Wornout and tired as she felt when she went up stairs, Eve's mind was
so excited by the day's adventures that she found it impossible to lull
her sharpened senses into anything like repose, and after hearing Joan
come in she lay tossing and restless, wondering why it was she did not
come up, and what could possibly be the cause of her stopping so long
below.
As time went on her impatience grew into anxiety, which in its turn
became suspicion, until, unable longer to restrain herself, she got up,
and, after listening with some evident surprise at the stair-head,
cautiously stole down the stairs and peeped, through the chink left by
the ill-fitting hinge of the door, into the room.
"There isn't another woman in the whole world I'd trust with the things
I'd trust you with, Joan," Adam was saying. Eve bent a trifle farther
forward. "You've done me more good than anything I've had to-day. I
feel ever so much better now than I did before."
An involuntary movement, giving a different balance to her position,
made the stairs creak, and to avoid detection Eve had to make a hasty
retreat and hurry back, so that when Joan came up stairs it was to find
her apparently in such a profound sleep that there was little reason to
fear any sound she might make would arouse her; but long after Joan had
sunk to rest, and even Adam had forgotten his troubles and anxieties,
Eve nourished and fed the canker of jealousy which had crept into her
heart--a jealousy not directed toward Joan, but turned upon Adam for
recalling to her mind that old grievance of not giving her his full
trust.
At another time these speeches would not have come with half the
importance: it would have been merely a vexation which a few sharp
words would have exploded and put an end to. But now, combined with the
untoward circumstances of situation--for Eve could not confess herself
a listener--was the fact that her nerves, her senses and her conscience
seemed strained to a point which made each feather-weight appear a
burden.
Filled with that smart of wounded love whose sweetest balm revenge
seems to supply, Eve lay awake until the gray light of day had filled
the room, and then, from sheer exhaustion, she fell into a doze which
gradually deepened into a heavy sleep, so that when she again opened
her eyes the sun was shining full and strong.
Starting up, she looked round for Joan, but Joan had been up for a
couple of hours and more. She had arisen very stealthily, creeping
about with the hope that Eve would not be disturbed by her movements,
for Adam's great desire was that Eve's feelings should be in no way
outraged by discovering either in Uncle Zebedee or in Jerrem traces of
the previous night's debauch; and this, by Joan's help, was managed so
well that when Eve made her appearance she was told that Uncle Zebedee,
tired like herself, was not yet awake, while Jerrem, brisked up by
several nips of raw spirit, was lounging about in a state of lassitude
and depression which might very well be attributed to reaction and
fatigue.
Perhaps if Eve could have known that Adam was not present she would
have toned down the amount of cordiality she threw into her greeting of
Jerrem--a greeting he accepted with such a happy adjustment of pleasure
and gratitude that to have shown a difference on the score of Adam's
absence would have been to step back into their former unpleasant
footing.
"Adam's gone out," said Jerrem in answer to the inquiring look Eve was
sending round the kitchen.
"Oh, I wasn't looking for Adam," said Eve, while the rush of vexed
color denied the assertion: "I was wondering where Joan could be."
"She was in here a minute ago," said Jerrem, "telling me 'twas a shame
to be idlin' about so."
"Why, are you still busy?" said Eve.
"No, nothin' to speak of but what 'ull wait--and fit it should--till
I'd spoken to you, Eve. I ain't like one who's got the chance o' comin'
when he's minded to," he added, "or the grass wouldn't ha' had much
chance o' growin' under my feet after once they felt the shore. No,
now, don't look put out with me: I ain't goin' to ask ye to listen to
nothin' you don't want to hear. I've tried to see the folly o' that
while I've bin away, and 'tis all done with and pitched overboard; and
that's what made me write that letter, 'cos I wanted us two to be like
what we used to be, you know."
"I wish you hadn't written that letter, though," said Eve, only half
inclined to credit Jerrem's assertions.
"Well, as things have turned out, so do I," said Jerrem, who, although
he did not confess it to himself, would have given all he possessed to
feel quite certain Eve would keep his secret. "You see, it's so awkard
like, when everybody's tryin' to ferret out how this affair came about.
You didn't happen to mention it to nobody, I s'pose?" and he turned a
keen glance of inquiry toward Eve.
"Me mention it?" said Eve: "I should think not! Joan can tell you how
angry we both were, for of course we knew that unless Adam had some
good cause he wouldn't have wished it kept so secret."
"And do you think I should have quitted a word to any livin' soul but
yourself?" exclaimed Jerrem. "I haven't much sense in your eyes, I
know, Eve, but you might give me credit o' knowing who's to be trusted
and who isn't."
"What's that about trustin'?" said Joan, who now made her appearance.
"I tell 'ee what 'tis, Mr. Jerrem, you'm not to be trusted anyhows.
Why, what could 'ee ha' bin thinkin' of to go sendin' that letter you
did, after Adam had spoke to 'ee all? There'd be a purty set-out of it,
you knaw, Jerrem, if the thing was to get winded about. I, for wan,
shouldn't thank 'ee, I can tell 'ee, for gettin' my name mixed up with
it, and me made nothin' better than a cat's-paw of."
"Who's goin' to wind it about?" said Jerrem, throwing his arm round her
and drawing her coaxingly toward him. "You ain't, and I ain't, and I'll
answer for it Eve ain't; and so long as we three keep our tongues
atween our teeth, who'll be the wiser--eh?"
"Awh, that's all very fine," returned Joan, far from mollified, "but
there's a somebody hasn't a-kept their tongues silent; and who it can
be beats me to tell. Did Jonathan knaw for certain 'bout the landin'?
or was it only guess-work with un?"
"I ain't sure; but Jonathan's safe enough," said Jerrem, "and so's the
rest too. 'Twarn't through no blabbin', take my word for that: 'twas a
reg'lar right-down set scheme from beginnin' to end, and that's why I
should ha' liked to ha' give 'em a payin'-out that they wouldn't ha'
forgot in a hurry. I'd ha' scored their reckonin' for 'em, I can tell
*'eel"
"Awh! iss, I dare say," said Joan with scornful contempt: "you allays
think you knaws better than they you'm bound to listen to.
Howsomedever, when all's said and done, I shall finish with the same I
began with--that you'd no right to send that letter."
"Well, you've told me that afore," said Jerrem sullenly.
"Iss, and now I tells 'ee behind," retorted Joan, "and to front and to
back, and round all the sides--so there!"
"Oh, all right!" said Jerrem: "have your talk out: it don't matter to
me;" and he threw himself down on the settle with apparent unconcern,
taking from his breast-pocket a letter which he carefully
unfolded.--"Did you know that I'd got a letter gived me to Guernsey,
Eve," he said--"one they'd ha' kept waitin' there for months for me?"
Eve looked up, and, to her vexation, saw Jerrem reading the letter
which on her first arrival she had written: the back of it was turned
toward her, so as to ostentatiously display the two splotches of red
sealing-wax.
"Why, you doan't mane to say you've a-got _he?_" exclaimed Joan, her
anger completely giving way to her amazement. "Well, I never! after all
this long whiles, and us a-tryin' to stop un, too!--Eve, do 'ee see
he's got the letter you writ, kisses and all?"
"Joan!" exclaimed Eve in a tone of mingled reproof and annoyance, while
Jerrem made a feint of pressing the impressions to his lips, casting
the while a look in Eve's direction, which Joan intercepting, she said,
"Awh! iss I would, seeing they'm so much mine as Eve's, and you doan't
know t'other from which."
"That's all you can tell," said Jerrem.
"Iss, and all you can tell, too," replied Joan; adding, as the frown on
his face betokened rising anger, "There, my dear, you'd best step
inside wi' me and get a drop more o' your mornin's physic, I reckon."
"Physic?" growled Jerrem. "I don't want no physic--leastwise, no more
than I've had from you already."
"Glad to hear it," said Joan. "When you change your mind--which, depend
on it, 'ull be afore long--you'll find me close to hand.--I must make
up a few somethin's for this evenin'," she said, addressing Eve, "in
case any of 'em drops in. Adam's gone off," she added, "I don't know
where, nor he neither till his work's done."
"Might just as well have saved hisself the trouble," growled Jerrem.
"No, now, he mightn't," replied Joan. "There's spurrits enough to wan
place and t'other to float a Injyman in, and the sooner 'tis got the
rids of the better, for 'twill be more by luck than good management if
all they kegs is got away unseen."
"Oh, of course Adam's perfect," sneered Jerrem. Then, catching sight of
Eve's face as he watched Joan go into the kitchen, he added with a
desponding sigh, "I only wish I was; but the world's made for some: I
s'pose the more they have the more they get."
Eve did not answer: perhaps she had not heard, as she was just now
engaged in shifting her position so as to escape the dazzling rays of
the sun, which came pouring down on her head. The movement seemed to
awaken her to a sense of the day's unusual brightness, and, getting up,
she went to the window and looked out. "Isn't it like summer?" she
said, speaking more to herself than to Jerrem. "I really must say I
should like to have gone somewhere for a walk."
The words, simple in themselves, flung in their tone a whole volume of
reproach at Adam, for to Eve's exacting mind there could be no
necessity urgent enough to take Adam away without ever seeing her or
leaving a message for her.
"Well, come out with me," said Jerrem: "there's nothin' I should like
better than a bit of a stroll. I'd got it in my head before you spoke."
Eve hesitated.
"P'r'aps you'm thinkin' Adam 'ud blame 'ee for it?"
"Oh dear, no, I'm not: I'm not quite such a slave to Adam's opinion as
that. Besides," she added, feeling she was speaking, with undue
asperity, "surely everybody may go for a walk without being blamed by
anybody for it: at all events, I mean to go."
"That's right," said Jerrem.--"Here, I say, Joan, me and Eve's goin'
out for a little."
"Goin' out? Where to?" said Joan, coming forward toward the door, to
which he had advanced.
"Oh, round about for a bit--by Chapel Rock and out that ways."
"Well, if you goes with her, mind you comes back with her. D'ee hear,
now?--Don't 'ee trust un out o' yer sight, Eve, my dear--not further
than you can see un, nor so far if you can help it."
"You mind yer own business," said Jerrem.
"If you was to do that you'd stay at home, then," said Joan, dropping
her voice; "but that's you all over, tryin' to put your finger into
somebody's else's pie.--I doubt whether 'twill over-please Adam
either," she added, coming back from watching them down the street;
"but, there! if he and Eve's to sail in one boat, the sooner he learns
'twon't always be his turn to handle the tiller the better."
* * * * *
It was getting on for three o'clock when Adam, having completed all the
business he could accomplish on that day, was returning home. He had
been to the few gentlemen's houses near, had visited most of the large
farms around, and had found a good many customers ready to relieve him
of a considerable portion of the spirit which, by reason of their
living so near at hand, would thus evade much of the danger attendant
on a more distant transfer.
Every one had heard of the recent attack on the Lottery, and much
sympathy was expressed and many congratulations were tendered on
account of their happy escape.
Adam was a general favorite, looked up to and respected as an honest,
straight-forward fellow; and so little condemnation was felt against
the trade carried on that the very magistrate consented to take a
portion of the goods, and saw no breach of his office in the admonition
he gave to keep a sharp lookout against these new-comers, who seemed
somewhat over-inclined to show their teeth.
Adam spoke freely of the anxiety he felt as to the result of the
encounter, but very few seemed to share it. Most of them considered
that, having escaped, with the exception of strengthened vigilance no
further notice would be taken, so that his mind was considerably
relieved about the matter, and his heart felt lighter and his pace more
brisk in returning than when in the morning he had set out on his
errand.
His last visit had been to Lizzen, and thence, instead of going back by
the road, he struck across to the cliff by a narrow path known to him,
and which would save him some considerable distance.
The day was perfect--the sky cloudless, the sea tranquil: the young
verdure of the crag-crowned cliffs lay bathed in soft sunshine. For a
moment Adam paused, struck by the air of quiet calm which overspread
everything around. Not a breath of wind seemed abroad, not a sail in
sight, not a sound to be heard. A few scattered sheep were lazily
feeding near; below them a man was tilling a fresh-cleared patch of
ground; far away beyond two figures were standing side by side.
Involuntarily, Adam's eyes rested on these two, and while he gazed upon
them there sprang up into his heart the wish that Eve was here. He
wanted her--wanted to remind her of the promise she had given him
before they parted, the promise that on his return she would no longer
delay, but tell him the day on which he might claim her for his wife. A
minute more, and with all speed he was making a straight cut across the
*cliff-side. Disregarding the path, he scrambled over the projections
of rock and trampled down the furze, with only one thought in his
mind--how soon he could reach home.
"Where's Eve, Joan?" he asked as, having looked through two of the
rooms, he came, still in breathless haste, into the outer kitchen,
where Joan was now busily engaged in baking her cakes.
"Ain't her outside nowheres?" said Joan, wiping her face with her apron
to conceal its expression.
"No, I can't see her."
"Awh, then, I reckon they'm not come in yet;" and by this time she had
recovered herself sufficiently to turn round and answer with
indifference.
"Who's they?" said Adam quickly.
"Why, her went out for a bit of a stroll with Jerrem. They--"
But Adam interrupted her. "Jerrem?" he exclaimed. "Why should she go
out with Jerrem?"
"Awh, he's right enough now," said Joan. "He's so sober as a judge, or
I wouldn't ha' suffered 'en anighst her. Eve thought she should like a
bit of a walk, and he offered to go with her; and I was very glad of it
too, for Tabithy wanted to sandy the floors, so their room was better
for we than their company."
"'Tis very strange," said Adam, "that Eve can't see how she puts me out
by goin' off any way like this with Jerrem. I won't have it," he added,
with rising anger, "and if she's to be my wife she sha'n't do it,
either; so she'd best choose between us before things go too far."
"Awh, don't 'ee take it like that," said Joan soothingly. "'Twasn't
done with no manin' in it. Her hadn't any more thought o' vexin' 'ee
than a babby; nor I neither, so far as that goes, or I should ha' put a
stopper on it, you may be sure. Why, go and meet 'em. They'm only out
by Chapel Rock: they left word where they was goin' a-purpose."
A little mollified by this, Adam said, "I don't tell Eve everything,
but Jerrem and I haven't pulled together for a long time, and the more
we see o' one another the worse it is, and the less I want him to have
anything to say to Eve. He's always carryin' on some game or 'nother.
When we were at Guernsey he made a reg'lar set-out of it 'bout some
letter that came there to him. Well, who could that have been from?
Nobody we know anything about, or he'd have said so. Besides, who
should want to write to him, or what business had he to go blabbin'
about which place we were bound for? I haven't seen all the soundings
o' that affair clear yet, but I mean to. I ain't goin' to be 'jammed in
a clench like Jackson' for Jerrem nor nobody else."
Joan made no answer. She seemed to be engaged in turning her crock
round, and while bending down she said, "Well, I should go after 'em if
I was you. They'm sure not to be very far off, and I'll get tea ready
while you'm gone."
Adam moved away. Somewhat reluctant to go, he lingered about the rooms
for some time, making up his mind what he should do. He could not help
being haunted by an idea that the two people he had seen standing were
Eve and Jerrem. It was a suspicion which angered him beyond measure,
and after once letting it come before him it rankled so sorely that he
determined to satisfy himself, and therefore started off down the
street, past the quay and up by the steps.
"Here, where be goin' to?" called out a voice behind him.
Without stopping Adam turned his head. "Oh, Poll, is that you?" he
said.
"Iss."
"Have ye seen Eve pass this way? I think she'd got Jerrem with her."
"S'pose if I have?" said Poll, with whom Adam was no favorite: "they
doesn't want you. You stay where you be now. I hates to see anybody
a-spilin' sport like that."
With no very pleasant remark on the old woman Adam turned to go on.
"Awh, you may rin," she cried, "but you woan't catch up they. They was
bound for Nolan Point, and they's past there long afore now."
Then the two he had seen were they! An indescribable feeling of
jealousy stung Adam, and, giving way to his temper in a volley of oaths
against old Poll, he turned back, repassed her and went toward home,
while she stood enjoying his discomfiture, laughing heartily at it as
she called out, "I hears 'ee. Swear away! I don't mind yer cusses, not
I. Better hear they than be deef."