How did poor, faulty Griffith receive it?
He raised his head, and turned his brown eye gentle but full upon her.
"My poor girl," said he, "I see what you are driving at. But that will
not do. I have nothing to give you in exchange. I hate my wife that I
loved so dear: d--n her! d--n her! But I hate all womankind for her
sake. Keep you clear of me. I would ruin no poor girl for heartless
sport. I shall have blood on my hands ere long, and that is enough."
And, with these alarming words, he seemed suddenly to recover all his
vigour; for he rose and stalked away at once, and never looked behind
him.
Ryder made no further attempt. She sat down and shed bitter tears of
sorrow and mortification.
After this cruel rebuff she must hate somebody; and with the justice
of her sex, she pitched on Mrs. Gaunt, and hated her like a demon, and
watched to do her a mischief by hook or by crook.
Griffith's appearance and manner caused Mrs. Gaunt very serious
anxiety. His clothes hung loose on his wasted frame; his face was of
one uniform sallow tint, like a maniac's; and he sat silent for hours
beside his wife, eyeing her askant from time to time like a surly
mastiff guarding some treasure.
She divined what was passing in his mind, and tried to soothe him;
but almost in vain. He was sometimes softened for the moment; but
hæret lateri lethalis arundo; he still hovered about, watching her and
tormenting himself; gnawed mad by three vultures of the mind--doubt,
jealousy and suspense.
Then Mrs. Gaunt wrote letters to Father Leonard: hitherto she had only
sent him short messages.
Betty Gough carried these letters and brought the answers.
Griffith, thanks to the hint Ryder had given him, suspected this, and
waylaid the old woman, and roughly demanded to see the letter she was
carrying. She stoutly protested she had none. He seized her, turned her
pockets inside out, and found a bunch of keys; item, a printed dialogue
between Peter and Herod, omitted in the canonical books, but described
by the modern discoverer as an infallible charm for the toothache;
item, a brass thimble; item, half a nutmeg.
"Curse your cunning," said he; and went off muttering.
The old woman tottered trembling to Mrs. Gaunt, related this outrage
with an air of injured innocence, then removed her cap, undid her hair,
and took out a letter from Leonard.
"This must end, and shall," said Mrs. Gaunt, firmly; "else it will
drive him mad and me too." Bolton fair-day came. It was a great fair,
and had attractions for all classes. There were cattle and horses of
all kinds for sale, and also shows, games, wrestling, and dancing till
day-break.
All the servants had a prescriptive right to go to this fair: and
Griffith himself had never missed one. He told Kate over-night he would
go, if it were not for leaving her alone.
The words were kinder than their meaning; but Mrs. Gaunt had the tact,
or the candour, to take them in their best sense. "And I would go with
you, my dear," said she; "but I should only be a drag. Never heed me;
give yourself a day's pleasure, for indeed you need it. I am in care
about you: you are so dull of late."
"Well, I will," said Griffith. "I'll not mope here when all the rest
are merry-making."
Accordingly, next day about eleven in the morning, he mounted his horse
and rode to the fair, leaving the house empty; for all the servants
were gone except the old housekeeper; she was tied to the fireside by
rheumatics. Even Ryder started, with a new bonnet and red ribbons; but
that was only a blind. She slipped back and got unperceived into her
own bedroom.
Griffith ran through the fair; but could not enjoy it. Hærebat lateri
arundo. He came galloping back to watch his wife, and see whether Betty
Gough had come again or not.
As he rode into the stable-yard he caught sight of Ryder's face at an
upper window. She looked pale and agitated, and her black eyes flashed
with a strange expression. She made him a signal which he did not
understand; but she joined him directly after in the stable-yard.
"Come quietly with me," said she, solemnly.
He hooked his horse's rein to the wall, and followed her, trembling.
She took him up the back stairs, and, when she got on the landing, she
turned and said, "Where did you leave her?"
"In her own room."
"See if she is there now," said Ryder, pointing to the door.
Griffith tore the door open: the room was empty.
"Nor is she to be found in the house," said Ryder; "for I've been in
every room."
Griffith's face turned livid, and he staggered and leaned against the
wall. "Where is she?" said he, hoarsely.
"Humph!" said Ryder, fiendishly. "Find him, and you will find her."
"I'll find them if they are above ground," cried Griffith, furiously;
and he rushed into his bedroom and soon came out again, with a fearful
purpose written on his ghastly features and in his bloodshot eyes; and
a loaded pistol in his hand.
Ryder was terrified; but instead of succumbing to terror, she flew at
him like a cat and wreathed her arms round him.
"What would you do?" cried she. "Madman, would you hang for them? and
break my heart; the only woman in the world that loves you. Give me the
pistol. Nay, I will have it."
And, with that extraordinary power excitement lends her sex, she
wrenched it out of his hands.
He gnashed his teeth with fury, and clutched her with a gripe of iron:
she screamed with pain: he relaxed his grasp a little at that: she
turned on him and defied him.
"I won't let you get into trouble for a priest and a wanton," she
cried; "you shall kill me first. Leave mo the pistol, and pledge me
your sacred word to do them no harm, and then I'll tell you where they
are. Refuse me this, and you shall go to your grave and know nothing
more than you know now."
"No, no: if you are a woman have pity on me; let me come at them.
There, I'll use no weapon. I'll tear them to atoms with these hands.
Where are they?"
"May I put the pistol away, then?"
"Yes, take it out of my sight; so best. Where are they?"
Ryder locked the pistol up in one of Mrs. Gaunt's boxes. Then she said,
in a trembling voice, "Follow me."
He followed her in awful silence.
She went rather slowly to the door that opened on the lawn; and then
she hesitated. "If you are a man, and have any feeling for a poor
girl who loves you; if you are a gentleman, and respect your word--no
violence."
"I promise," said he. "Where are they?"
"Nay, nay. I fear I shall rue the day I told you. Promise me once more:
no bloodshed--upon your soul."
"I promise. Where are they?"
"God forgive me; they are in the Grove."
He bounded away from her like some beast of prey; and she crouched and
trembled on the steps of the door: and, now that she realized what she
was doing, a sickening sense of dire misgiving came over her and made
her feel quite faint.
And so the weak, but dangerous creature sat crouching and quaking, and
launched the strong one.
Griffith was soon in the Grove; and the first thing he saw was Leonard
and his wife walking together in earnest conversation. Their backs were
towards him. Mrs. Gaunt, whom he had left lying on a sofa, and who
professed herself scarce able to walk half a dozen times across the
room, was now springing along, elastic as a young greyhound, and full
of fire and animation. The miserable husband saw, and his heart died
within him.
He leaned against a tree and groaned.
The deadly sickness of his heart soon gave way to sombre fury. He came
softly after them, with ghastly cheek, and bloodthirsty eyes, like
red-hot coals.
They stopped; and he heard his wife say, "'Tis a solemn promise, then:
this very night." The priest bowed assent. Then they spoke in so low a
voice, he could not hear; but his wife pressed a purse upon Leonard,
and Leonard hesitated, but ended by taking it.
Griffith uttered a yell like a tiger, and rushed between them with
savage violence, driving the lady one way with his wrists, and the
priest another. She screamed: he trembled in silence.
Griffith stood a moment between these two pale faces, silent and awful.
Then he faced his wife. "You vile wretch!" he cried: "so you buy your
own dishonour, and mine." He raised his hand high over her head; she
never winced. "Oh! but for my oath, I'd lay you dead at my feet. But
no; I'll not hang for a priest and a wanton. So, this is the thing
you love, and pay it to love you." And with all the mad inconsistency
of rage, which mixes small things and great, he tore the purse out of
Leonard's hand: then seized him felly by the throat.
At that the high spirit of Mrs. Gaunt gave way to abject terror. "Oh,
mercy! mercy!" she cried; "it is all a mistake." And she clung to his
knees.
He spurned her furiously away. "Don't touch me, woman," he cried, "or
you are dead. Look at this!" And in a moment, with gigantic strength
and fury, he dashed the priest down at her feet. "I know ye, ye proud
devil," he cried, "love the thing you have seen me tread upon! love
it--if ye can." And he literally trampled upon the poor priest with
both feet.
Leonard shrieked for mercy.
"None, in this world or the next," roared Griffith; but the next moment
he took fright at himself. "God!" he cried, "I must go, or kill. Live
and be damned for ever, the pair of ye." And with this he fled from
them, grinding his teeth and beating the air with his clenched lists.
He darted to the stable-yard, sprang on his horse, and galloped away
from Hernshaw Castle, with the face, the eyes, the gestures, the
incoherent mutterings of a raving Bedlamite.