THE LIME-KILN.
MR. MEADOWCROFT was the first to speak. “Somebody must find John,” he
said.
“Without losing a moment,” added his daughter.
Ambrose suddenly stepped out of the dark corner of the room.
“_I_ will inquire,” he said.
Silas followed him.
“I will go with you,” he added.
Mr. Meadowcroft interposed his authority.
“One of you will be enough; for the present, at least. Go you, Ambrose.
Your brother may be wanted later. If any accident has happened (which
God forbid!) we may have to inquire in more than one direction. Silas,
you will stay at the farm.”
The brothers withdrew together; Ambrose to prepare for his journey,
Silas to saddle one of the horses for him. Naomi slipped out after
them. Left in company with Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter (both
devoured by anxiety about the missing man, and both trying to conceal
it under an assumption of devout resignation to circumstances), I need
hardly add that I, too, retired, as soon as it was politely possible
for me to leave the room. Ascending the stairs on my way to my own
quarters, I discovered Naomi half hidden by the recess formed by an
old-fashioned window-seat on the first landing. My bright little friend
was in sore trouble. Her apron was over her face, and she was crying
bitterly. Ambrose had not taken his leave as tenderly as usual. She was
more firmly persuaded than ever that “Ambrose was hiding something from
her.” We all waited anxiously for the next day. The next day made the
mystery deeper than ever.
The horse which had taken Ambrose to Narrabee was ridden back to the
farm by a groom from the hotel. He delivered a written message from
Ambrose which startled us. Further inquiries had positively proved that
the missing man had never been near Narrabee. The only attainable
tidings of his whereabouts were tidings derived from vague report. It
was said that a man like John Jago had been seen the previous day in a
railway car, traveling on the line to New York. Acting on this
imperfect information, Ambrose had decided on verifying the truth of
the report by extending his inquiries to New York.
This extraordinary proceeding forced the suspicion on me that something
had really gone wrong. I kept my doubts to myself; but I was prepared,
from that moment, to see the disappearance of John Jago followed by
very grave results.
The same day the results declared themselves.
Time enough had now elapsed for report to spread through the district
the news of what had happened at the farm. Already aware of the bad
feeling existing between the men, the neighbors had been now informed
(no doubt by the laborers present) of the deplorable scene that had
taken place under my bedroom window. Public opinion declares itself in
America without the slightest reserve, or the slightest care for
consequences. Public opinion declared on this occasion that the lost
man was the victim of foul play, and held one or both of the brothers
Meadowcroft responsible for his disappearance. Later in the day, the
reasonableness of this serious view of the case was confirmed in the
popular mind by a startling discovery. It was announced that a
Methodist preacher lately settled at Morwick, and greatly respected
throughout the district, had dreamed of John Jago in the character of a
murdered man, whose bones were hidden at Morwick Farm. Before night the
cry was general for a verification of the preacher’s dream. Not only in
the immediate district, but in the town of Narrabee itself, the public
voice insisted on the necessity of a search for the mortal remains of
John Jago at Morwick Farm.
In the terrible turn which matters had now taken, Mr. Meadowcroft the
elder displayed a spirit and an energy for which I was not prepared.
“My sons have their faults,” he said, “serious faults; and nobody knows
it better than I do. My sons have behaved badly and ungratefully toward
John Jago; I don’t deny that, either. But Ambrose and Silas are not
murderers. Make your search! I ask for it; no, I insist on it, after
what has been said, in justice to my family and my name!”
The neighbors took him at his word. The Morwick section of the American
nation organized itself on the spot. The sovereign people met in
committee, made speeches, elected competent persons to represent the
public interests, and began the search the next day. The whole
proceeding, ridiculously informal from a legal point of view, was
carried on by these extraordinary people with as stern and strict a
sense of duty as if it had been sanctioned by the highest tribunal in
the land.
Naomi met the calamity that had fallen on the household as resolutely
as her uncle himself. The girl’s courage rose with the call which was
made on it. Her one anxiety was for Ambrose.
“He ought to be here,” she said to me. “The wretches in this
neighborhood are wicked enough to say that his absence is a confession
of his guilt.”
She was right. In the present temper of the popular mind, the absence
of Ambrose was a suspicious circumstance in itself.
“We might telegraph to New York,” I suggested, “if you only knew where
a message would be likely to find him.”
“I know the hotel which the Meadowcrofts use at New York,” she replied.
“I was sent there, after my father’s death, to wait till Miss
Meadowcroft could take me to Morwick.”
We decided on telegraphing to the hotel. I was writing the message, and
Naomi was looking over my shoulder, when we were startled by a strange
voice speaking close behind us.
“Oh! that’s his address, is it?” said the voice. “We wanted his address
rather badly.”
The speaker was a stranger to me. Naomi recognized him as one of the
neighbors.
“What do you want his address for?” she asked, sharply.
“I guess we’ve found the mortal remains of John Jago, miss,” the man
replied. “We have got Silas already, and we want Ambrose too, on
suspicion of murder.”
“It’s a lie!” cried Naomi, furiously--“a wicked lie!”
The man turned to me.
“Take her into the next room, mister,” he said, “and let her see for
herself.”
We went together into the next room.
In one corner, sitting by her father, and holding his hand, we saw
stern and stony Miss Meadowcroft weeping silently. Opposite to them,
crouched on the window-seat, his eyes wandering, his hands hanging
helpless, we next discovered Silas Meadowcroft, plainly self-betrayed
as a panic-stricken man. A few of the persons who had been engaged in
the search were seated near, watching him. The mass of the strangers
present stood congregated round a table in the middle of the room They
drew aside as I approached with Naomi and allowed us to have a clear
view of certain objects placed on the table.
The center object of the collection was a little heap of charred bones.
Round this were ranged a knife, two metal buttons, and a stick
partially burned. The knife was recognized by the laborers as the
weapon John Jago habitually carried about with him--the weapon with
which he had wounded Silas Meadowcroft’s hand. The buttons Naomi
herself declared to have a peculiar pattern on them, which had formerly
attracted her attention to John Jago’s coat. As for the stick, burned
as it was, I had no difficulty in identifying the quaintly-carved knob
at the top. It was the heavy beechen stick which I had snatched out of
Silas’s hand, and which I had restored to Ambrose on his claiming it as
his own. In reply to my inquiries, I was informed that the bones, the
knife, the buttons and the stick had all been found together in a
lime-kiln then in use on the farm.
“Is it serious?” Naomi whispered to me as we drew back from the table.
It would have been sheer cruelty to deceive her now.
“Yes,” I whispered back; “it is serious.”
The search committee conducted its proceedings with the strictest
regularity. The proper applications were made forthwith to a justice of
the peace, and the justice issued his warrant. That night Silas was
committed to prison; and an officer was dispatched to arrest Ambrose in
New York.
For my part, I did the little I could to make myself useful. With the
silent sanction of Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter, I went to
Narrabee, and secured the best legal assistance for the defense which
the town could place at my disposal. This done, there was no choice but
to wait for news of Ambrose, and for the examination before the
magistrate which was to follow. I shall pass over the misery in the
house during the interval of expectation; no useful purpose could be
served by describing it now. Let me only say that Naomi’s conduct
strengthened me in the conviction that she possessed a noble nature. I
was unconscious of the state of my own feelings at the time; but I am
now disposed to think that this was the epoch at which I began to envy
Ambrose the wife whom he had won.
The telegraph brought us our first news of Ambrose. He had been
arrested at the hotel, and he was on his way to Morwick. The next day
he arrived, and followed his brother to prison. The two were confined
in separate cells, and were forbidden all communication with each
other.
Two days later, the preliminary examination took place. Ambrose and
Silas Meadowcroft were charged before the magistrate with the willful
murder of John Jago. I was cited to appear as one of the witnesses;
and, at Naomi’s own request, I took the poor girl into court, and sat
by her during the proceedings. My host also was present in his
invalid-chair, with his daughter by his side.
Such was the result of my voyage across the ocean in search of rest and
quiet; and thus did time and chance fulfill my first hasty foreboding
of the dull life I was to lead at Morwick Farm!