CHAPTER

Produced by Al Haines.

*RED SPIDER*

BY

SABINE BARING-GOULD

THE AUTHOR OF 'JOHN HERRING' 'MEHALAH' &c.

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II.

London

CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY

1887

[_The right of translation is reserved_]

*CONTENTS*

*OF*

*THE SECOND VOLUME.*

CHAPTER

XIX. A DEAD DOG

XX. A FIVE-POUND NOTE

XXI. REFUSED

XXII. THE HAYSEL

XXIII. A BRAWL

XXIV. THE HAND OF GLORY

XXV. THE HARE HUNT

XXVI. BITTER MEDICINE

XXVII. AFTER SWEETNESS

XXVIII. A FIRST STEP

XXIX. A BLOW

XXX. YES!

XXXI. THE NEW MISTRESS

XXXII. THE CHINA DOG

XXXIII. AMONG THE GORSE

XXXIV. THE VISITATION

XXXV. A WARNING

XXXVI. A SETTLEMENT

XXXVII. A BOWL OF BROTH

XXXVIII. THE LOOK-OUT STONE

*RED SPIDER.*

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*A DEAD DOG.*

The second night of watch proved unavailing, for the best of good

reasons, that the watch was not kept. Oliver Luxmore sat up, but,

finding the night chilly outside the house, attempted to keep watch with

a pipe of tobacco and a jug and glass of cider posset within. The

consequence was that he went to sleep over the fire. During that same

night another of the lambs was worried. Mischief had also been done at

Swaddledown, as the family heard during the day. There a ewe had been

killed, overrun, thrown into a grip (dyke by hedge) whence it could not

rise, and where it had been torn, and had died.

'We must not ask your father to watch again,' said Hillary, with the

corners of his mouth twitching. 'We believe what he says now when he

tells us he is very shortsighted. I will come to-night and the night

after, if need be, till I earn my guinea. The rascal has been here

twice and has escaped. He shall not succeed the third time. I will

take a nap by day and be lively as an owl at night.'

The maids at Chimsworthy joked the lad about his visits to the cottage;

he did not go there after the dog, but after Kate. A guinea! What was a

guinea to the heir of Chimsworthy? A young man cares more for girls'

hearts than for money. He did not contradict them, he turned aside

their banter with banter. But the lively conversation of Kate had lost

its charm for him. He exchanged jests with her, but took less pleasure

than heretofore in doing so. That night and the next he spent at his

post watching for the lamb-killer. Honor gave him her company. He was

surprised at himself for becoming serious, still more that the

conversation and society of the grave Honor should afford him so much

pleasure. In her company everything assumed a new aspect, was seen

through coloured glass.

Honor herself was changed during these still night watches. A softness,

inbred in her, but to which she was unable to yield during the day,

manifested itself in her manner, her speech, her appearance, a bloom as

that on the plum. Her inner heart unfolded like a night-flower, and

poured forth fragrance. Thoughts that had long dwelt and worked in her

mind, but to which she had never given words, found expression at last.

Her real mind, her great, pure, deep soul, had been as a fountain sealed

to her father and sister Kate; they could not have understood her

thoughts; she knew this without acknowledging it other than by

instinctive silence. But now she had beside her a companion,

sympathetic, intelligent; and the night that veiled their faces and the

working of their emotions allowed them to speak with frankness. Banter

died away on Hillary's lips, he respected her and her thoughts too

highly to treat either lightly. Though he could not fully understand

her he could not withhold his reverence. He saw the nobility of her

character, her self-devotion made beautiful by its unconsciousness, her

directness of purpose, her thoroughness, and her clear simplicity

running through her life like a sparkling river. Her nature was the

reverse of his own. He treated life as a holiday, and its duties as

annoyances; she looked to the duties as constituting life, and to

pleasures as accidents. He became dissatisfied with himself without

feeling resentment towards Honor for inspiring the feeling. With all

his frivolity and self-conceit there was good stuff in Hillary. It was

evidence of this that he now appreciated Honor. At night, under the

dark heavens strewn with stars, or with the moon rising as a globe of

gold over Dartmoor, these two young people sat on the bench, with

potato-sacks over their shoulders sheltering them from the dew, or at

the hearth suffused by the glow of the peat embers, and talked with

muffled voices as if in church.

The second, the third night, during which Hillary watched, passed

uneventfully. Each night, or morning rather, as Hillary left, the

pressure of his hand clasping that of Honor became warmer. After he was

gone, the girl sat musing for some minutes, listening to his dying steps

as he passed along the lane homewards. Then she sighed, shook her head,

as though to shake off some dream that tole over her, and went to bed.

Hillary's determined watching was not, however, destined to remain

fruitless. Early on the fourth night, after he had been at his post an

hour, the bleating and scampering of the sheep showed that their enemy

was at hand.

In another moment both saw a dark animal dash across the field in

pursuit. Hillary fired, and the creature fell over.

'Bring a lantern, Honor,' he shouted. 'Let us see whose dog it is.'

She ran indoors. Her father and Kate had been roused by the report.

When she returned with the lantern to the field, 'You were right,

Honor,' said Hillary, 'this is Uncle Taverner's Rover. Poor fellow, we

were friends once, when I was allowed at Langford. Now he and his

master have fallen to bad ways. I have put the seal on my misdoings,

and Uncle Taverner will never forgive me for having shot his dog.'

'Well, perhaps you will recover your wits now,' said Kate.

'Wits! why?'

'Wits--you have been dull enough lately. Perhaps as the dog went

sheep-killing, your wits went wool-gathering. They have been dead, or

not at home.'

'Go home, Larry,' said Honor; 'and take our best thanks to warm you.'

Hillary, however, seemed ill-disposed to go. He hung about the kitchen

pretending that his fingers wanted warming, or considering what was to

be done with the carcass of the dog. What he really desired was a

further chat with Honor. But Kate would not allow him to be alone with

her sister, though unsuspicious of the state of his feelings, and

indifferent to them herself. She was like a mosquito that buzzes about

a sleep-drunk man, threatening him, rousing him, settling, and stabbing,

and escaping before his hand can chastise. The more she plied him with

her jokes, the more dispirited he became, and incapable of repartee.

'Well,' said he at length, 'I suppose it is time for all to go to bed.

You have all seen enough of the dead dog.'

'And we of the live lion,' said Kate.

He went hesitatingly to the door, then came back, tied the dog's hind

feet together, and slung the body over his back on his gun. Then he went

back to the door.

Kate said something to Honor, gave Larry a nod, and went away to bed.

Honor accompanied him to the door, to fasten it after him.

'I wish Rover had not come for a couple of hours,' he said, as he held

out his hand.

'You have won your guinea, and must be content,' she answered with a

smile.

'Do you suppose I care for the guinea, except that I may share it with

you?' he asked. 'I'll tell you what we will do with it, break it in

half, and each keep a half.'

'Then it will be of no good to either,' answered Honor. 'You told me

yourself that the money was a consideration to you, as you were

empty-pocketed.'

'I forgot all about the guinea after the first night in the pleasure of

being with you. I would give the guinea to be allowed to come here

again to-morrow night. Confound old Rover for being in such a hurry for

his dose of lead.'

'What is that about lead?' called Kate from the steps of the stairs. 'I

think, Larry, the lead has got into your brains, and into your feet.'

Honor shook her head, and tried to withdraw her hand from that of the

young man; but he would not release it. 'No, Larry, no, that cannot

be.'

'May I not come again?'

'No, Larry, on no account,' she said gravely.

'But, Honor, if I come down the lane, and you hear the owls call very

loud under the bank, you will open the door and slip out. You will bring

the potato-sacks, and let us have a talk again on the bench with them

over our shoulders?'

'No, I will not--indeed I will not. I pray you, if you have any thought

for me, do not try this. Good-night, Larry--you are a brother to me.'

She wrenched her hand from his, and shut the door. He heard her bolt

it. Then he went down the steps and walked away, ill pleased. But

after he had gone some distance, he turned, and saw the cottage door

open, and Honor standing in it, her dark figure against the fire glow.

Had she relented and changed her mind? He came back. Then the door was

shut and barred again. He was offended, and, to disguise his confusion,

whistled a merry air, and whistled it so loud as that Honor might hear

it and understand that her refusal gave him no concern.

Hillary had not reached the end of the lane before he stumbled against

Charles.

'Hallo!' exclaimed the latter. 'What are you doing here at this time o'

night? Got your gun, eh? And game too, eh? Poaching on Langford. A

common poacher. I'll report you. Not hare-hunting yet? Take care how

you do that. I'll break your neck if you come near Langford after that

game.'

'What you have been doing is clear enough,' said Hillary, stepping

aside. 'You have been at the "Ring of Bells," drinking.'

'What if I have? No harm in that, if I have money to pay my score.

Nothing against that, have you?'

'Nothing at all; but I doubt your having the money. A week ago you were

reduced to a brass token.'

'You think yourself cock of the walk, do you?' said Charles, insolently,

'because you are heir to Chimsworthy? What is Chimsworthy to Coombe

Park? Come! I bet now you've naught but coppers in your pocket. Hands

in and see which can make the most show.'

As he spoke, he thrust forth his palm, and Hillary heard the chink of

money, and the sound of coins falling on the stones.

'If you had money at the fair-time,' said Hillary, coldly, 'all I can

say is that you behaved infamously.'

'I had no money then.'

'How you have got it since, I do not know,' said Hillary.

'That is no concern of yours, Master Larry,' answered Charles, roughly.

'You will live to see me Squire at Coombe Park; and when I'm there,

curse me if I don't offer you the place of game-keeper to keep off

rogues. An old poacher is the best keeper.'

'You cur!' exclaimed Hillary, blazing up. 'This is my game.' He swung

the dead dog about, and struck Charles on the cheek with the carcass so

violently as to knock him into the hedge. 'This is my game. Your

master's dog, which has been worrying and killing your father's lambs

whilst you have been boozing in a tavern.'

'By George!' swore Charles, with difficulty picking himself up. 'I'll

break your cursed neck, I will.'

But Larry had gone on his way by the time Charles had regained

equilibrium.

'This is the second time he's struck me down,' said Charles, and next

moment a great stone passed Larry, then another struck the dead dog on

his back with sufficient force to have stunned him had it struck his

head.

He turned and shouted angrily, 'You tipsy blackguard, heave another, and

I'll shoot. The gun is loaded.'

'And, by George! I'll break your neck!' yelled Charles after him.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*A FIVE-POUND NOTE.*

No sooner had Hillary got the guinea for shooting the sheep-killer than

he went to the cottage and offered half to Honor Luxmore. She refused

it, and would by no persuasion be induced to accept it.

'No, Larry, no--a thousand times no. You redeemed my cloak, and will not

let me pay you for that. I will not touch a farthing of this

well-earned prize.'

Then Larry went to Tavistock and expended part of the money in the

purchase of a handsome silk kerchief, white with sprigs of lilac, and

slips of moss-rose on it. He returned in the carrier's van instead of

waiting for his father, who remained to drink with other farmers. This

entailed the walking up of the hills. When he got out for this object,

he left his parcel on the seat. On his return he found the women within

sniggering.

'Don't y' be offended at us now,' said one. 'But it is just so. Your

parcel came open of herself wi' the jolting of the Vivid, and us

couldn't help seeing what was inside. Us can't be expected to sit wi'

our eyes shut. 'Taint in reason nor in nature. I must say this--'tis a

pretty kerchief, and Kate Luxmore will look like a real leddy in it o'

Sunday, to be sure.'

Then the rest of the women laughed.

Hillary coloured, and was annoyed. The parcel had not come open of

itself. The women's inquisitive fingers had opened it, and their

curious eyes had examined the contents. They had rushed to the

conclusion that the kerchief was intended for Kate--Larry was much about

with the maiden, they were always teasing each other, laughing together,

and Hillary had been several evenings to the carrier's cottage guarding

the lambs and sheep.

The young man did not disabuse them of their error. He was vexed that

they should suppose him caught by the rattle Kate, instead of by the

reliable Honor; it showed him that they supposed him less sensible than

he was. But he thought with satisfaction of the surprise of the gossips

on Sunday, when they saw the kerchief about the neck of the elder

sister, instead of that of Kate.

In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. Next day, he went to

the cottage at an hour when he was sure to find Honor there alone, and,

with radiant face and sparkling eyes, unfolded the paper, and offered

his present to the girl.

Honor was more startled than pleased--at least, it seemed so--and at

first absolutely declined the kerchief. 'No, Larry, I thank you for

your kind thought, but I must not accept it. I am sorry that you have

spent your money--the kerchief is very pretty; but I cannot wear it.'

'How wrong-headed and haughty you are, Honor! Why will you not take

it?' The blood made his face dark, he was offended and angry. He had

never made a girl a present before, and this, his first, was rejected.

'It gave me a vast deal of pleasure buying it. I turned over a score,

and couldn't well choose which would look best on your shoulders. You

have given me good advice; and here is my return, as an assurance that I

will observe it.'

'I am not wrong-headed and haughty, Larry,' answered Honor, gently.

'But see! in spite of what I said, in spite of my better judgment,

rather than wound you, I will take the handkerchief. Indeed, indeed,

dear Larry, I am not unthankful and ungracious, though I may seem so.

And now I will only take it as a pledge that you have laid my words to

heart. Let it mean that, and that only. But, Larry, the women in the

van saw it. I cannot wear it just now, certainly not on Sunday next.

You know yourself what conclusions they would draw, and we must not

deceive them into taking us to be what we are not, and never can be, to

each other.'

'Why not, Honor?'

Instead of answering, she said with a smile, 'My brother, Larry, this I

will undertake. When I see that you have become a man of deeds and not

of words, then I will throw the kerchief round my neck and wear it at

church. It shall be a token to you of my approval. Will that content

you?'

He tried his utmost to obtain a further concession. She was resolute.

She did not wish to be ungracious, but she was determined to give him no

encouragement. She had thought out her position, and resolved on her

course. She knew that her way was chalked for her. She must be mother

to all her little sisters and brothers, till they were grown up and had

dispersed. There was no saying what her father might do were she away.

He might marry again, and a stepmother would ill-treat or neglect the

little ones. If she were to marry, it could be on one understanding

only, that she brought the family with her to the husband's house--and

to that no man would consent. It would be unfair to burden a young man

thus. Her father, moreover, was not a man to be left. What Charles had

become, without a firm hand over him, that might Oliver Luxmore also

become, even if he did not marry. His dispositions were not bad, but

his character was infirm. No! it was impossible for her to contemplate

marriage. Kate might, but not she. The line of duty lay clear before

her as a white road in summer heat, and she had not even the wish to

desert it. It was right for her to nip Larry's growing liking for

herself, at once and in the bud.

After Larry had gone, she folded and put away his present among her few

valuables. She valued it, as the first warm breath of spring is valued.

She said nothing to Kate or the others about it. Her heart was lighter,

and she sang over her work. The little offering was a token that

through the troubled sky the sun was about to shine.

A day or two after, Charles lounged in, and seated himself by the fire.

She was pleased to see him. He was at honest work with Mr. Langford,

earning an honest wage. She said as much. Charles laughed

contemptuously. 'Ninepence,' he said, 'ninepence a day. What is

ninepence?'

'It is more than you had as a soldier.'

'But as a soldier I had the uniform and the position. Now I am a

day-labourer--I, a Luxmore, the young squire with ninepence and lodging

and meat.'

'Well, Charles, it is a beginning.'

'Beginning at ninepence. As Mrs. Veale says, "One can't stand upon

coppers and keep out of the dirt." What is the meat and drink? The

cider cuts one's throat as it goes down, and the food is insufficient

and indigestible. If I had not a friend to forage for me, I should be

badly off.'

'If you keep this place a twelvemonth, you will get a better situation

next year.'

'Keep at Langford a twelvemonth!' exclaimed Charles. 'Not if I know it.

It won't do. Never mind why. I say it won't do.'

Then he began working his heel in a hole of the floor where the slate

was broken.

'You know Mrs. Veale?' he asked, without looking at his sister.

'Yes, Charles. That is, I have seen her, and have even spoken to her,

but--know her--that is more than I profess. She is not a person I am

like to know.'

'You had better not,' said Charles. 'She don't love you. When I

mention your name her face turns green. She'd ill-wish you if she

could.'

'I have never done her an injury,' said Honor.

'That may be. Hate is like love, it pitches at random, as Mrs. Veale

says. You may laugh, Honor, but that same woman is in love with me.'

'Nonsense!' Honor did not laugh, she was too shocked to laugh.

'What is there nonsensical in that? I tell you she is. She cooks me

better food than for the rest of the men, and she favours me in many

ways.'

'She cannot be such a fool.'

'There is no folly in fancying me,' said Charles, sharply. 'I have good

looks, have seen the world, and compare with the louts here as wheat

with rye. Many a woman has lost her heart to a younger man than

herself.'

'Charles, you must be plain and rough with her if this be so--though I

can scarce believe it.'

'No one forces you to believe it. But don't you think I'm going to make

Mrs. Veale your sister-in-law. I'm too wide-awake for that. She is

ugly, and--she's a bad un. Yes,' musingly, 'she is a bad un.'

Then he worked his heel more vigorously in the hole. 'Take care what

you are about, Charles, you are breaking the slate, and making what was

bad, worse.'

'I wish I had Mrs. Veale's heart under that there stone,' said Charles,

viciously. 'I'd grind my heel into it till I'd worked through it. You

don't know how uncomfortable she makes me.'

'Well, keep her at arm's length.'

'I can't do it. She won't let me. She runs after me as a cat after a

milk-maid.'

'Surely, Charles, you can just put a stop to that.'

'I suppose I must.'

He continued, in spite of remonstrance, grinding through the broken

slate into the earth. His face was hot and red. He put his elbow up,

and wiped his brow on his sleeve.

'It is cursed warm here,' he said at last.

'Then keep away from the fire. I'm glad you have come to see me,

Charles; I always wish you well.'

'Oh, for the matter of that I only came here to be out of the way of

Mrs. Veale.'