THE MOONLIGHT MEETING.
“I WANT to speak to you,” Naomi began “You don’t think ill of me for
following you out here? We are not accustomed to stand much on ceremony
in America.”
“You are quite right in America. Pray sit down.”
She seated herself by my side, looking at me frankly and fearlessly by
the light of the moon.
“You are related to the family here,” she resumed, “and I am related
too. I guess I may say to you what I couldn’t say to a stranger. I am
right glad you have come here, Mr. Lefrank; and for a reason, sir,
which you don’t suspect.”
“Thank you for the compliment you pay me, Miss Colebrook, whatever the
reason may be.”
She took no notice of my reply; she steadily pursued her own train of
thought.
“I guess you may do some good, sir, in this wretched house,” the girl
went on, with her eyes still earnestly fixed on my face. “There is no
love, no trust, no peace, at Morwick Farm. They want somebody here,
except Ambrose. Don’t think ill of Ambrose; he is only thoughtless. I
say, the rest of them want somebody here to make them ashamed of their
hard hearts, and their horrid, false, envious ways. You are a
gentleman; you know more than they know; they can’t help themselves;
they must look up to _you_. Try, Mr. Lefrank, when you have the
opportunity--pray try, sir, to make peace among them. You heard what
went on at supper-time; and you were disgusted with it. Oh yes, you
were! I saw you frown to yourself; and I know what _that_ means in you
Englishmen.”
There was no choice but to speak one’s mind plainly to Naomi. I
acknowledged the impression which had been produced on me at
supper-time just as plainly as I have acknowledged it in these pages.
Naomi nodded her head in undisguised approval of my candor.
“That will do, that’s speaking out,” she said. “But--oh my! you put it
a deal too mildly, sir, when you say the men don’t seem to be on
friendly terms together here. They hate each other. That’s the word,
Mr. Lefrank--hate; bitter, bitter, bitter hate!” She clinched her
little fists; she shook them vehemently, by way of adding emphasis to
her last words; and then she suddenly remembered Ambrose. “Except
Ambrose,” she added, opening her hand again, and laying it very
earnestly on my arm. “Don’t go and misjudge Ambrose, sir. There is no
harm in poor Ambrose.”
The girl’s innocent frankness was really irresistible.
“Should I be altogether wrong,” I asked, “if I guessed that you were a
little partial to Ambrose?”
An Englishwoman would have felt, or would at least have assumed, some
little hesitation at replying to my question. Naomi did not hesitate
for an instant.
“You are quite right, sir,” she said with the most perfect composure.
“If things go well, I mean to marry Ambrose.”
“If things go well,” I repeated. “What does that mean? Money?”
She shook her head.
“It means a fear that I have in my own mind,” she answered--“a fear,
Mr. Lefrank, of matters taking a bad turn among the men here--the
wicked, hard-hearted, unfeeling men. I don’t mean Ambrose, sir; I mean
his brother Silas, and John Jago. Did you notice Silas’s hand? John
Jago did that, sir, with a knife.”
“By accident?” I asked.
“On purpose,” she answered. “In return for a blow.”
This plain revelation of the state of things at Morwick Farm rather
staggered me--blows and knives under the rich and respectable roof-tree
of old Mr. Meadowcroft--blows and knives, not among the laborers, but
among the masters! My first impression was like _your_ first
impression, no doubt. I could hardly believe it.
“Are you sure of what you say?” I inquired.
“I have it from Ambrose. Ambrose would never deceive me. Ambrose knows
all about it.”
My curiosity was powerfully excited. To what sort of household had I
rashly voyaged across the ocean in search of rest and quiet?
“May I know all about it too?” I said.
“Well, I will try and tell you what Ambrose told me. But you must
promise me one thing first, sir. Promise you won’t go away and leave us
when you know the whole truth. Shake hands on it, Mr. Lefrank; come,
shake hands on it.”
There was no resisting her fearless frankness. I shook hands on it.
Naomi entered on her narrative the moment I had given her my pledge,
without wasting a word by way of preface.
“When you are shown over the farm here,” she began, “you will see that
it is really two farms in one. On this side of it, as we look from
under this tree, they raise crops: on the other side--on much the
larger half of the land, mind--they raise cattle. When Mr. Meadowcroft
got too old and too sick to look after his farm himself, the boys (I
mean Ambrose and Silas) divided the work between them. Ambrose looked
after the crops, and Silas after the cattle. Things didn’t go well,
somehow, under their management. I can’t tell you why. I am only sure
Ambrose was not in fault. The old man got more and more dissatisfied,
especially about his beasts. His pride is in his beasts. Without saying
a word to the boys, he looked about privately (_I_ think he was wrong
in that, sir; don’t you?)--he looked about privately for help; and, in
an evil hour, he heard of John Jago. Do you like John Jago, Mr.
Lefrank?”
“So far, no. I don’t like him.”
“Just my sentiments, sir. But I don’t know: it’s likely we may be
wrong. There’s nothing against John Jago, except that he is so odd in
his ways. They do say he wears all that nasty hair on his face (I hate
hair on a man’s face) on account of a vow he made when he lost his
wife. Don’t you think, Mr. Lefrank, a man must be a little mad who
shows his grief at losing his wife by vowing that he will never shave
himself again? Well, that’s what they do say John Jago vowed. Perhaps
it’s a lie. People are such liars here! Anyway, it’s truth (the boys
themselves confess _that_), when John came to the farm, he came with a
first-rate character. The old father here isn’t easy to please; and he
pleased the old father. Yes, that’s so. Mr. Meadowcroft don’t like my
countrymen in general. He’s like his sons--English, bitter English, to
the marrow of his bones. Somehow, in spite of that, John Jago got round
him; maybe because John does certainly know his business. Oh yes!
Cattle and crops, John knows his business. Since he’s been overlooker,
things have prospered as they didn’t prosper in the time of the boys.
Ambrose owned as much to me himself. Still, sir, it’s hard to be set
aside for a stranger; isn’t it? John gives the orders now. The boys do
their work; but they have no voice in it when John and the old man put
their heads together over the business of the farm. I have been long in
telling you of it, sir, but now you know how the envy and the hatred
grew among the men before my time. Since I have been here, things seem
to get worse and worse. There’s hardly a day goes by that hard words
don’t pass between the boys and John, or the boys and their father. The
old man has an aggravating way, Mr. Lefrank--a nasty way, as we do call
it--of taking John Jago’s part. Do speak to him about it when you get
the chance. The main blame of the quarrel between Silas and John the
other day lies at his door, as I think. I don’t want to excuse Silas,
either. It was brutal of him--though he _is_ Ambrose’s brother--to
strike John, who is the smaller and weaker man of the two. But it was
worse than brutal in John, sir, to out with his knife and try to stab
Silas. Oh, he did it! If Silas had not caught the knife in his hand
(his hand’s awfully cut, I can tell you; I dressed it myself), it might
have ended, for anything I know, in murder--”
She stopped as the word passed her lips, looked back over her shoulder,
and started violently.
I looked where my companion was looking. The dark figure of a man was
standing, watching us, in the shadow of the elm-tree. I rose directly
to approach him. Naomi recovered her self-possession, and checked me
before I could interfere.
“Who are you?” she asked, turning sharply toward the stranger. “What do
you want there?”
The man stepped out from the shadow into the moonlight, and stood
revealed to us as John Jago.
“I hope I am not intruding?” he said, looking hard at me.
“What do you want?” Naomi repeated.
“I don’t wish to disturb you, or to disturb this gentleman,” he
proceeded. “When you are quite at leisure, Miss Naomi, you would be
doing me a favor if you would permit me to say a few words to you in
private.”
He spoke with the most scrupulous politeness; trying, and trying
vainly, to conceal some strong agitation which was in possession of
him. His wild brown eyes--wilder than ever in the moonlight--rested
entreatingly, with a strange underlying expression of despair, on
Naomi’s face. His hands, clasped lightly in front of him, trembled
incessantly. Little as I liked the man, he did really impress me as a
pitiable object at that moment.
“Do you mean that you want to speak to me to-night?” Naomi asked, in
undisguised surprise.
“Yes, miss, if you please, at your leisure and at Mr. Lefrank’s.”
Naomi hesitated.
“Won’t it keep till to-morrow?” she said.
“I shall be away on farm business to-morrow, miss, for the whole day.
Please to give me a few minutes this evening.” He advanced a step
toward her; his voice faltered, and dropped timidly to a whisper. “I
really have something to say to you, Miss Naomi. It would be a kindness
on your part--a very, very great kindness--if you will let me say it
before I rest to-night.”
I rose again to resign my place to him. Once more Naomi checked me.
“No,” she said. “Don’t stir.” She addressed John Jago very reluctantly:
“If you are so much in earnest about it, Mr. John, I suppose it must
be. I can’t guess what _you_ can possibly have to say to me which
cannot be said before a third person. However, it wouldn’t be civil, I
suppose, to say ‘No’ in my place. You know it’s my business to wind up
the hall-clock at ten every night. If you choose to come and help me,
the chances are that we shall have the hall to ourselves. Will that
do?”
“Not in the hall, miss, if you will excuse me.”
“Not in the hall!”
“And not in the house either, if I may make so bold.”
“What do you mean?” She turned impatiently, and appealed to me. “Do
_you_ understand him?”
John Jago signed to me imploringly to let him answer for himself.
“Bear with me, Miss Naomi,” he said. “I think I can make you understand
me. There are eyes on the watch, and ears on the watch, in the house;
and there are some footsteps--I won’t say whose--so soft, that no
person can hear them.”
The last allusion evidently made itself understood. Naomi stopped him
before he could say more.
“Well, where is it to be?” she asked, resignedly. “Will the garden do,
Mr. John?”
“Thank you kindly, miss; the garden will do.” He pointed to a
gravel-walk beyond us, bathed in the full flood of the moonlight.
“There,” he said, “where we can see all round us, and be sure that
nobody is listening. At ten o’clock.” He paused, and addressed himself
to me. “I beg to apologize, sir, for intruding myself on your
conversation. Please to excuse me.”
His eyes rested with a last anxious, pleading look on Naomi’s face. He
bowed to us, and melted away into the shadow of the tree. The distant
sound of a door closed softly came to us through the stillness of the
night. John Jago had re-entered the house.
Now that he was out of hearing, Naomi spoke to me very earnestly:
“Don’t suppose, sir, I have any secrets with _him_,” she said. “I know
no more than you do what he wants with me. I have half a mind not to
keep the appointment when ten o’clock comes. What would you do in my
place?”
“Having made the appointment,” I answered, “it seems to be due to
yourself to keep it. If you feel the slightest alarm, I will wait in
another part of the garden, so that I can hear if you call me.”
She received my proposal with a saucy toss of the head, and a smile of
pity for my ignorance.
“You are a stranger, Mr. Lefrank, or you would never talk to me in that
way. In America, we don’t do the men the honor of letting them alarm
us. In America, the women take care of themselves. He has got my
promise to meet him, as you say; and I must keep my promise. Only
think,” she added, speaking more to herself than to me, “of John Jago
finding out Miss Meadowcroft’s nasty, sly, underhand ways in the house!
Most men would never have noticed her.”
I was completely taken by surprise. Sad and severe Miss Meadowcroft a
listener and a spy! What next at Morwick Farm?
“Was that hint at the watchful eyes and ears, and the soft footsteps,
really an allusion to Mr. Meadowcroft’s daughter?” I asked.
“Of course it was. Ah! she has imposed on you as she imposes on
everybody else. The false wretch! She is secretly at the bottom of half
the bad feeling among the men. I am certain of it--she keeps Mr.
Meadowcroft’s mind bitter toward the boys. Old as she is, Mr. Lefrank,
and ugly as she is, she wouldn’t object (if she could only make him ask
her) to be John Jago’s second wife. No, sir; and she wouldn’t break her
heart if the boys were not left a stick or a stone on the farm when the
father dies. I have watched her, and I know it. Ah! I could tell you
such things! But there’s no time now--it’s close on ten o’clock; we
must say good-night. I am right glad I have spoken to you, sir. I say
again, at parting, what I have said already: Use your influence, pray
use your influence, to soften them, and to make them ashamed of
themselves, in this wicked house. We will have more talk about what you
can do to-morrow, when you are shown over the farm. Say good-by now.
Hark! there is ten striking! And look! here is John Jago stealing out
again in the shadow of the tree! Good-night, friend Lefrank; and
pleasant dreams.”
With one hand she took mine, and pressed it cordially; with the other
she pushed me away without ceremony in the direction of the house. A
charming girl--an irresistible girl! I was nearly as bad as the boys. I
declare, _I_ almost hated John Jago, too, as we crossed each other in
the shadow of the tree.
Arrived at the glass door, I stopped and looked back at the gravel-walk.
They had met. I saw the two shadowy figures slowly pacing backward and
forward in the moonlight, the woman a little in advance of the man.
What was he saying to her? Why was he so anxious that not a word of it
should be heard? Our presentiments are sometimes, in certain rare
cases, the faithful prophecy of the future. A vague distrust of that
moonlight meeting stealthily took a hold on my mind. “Will mischief
come of it?” I asked myself as I closed the door and entered the house.
Mischief _did_ come of it. You shall hear how.