Mr. Field, when he enquired anxiously for the boy. "I wonder whether
you could give me a clue to what he means, so that we might know how to
quiet him. Often in an illness of this sort the mind dwells on
something that took place immediately before the fever came on."
"What are the words?" asked Mr. Field.
"He is continually saying 'I want to make him my friend,'" answered the
nurse. "All last night he did nothing but moan out this one sentence.
It was quite pitiful to hear him, poor child."
Mr. Field's heart smote him. "He was very disobedient the day of the
catastrophe," he said. "Perhaps he is still thinking of it, and is
afraid of my anger--I know I have sometimes been harsh with the boy. Do
you suppose if I went to him and told him it was all right, that the
fear would be allayed?"
"It may be that," replied the nurse, "at any rate it is worth trying.
There, do you hear him?" she added, as they entered the darkened room
and advanced towards the small tossing figure on the bed.
Vainly did the poor father stand at his son's side and assure him of his
love and forgiveness. The unnaturally bright eyes which were fixed upon
him softened with no answering light, and to his distress, the weak
voice took up once again its monotonous refrain.
"Whom can he mean?" pondered Mr. Field. "I wonder if he wants the lad
who was with him that dreadful afternoon. I remember Burns told me they
had often played together. I forbade Julius ever to speak to him, but
if anyone could do my boy good, I should welcome him, even if he were a
chimney sweep."
A polite note was at once written to Mrs. Power, requesting that Robin
might be allowed to come up to Farncourt, in the hope that his little
companion's presence might satisfy the restless longings of the child.
A faint smile played over Julius' features as Robin entered the room,
and for a moment a gleam of recognition leapt into his eyes, but it soon
faded away, and the pathetic moan recommenced--the feverish limbs moving
wearily to and fro upon the couch.
"If he could only get some sleep he would do well," remarked the nurse,
"but I fear his strength will not hold out if this goes on much longer."
"We had hoped the sight of your little boy would have soothed Julius,
but it seems to have done no good," said Mr. Field, as he led Robin back
to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Power awaited his return. "We thought
he missed his playfellow, for he never ceases speaking of someone he
wants as his friend. If only we could find out what he desires, we
might manage to bring peace to his mind."
"I know what he means," replied Madelaine with a sudden inspiration.
"If you will let me go up to him, I believe I shall be able to help."
Gladly did the stricken father retrace his steps to the sick chamber,
and as Mrs. Power followed, her heart was lifted up in prayer to God
that she might be given the right words to say. Unhesitatingly she went
up to the bed and knelt beside the child. Taking his burning hands in
hers, she held them firmly as she looked into his face.
"I want to make him my friend," reiterated the boy.
"It is God Whom you want to make your Friend, is it not, little Julius?"
asked Madelaine.
A relieved expression flashed across the sufferer's countenance as the
question seemed to reach him through the darkness of his delirium, and a
look of intelligence dawned in the poor anxious eyes.
"Yes," he answered, "I want Him very much."
"He is your Friend already, Julius," continued Mrs. Power. "He loved us
so much that He sent His Son to die for us. He has been your Friend all
along, Julius. It is you who have been running away from Him."
"Do you mean God really wanted to be my Friend all along?" questioned
the boy earnestly.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Power, "that is the comfort of it. Just say to
yourself, 'God loves me,' and ask Him to wash away your sins, and to
keep you for Jesus Christ's sake. Only a Friend can love, Julius, so
you need not be afraid of Him."
"God loves me," repeated the child. "God loves me. He was my Friend
all along, only I didn't know."
He closed his eyes contentedly, and nestled his head into the pillow.
Mrs. Power held his hands in hers for a few minutes longer, and then
gently laid them down upon the bed. "I think he is sleeping," she
whispered, as she rose to her feet.
The nurse nodded silently with a pleased smile, and Madelaine
noiselessly left the room.
Many an anxious hour was still to come as Julius slowly struggled back
to health and strength, but as the doctor said, it was to that sleep the
child owed his life. There were no more objections made by Mr. Field to
the intercourse between Farncourt and the dwellers in Sea View Cottage.
Every morning did Robin and his mother walk up to enquire for the
invalid, and as often as not, one or both of them stayed with him for
the rest of the day. Mr. Field indeed was not often present when Mrs.
Power sat with his son, but he would constantly join the two boys as
they played together, watching them as they made endless scrapbooks out
of old illustrated papers, or constructed wonderful models with bits of
wood and an unlimited supply of glue.
The great London physician came no longer to look wisely over his
gold-rimmed spectacles at the now convalescent lad, but the village
doctor still made friendly visits, to the benefit of his patient as well
as of his own pocket.
"We'll soon have you flying about as lively as ever," he said cheerily
to Julius during one of these calls. "You've got on quicker than the
other patient I was summoned to attend the same day that you got bowled
over."
"Who was that?" asked Mrs. Power, who was standing near. "I had not
heard that any of the villagers were ill just now."
"I know how good you are in going to see the sick ones," responded the
doctor, "and I longed to ask you to minister to this poor fellow, but
he's a queer self-contained mortal, and apparently prefers to be left to
himself. He is a stranger here--arrived the night of the storm--and
appeared, sopping wet and utterly tired out at Mrs. Potter's door, with
no luggage but a knapsack, being apparently upon some sort of walking
tour. She let him in out of pity, and he's been laid up at her house
ever since. It's the Mrs. Potter who lives on the high road just beyond
the wood. She's a good soul, and has done all she could for him, but
it's been a close shave, his getting through at all."
The boys exchanged glances.
"I expect it's the tramp," whispered Julius. "I'm glad he's got a real
bed to sleep in, and that he didn't have to stay in the hut while he was
ill."
"Our nice house is all broken down now," replied Robin. "The rain of
that night beat it to pieces. The roof fell in, and the wall gave way,
and the moss floor got into a nasty sloppy mess. I looked for my text,
but I couldn't find it anywhere. I think it must have been completely
washed away."
"I shouldn't be afraid of that text now," remarked Julius. "I have told
father all about my going to make Peter's hutch, and our house in the
wood, and our games and everything. He wasn't a bit angry, only sorry I
had deceived him so often. I'm not going to do sneaky things again, but
I'm jolly glad he doesn't mind me playing with you now, Robin."
During the anguish of the first days of Julius' illness, Mr. Field's
thoughts were concentrated wholly upon his suffering boy, but as the
tension became relaxed and the child regained his vigour, the terrible
time which he had spent in the wood came back with full force and
vividness to his mind.
"Could I have been mad for the moment?" he would ask himself again and
again. "First the words--and then the face! It was too awful. People
used to have visions in the old days--is it possible that they sometimes
come to men still?"
He had never believed in ghosts, but he felt curiously nervous now as
the dusk gathered round, and to Burn's astonishment, gave orders that
the electric light was to be left on all night in the passages and hall.
It had never been his custom to wander much alone even within the
borders of his own property, but since that memorable evening he had
taken exercise only upon the terrace in front of the house, and when
obliged to go to Westmarket upon business, had motored in with the hood
up and the blinds drawn.
"I have got bad neuralgia," he explained by way of excuse, "and the
glare hurts my eyes."
"I wonder why he wants such an illumination at night then?" remarked the
butler. "I can't tell what's come to him lately. It seems almost as if
he were going crazy."
Do what he could, Mr. Field was unable to banish the unpleasant
adventure from his thoughts. Night and day his mind was filled with
strange and terrifying questionings, which he sought to meet by
commonplace answers and logical explanations, but all in vain.
"It must just have been some fellow seeking shelter from the rain, as I
was doing myself," he would argue. "There is no doubt there was an
extraordinary likeness, but it cannot be anything more. Probably if I
had seen the same face in broad daylight it would have had no effect
upon me, but that night my nerves were completely unhinged by the storm.
I wish I could get the dreadful death-look of those eyes out of my mind.
There is only one other face that would be worse to see again, and I
think I should go off my head altogether if that appeared to me in the
same manner as this one did. It is bad enough to be obliged to meet it
in my dreams."
Once the thought crossed Mr. Field's brain that the apparition was some
prank of Ben's, another practical joke, based upon some shrewd
supposition, and perpetrated in order to extort more money out of the
apparently bottomless coffers of his prey. Some judicious questioning,
however, set his fears at rest in that quarter.
"If Ben did know all, it would be far too good a lever not to make use
of against me, and he is not the man to hesitate to try it," Mr. Field
decided. "If he hasn't played his trump-card by this time, I don't
think he's got one in his hand at all. It's my belief that there is
more bluff than anything else in what he says, and if so, why should I
knuckle under to him every time he comes sponging on me as he does. I
have been far too weak with him in the past. I shall see what effect a
little firmness will have upon my gentleman. I don't so much mind
having to pay for what he knows, but I do draw the line at giving
anything for threats in the dark."
*CHAPTER XIV*
*Pin-pricks and Pellets*
This change of front did not at all suit Benjamin Green, when he at last
realized that the worm had turned, and that his visits to Farncourt did
not produce the same golden results which they had been wont to do in
the past. Afraid to press the blackmailing process too far in case he
should find he was involved in unsuspected difficulties himself, his
thoughts reverted to what remained of his father's property, and his
ingenious mind set about devising means by which Mr. Field's ambition
could be turned to account.
"There's a good piece of the land still left," he said, as he
contemplated the scene, "and it will be many a long day till the waves
claim it as they did the old house. I'll see what can be done in the
meanwhile to squeeze out of the squire that same hundred pounds which he
promised my father before he died."
For a week or two after Timothy's cottage had disappeared it had been
unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Field to gaze upon the view from his
dining-room windows. True, a portion of the coveted ground could still
be discerned through the gap in the little wood which intervened between
Farncourt and the shore--a gap which no amount of planting would fill up
for many years to come--but at least the human habitation was away which
had been such a vexation to the purse-proud man.
There was nothing now to rouse his ire as he looked out upon the
prospect before him. The sky and sea were certainly beyond his reach,
but on earth, only the possessions of the master of Farncourt could be
seen.
His feelings of irritation and disgust therefore can be imagined when,
one fine morning, on going as usual to the casement to enjoy the view,
he became aware of a tall flagstaff planted on the edge of the cliff,
just in the centre of the vista which he desired so much to ignore.
It literally glittered in the glory of the whitest of white paint, and
to add to its conspicuousness a brilliant scarlet flag fluttered
tauntingly from it in the breeze.
"I suppose it's some maliciousness on the part of that wretched Ben
Green," he exclaimed. "He threatened that he would get even with me
somehow, when I refused to give him what he asked for last time he was
here. This is even worse than the cottage! That flaring red thing
catches your eye wherever you look. He's hoisted it half-mast high too!
I wonder what he means by that? Sign of some misfortune of course, but
I don't see how he expects to bring it about. I'd like to go to law,
and take the fellow down a peg, but I daren't threaten him too much, or
he might retaliate by stirring up things I would rather let alone."
The evening post brought him a few lines from Ben, coolly placing the
alternative before him of purchasing the land which he desired, but at
double the price originally offered to old Timothy.
"The value of the property has risen since my father's death," wrote
Ben, "as I am in treaty with someone for whom I intend to erect business
premises thereon. This is absolutely the last chance for you to secure
it at this figure, for from to-day the sum I shall ask must necessarily
be considerably higher."
"Ridiculous!" fumed Mr. Field. "I'm not going to be coerced into doing
things against my will. Double the price, indeed! He may whistle for
the two hundred pounds, but he'll not get them! As for the building
scheme, of course it's only a ruse to force me into giving him the
money. He can't bluff me into believing for a minute that anyone really
means to build on that crumbling cliff."
It was a distinct shock to the millionaire when, a day or two later, he
noticed bricks of a particularly virulent hue being piled up beside the
flagstaff in full sight of his window. Apparently Ben was in earnest
this time, for almost before Mr. Field could realize the full extent of
the calamity, foundations had been laid, and the walls of a house rose
as if by magic upon the edge of the cliff.
Such an erection too, as it was! Every morning he woke to find it even
more appalling than he had dreamed of in the night. When it was
finished, an ugly square dwelling stared him in the face. The bottom
half was built of red bricks, dotted here and there with yellow ones.
The top half consisted of yellow bricks, variegated with red. A couple
of long, unsightly chimneys stood like rabbit's ears at each end of the
roof, while two curtainless windows seemed to glare at him like bold,
unblinking eyes from either side of the gaudy emerald-green door.
"Could anything be worse?" he groaned, as he went to bed one evening
after a long and dismal survey of the eyesore from the top of the tower.
But worse was still to come.
On the morrow when he rose as usual, and, drawn by a strange
fascination, went at once to gaze upon the torturing sight, he almost
choked with the mortification and fury which filled his breast.
On the long, sloping roof of shiny slates were painted in huge white
letters the words--
LAUNDRY
WASHING DONE CHEAP
It was in vain for him to grind his teeth with rage; before the day was
out, lines of fluttering garments stretched from side to side across the
field, waving mocking hands, so it appeared to him as he gazed.
As if this were not enough, a row of small wooden sheds presently sprang
up next the fence which bounded Ben's property upon the side nearest to
Farncourt.
"Is he going to set up a zoological garden?" enquired Mr. Field
indignantly, as he watched while a pen of wire-netting was carefully
erected in front of each little hut.
"No, sir, it's pigs," answered the butler solemnly. "A number of them
are on their way from Westmarket, I believe, and will arrive to-day."
There was no doubt when the occupants of the styes took possession of
their new quarters. For two mortal hours did Mr. Field sit in misery,
listening to the squeals of the rebellious porkers as they were driven
into the meadow and hustled unceremoniously into their several
dwellings. Each squeak seemed to go through him like a knife, and he
shut himself up in his study, dreading to detect a smile upon the faces
of the servants to whom he knew his humiliation must be matter of
amusement, instead of the anguish which it certainly was to him.
"Anything come besides pigs?" he asked Burns, when the butler entered
the room to enquire if there were letters for the post.
"They do say as Benjamin Green has bought the grocer's donkey, which he
was parting with, owing to it's being such a nuisance to his neighbours,
sir," replied Burns. "Never ceases braying all night, so I was told. I
don't know if it's correct, but we'll soon find out for ourselves if
there's any truth in the story."
It was not long before the authenticity of the report was confirmed.
That very evening the hours of darkness were made hideous by the
melancholy voice of the disconsolate ass, as he poured forth his woes
with discordant emphasis in the ears of the sympathetic pigs.
"I suppose Ben thinks he'll pile it on until he makes me give in," said
Mr. Field to himself, as he paced up and down the terrace next morning.
"Rather than do that I'll sell Farncourt and take another place. A good
idea too! I wonder I never thought of it before. There is no doubt
people about here have given me the cold shoulder--those I should care
to meet, I mean--and I'm pretty well sick of it by this time. I shan't
be sorry to be rid of that ramrod of an earl and his stuck-up friends.
I saw there was a nice estate in Gloucestershire advertised for sale the
other day. I'll take a run over and see what it's like. Julius is
getting on well now, and I suppose I shall soon have to be thinking of
sending him to some good public school. It seems the right thing to do,
if he is to take his proper place in the world. I should be glad of a
pleasant neighbour or two, when he is gone, who would join me in a shoot
now and then, or come in sometimes to have a chat. It's rather
monotonous always going about by myself, and things are apt to get on
one's mind a bit."
Mr. Field took a few more turns and then threw away his cigar. "I think
I'll go and have a pot at the pheasants before lunch," he said. "At any
rate, I'll get a little relief from the noise of that abominable donkey.
He seems to have a throat of iron, the way he goes on making that
everlasting row!"
He went into the house and fetched his gun. He was rather proud of his
pheasants, having introduced a rare and much-talked-of breed into his
coverts. The worst was, that at present the birds were so tame they
afforded little more sport than would be enjoyed by shooting hens in a
farmyard. Accustomed as they were to the careful feeding and
supervision of the keepers, they knew little as yet of the murderous
power of the gun.
On his way to the plantations, Mr. Field encountered his head man, whose
countenance wore an unwonted expression of gloom.
"Hullo! What's the matter, Jones?" he enquired. "You look as if you'd
just swallowed a dose of poison."
"It's not poison as is troubling me, sir," replied the gamekeeper
lugubriously. "It is nets as is doing the deadly work, and seeing they
make no noise, and usually leave no traces, it's a difficult job to lay
hands on him who spreads 'em."
"What do you mean?" enquired his master. "Is anything wrong with the new
pheasants?"
"That's just what it is, sir," was the reply. "I was on my way to tell
you about it now. I've been noticing for some time past that they were
disappearing, mysterious like, only I put it down to some of 'em having
been enticed over to the earl's preserves in yonder copse, seeing his
keeper is feeding his birds there too. But I found a bit of a net
yesterday, hanging on a bush, and footsteps near by, what made me
suspect there might be poachers about, doing business on their own
account, when I'm out of the way."
"You have seen no one hanging about, have you, Jones?" asked Mr. Field.
"No, sir," replied the man, "but they'd take good care to keep out of my
sight. I expect they scatter food in likely places in the woods, and
when the pheasants get to know where to come for it, they catch 'em in
nets, the silly things being as tame as bantams. A good price they'll
get for them too, seeing they're all the more valuable living than
dead."
"Well, Jones, it's your duty to look after the game, and if poachers can
carry on their work under your very nose like that, it shows you're not
worth your salt. Get more men if you need them, to watch the place, but
don't let me hear of losses in this way again. I won't have my property
calmly stolen from me like this, so put your best foot foremost and stop
it at once."
"Do you want me to come with you now, sir?" asked the crestfallen man.
"I see you've got your gun."
"No," replied Mr. Field, "if I shoot anything I'll leave it behind the
wall near the gate, and you can send for it later. I'll probably only
take a look round this morning and see how things are for myself."
"Everyone seems to be conspiring against me," he said to himself as he
continued his walk. "What's the use of so much money if I can't even
enjoy my own house and recreations without being imposed upon and
insulted by any impudent fellow who happens to come along."
Meditating on his wrongs, Mr. Field entered the little copse, and
wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes, hoping to find some clue to
the mysterious thefts. Suddenly a great grey cat rushed across his path
and disappeared in a thick tangle of undergrowth, only three or four
yards away.
"There's the poacher, if I'm not much mistaken!" he exclaimed, as he
raised his gun to his shoulder and hastily fired straight into the
bushes. "Missed him!" he added, as he caught sight of the grey form
fleeing madly away in the direction of the road. "Hope he got a little
peppering though, that will teach him not to come here again in a
hurry."
Before long Mr. Field also left the shelter of the wood, and proceeded
homewards, his mind full of the Gloucestershire estate, to which he
inclined more and more as he pondered over its advantages.
*CHAPTER XV*
*Alive from the Dead*
That evening Mrs. Power was walking along the road which bordered the
Farncourt preserves, when her attention was arrested by the sound of
groaning on the other side of the wall. For a moment her heart stood
still with fear, but she was not naturally timid, and the thought that
someone was in trouble urged her to make closer research.
She turned in the direction whence the moans came, and peeped over into
the plantation. To her horror she saw a man lying on the ground, only a
few steps away from her, his face pale as death and streaked with blood.
"I must go to him," she said to herself, "he looks as if he were dying
there, all alone in the wood."
Climbing over the low wall, she soon reached his side.
"Why, it's Ben Green!" she exclaimed in surprise. "How ever has he got
into this plight? I'm afraid he is badly hurt, poor fellow. He seems
quite unconscious, and I think his arm must be broken, it hangs so
limply from the shoulder."
She wetted her handkerchief in the rivulet which ran through the
coppice, and wiped the stains from his face, then, binding the cool
bandage round his forehead, she rose to her feet and started off towards
the village.
"The sooner I get help, the better," she decided. "I can't do him any
good by staying with him here."
It was not long before the wounded man was carefully borne on a
stretcher to his room at "The Bull," and his injuries ascertained by the
doctor.
"He has been badly shot," was the report. "It is a marvel he was not
killed on the spot. If one of the pellets had gone a quarter of an inch
more to one side, it would have penetrated the brain. As it is, he is
suffering from shock and loss of blood, besides the injury to the arm,
which was evidently caused by a fall."
Tongues were let loose that evening in the little hamlet, as conjectures
and suggestions were freely bandied to and fro.