood up, proud, cold, and impassive. In a moment she had
conquered her feelings. Her pride was touched, and that recovered her.
'No one shall dare to say such things of me,' she answered. 'Sit down,
and I will finish your toilette.'
The hoofs on the gravel that Orange had heard were those of Sampson's
bay, now utterly tired out, and scarce able to carry his master up the
steep ascent from the valley of the Tamar.
He sprang out of his saddle, and burst into the hall as his mother
descended the stairs in a stiff myrtle green satin dress, with a cap on
her head adorned with rose-coloured bows.
'Where is my father?' asked Sampson, abruptly.
'He is dressed, Sampy darling, and in the parlour. I'm going in there
too. We expect the carriage shortly. The bridesmaids will be picked up
at their own doors, but our carriage is coming here.'
He did not wait to hear her, but rushed into the drawing-room.
'By Grogs! Sampy,' exclaimed Mr. Trampleasure, 'what brings you here?
I thought you were to remain in charge at Ophir, and give us your
visits, as the wisest of men said, like angel visits, few and far
between. I want you there, and not here, boy.'
'Father, I must speak with you instantly, and alone,' he added, as he
saw his mother come rustling and sniffing in at the door. 'Let us go
into the office.'
'Nothing wrong with Ophir, lad, eh?' asked the old man, his colour
changing.
'Everything,' answered Sampson. 'For heaven's sake lead on. Not a
moment is to be lost.'
Mr. Trampleasure was arrayed in evening dress, with a very white tight
neckcloth, and very stiff projecting frills to his shirt. He was in a
fine black cloth dress coat. His hair was as white as his frills. He
took up a plated branch candlestick, and led the way. His hand shook.
'Take care, Tram, darling,' said Mrs. Trampleasure, 'you be a joggling
of the wax all over the carpet, and it do take a time getting of it out
with a hiron and blotting paper.'
He opened the door of the office and went in. He had been working, and
smoking, and drinking there that afternoon; there was a fire burning red
on the hearth. The room reeked with rum and tobacco.
The old man put the candle down, and then stayed himself with one hand
on the table. 'By Grogs!' he said, 'you've given me a turn, Sampy.
What do you mean by saying that everything is wrong with Ophir?'
'I mean what I say,' answered the young man. 'Ophir is smashed up.
That cursed fool Herring has found all out. Flamank knows also. They
saw me salting the stream.'
The old man's face turned purple.
'That's not the worst--there's worse behind,' continued young Sampson.
He hesitated a moment, and looked at his father. Mr. Trampleasure was
feeling about him with the disengaged hand for his arm-chair. He
gripped the table with the left. He tried to speak; he opened his mouth
and shut it again. It was horrible to see him, like a fish, gasping,
and nothing proceeding from his lips. 'It must come out. But first;
father--we shall have to run for it. I especially. Where is the
money?'
The old man pointed with a faltering hand in the direction of a strong
box, let into the wall. Then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled
out a bunch of keys. He tried to indicate a single key, but could not
take his other hand from the table. The bunch fell on the floor.
'All right, governor,' said Sampson. 'Now I will tell you the worst,
and a cursed ugly worst it is. You may as well hear it from me as from
another. I must be off to-night--at once; you suit your convenience.
Do as you like. You have nothing to fear but the stone jug; I the
wooden horse. I have shot one man dead to-day, the constable, and
broken the neck of another, John Herring, so the two can keep each other
company; and I must make off.'
Then old Trampleasure dropped like a stone on the floor. There came a
sudden blow within his head, as from a hammer, and he saw nothing more.
Sampson stood over him for a moment. No time was to be lost. Every
minute was important. Whatever happened to his father,
he--Sampson--must get clear away. He saw in a moment what had occurred.
His father had been struck down with an apoplectic fit, and could not
escape. Time was too precious to be wasted in attending to him. He
could not afford to call for assistance. He stooped and took up the
bunch of keys, and went to the strong box. Without much difficulty he
unlocked it, and fell to wondering over his father's wisdom.
Old Trampleasure had feared discovery, and was prepared for a sudden
emergency. All the money that had come into his hands had been reduced
to the most portable form possible, in hundred-pound, fifty-pound, and
ten-pound notes. There they lay in thick packets. Sampson took them
all. He left not one behind, and stowed them away in a travelling
valise of his father's, which the old man took with him when he went to
Ophir for a few days.
Then Sampson opened the private door of the office, and, without another
look at the old man lying prostrate, darted forth.
'What a time them two are in there together!' grumbled Mrs.
Trampleasure; 'and, oh dear! there comes the chaise to take us to
Trecarrel.' She ran to the foot of the stairs, and called, 'Orange
dear! Orange! the carridge be here!'
'I am ready, mother,' answered the bride, descending.
The hall was well lighted; and as she came down, followed by Mirelle,
she looked radiant, proud, triumphant. She waved back Mirelle, lest she
should step on her veil, with an angry, insolent gesture.
'My word, Orange! you are a beauty! I'll run and call your father.'
But he was beyond call.
*CHAPTER XXXI.*
*JOYCE'S PATIENT.*
Joyce and her patient could not remain concealed. Her cries had been
heard when she fell--literally tooth and nail--on Sampson Tramplara, and
those who heard them, being superstitious, thought best to keep away
from the spot whence they had sounded.
Later in the evening the farmer of Coombow, coming home from a cattle
fair, heard the moans and wailing in the wood, and was greatly scared by
the injured horse, which had thrust itself into the hedge. So sincerely
alarmed was he, and so thoroughly did his account of what he had heard
and seen frighten his household, that not one of his sons--no, not all
of them in phalanx, armed with pitchforks and lighted by lanthorns,
would venture that night into the high road to ascertain the cause of
the alarm.
With morning, however, courage came, and early, when the day began to
break, nearly the entire household, male and female, went out to see
whether there was any natural explanation to be found for those things
that had, in the darkness, so scared Farmer Facey.
The horse was found.
'Why! I'm blessed if this bain't Squire Hamlyn's roan,' said the
farmer. 'I ought to know 'n becos I reared 'n. Now this be reg'lar
curious.'
Joyce had been unable to retire with her burden far into the wood. The
hillside was steep, and she could not carry the unconscious load far up.
She had attempted to do so, fearing lest she should be seen, but when
she raised him he moaned with pain. She was like a cat playing with a
dead bird, putting it down, then lifting it and carrying it away, then
putting it down again.
It was not long before she was discovered and surrounded.
'Who is he? How comes he here? How did this happen? Why didn't you
bring him to the farm?'
Questions were poured upon her. She looked about her angrily,
suspiciously, as a cat would look when surrounded with those who, she
thinks, will deprive her of her bird, or at least dispute her sole
possession of it.
'He be mine. I found 'n. I saved 'n. Capt'n Sampson Tramplara would
ha' killed 'n, but I pervented 'n.'
'But who is he?'
'He be the maister. He mended me when I were gone scatt. Nobody shan't
so much as touch 'n. I've got 'n fast, and I'll care for 'n, that I
will. There--you can go, and leave us alone here. What be you a
bothering here for? I didn't call'y.'
'Nonsense. He must be taken into a house, and put to bed,' said Mrs.
Facey. 'Poor soul! Dear alive!'
'He shan't go under no house. If he goes anywhere, he shall go home.'
'Where is his home?'
'Where should it be but West Wyke?'
'What! West Wyke in South Tawton?'
'Sure-ly. Where else should it be? It don't jump about, now here, now
there, I reckon.'
After much difficulty with Joyce, who was unreasonable in her jealousy
and suspicion, it was decided that the farmer should send a waggon well
bedded with straw, and that Joyce should be conveyed in this, with the
still insensible man in her arms, to West Wyke.
There was no medical man nearer than Okehampton, and West Wyke was not
as distant from Okehampton as Coombow, the place where they were.
'I arn't got no money,' said Joyce, 'but I'll pay you for the waggon,
sure enough.'
'I do not expect payment,' said Farmer Facey in a mildly deprecatory
tone--a tone that implied he would yield the point if pressed. 'I dare
say the gentleman, when he gets well, will remember me. And if he
don't, well--he'll be sure to have relations as will do what be proper
and respectable.'
'It be I,' said Joyce, defiantly, 'it be I as has to pay, and blast me
blue if I don't.'
'Where will the money come from?' asked Facey, surveying her rags.
'I'll pay wi' thicky arms!' said Joyce, thrusting forth her hands.
'See! is there a man among you can work as I can? When the young
maister be well, then, sure. I'll come and work for'y two months by the
moon, I will, for the loan of the waggon to-day; and I'll ax for no meat
nor no housing. I'll feed myself, and I'll sleep where I can, in the
open air.'
'Her must be one of the Nymet savages, sure-ly,' said the farmer, in an
undertone, to his wife.
Joyce's ears were keen, and she heard him.
'What if I be a savage?' she asked. 'I baint, like mun [them] to Nymet.
Them be proper savages. Vaither be a head above they. He hev a got
what he may call his own.'
The waggon was brought to the place, and two men lifted Herring into it.
Joyce climbed in, and, after having seated herself in the straw, took
him again in her arms.
'If the cart go over rough stones, it shall joggle me,' she said; 'I'll
hold'y, maister dear, that you shan't feel it.'
'I say, maiden,' said Farmer Facey, looking over the rail of the waggon
as they were about to start, 'when the young gentleman gets better, just
tell him he was took home in Farmer Facey's waggon, with his team and
horseman, Farmer Facey, to Coombow. He might like to know, you see,
and, being a gentleman, as I take it, he won't forget.'
Just as the cart was off, he called to the driver, 'Stay a bit, Jim! I
think I'll take a lift, too, as far as to Bridestowe, and I'll just up
and see the Squire. I'll tell him what has happened to poor Major; and,
as it chances, I've another horse out of the same mare, I can sell 'n--a
tidy sort of a dark roan, you minds 'n, Jim. Mebbe we'll strike a
bargain. I'll go wi' you now on the chance.'
At Bridestowe the waggon came to a long halt. Farmer Facey descended;
the driver was thirsty. He had much to tell. A crowd gathered round
the cart. Daniel, the hostler, climbed up the wheel to look into the
face of Herring, and would have mounted the waggon had not Joyce beat
him off with Sampson's whip.
'Sure it be he, poor young man,' said Daniel. 'I know by token he
forgot to chuck me a sixpence last night. 'Tis he as went after the
Squire's horse. How came this about? Do'y say as Major hev a foreleg
broke? Well, now, Loramussy! how can that have happened? The young
gent may come round, right enough, but the oss--he must be shot. 'Tis a
thousand pities.'
'There be nothing happens but what be good for trade,' observed Farmer
Facey.
'You're right there, maister!' answered Daniel. 'There's not a sparrer
falls, nor an oss breaks his knees, nor gets spavined, but what it be
good for them as is vetinaries, or has osses to sell. And it be the
same wi' 'uman beings; them goes scatt at times, and it be for the good
o' the doctors. So the Lord sends to every man his meat.'
'But how did it come about?' This was a question asked of Joyce
repeatedly. But Joyce was uncommunicative. She kept her eyes fixed on
the face of the injured man, and only now and then turned them with a
sharp, defiant glance at any one who approached too near.
The hostess kindly brought her a hunch of bread. She tore and ate it
much as an animal devours its food. She returned no thanks for it. She
could think of nothing but him whom she held to her bosom, watching
every change in his face, or fearing lest he should die in her arms.
The journey was long, but Joyce did not relax her hold nor relinquish
her place for one moment.
'Won't'y get down and hev a drop o' cyder?' asked the driver, at every
public house they passed. 'It be a faint day for the horses, and they
need refreshing.'
Joyce shook her head in reply. But if Joyce would not assist in cooling
the horses by drinking herself, the driver was more considerate.
Between each of these refreshment stations, the man endeavoured to open
conversation with her. He was a young fellow, fresh in colour, and not
bad looking. He had a sufficiently observant eye to see that Joyce was
a fine girl, though a very rough one. But she would not answer him; she
did not even look at him, unless he ventured too near her charge.
She was patient at the stoppages, which were many. They rested Herring.
She saw in his face that he suffered with the motion and was easy when
the motion ceased. That sufficed her.