'Don't say so. They must, or I shall be undone. I cannot live as I
have, tyrannised over, insulted, trampled on by Admonition and her
cousin. I will no longer endure it. The flag is flying. I have
proclaimed my independence and defiance. But, as you see, I am unable
to live alone. If Liddy and her daughter will not come to me, I shall
be driven to do something desperate. My life has become intolerable, I
will bear with Admonition no longer.'
'What will you do?' asked Elijah with a sneer.
'I tell you, I do not care. I am reckless, I will even fire the house,
and burn it over their heads.'
'What good would that do?'
'What good would it do?' repeated Pettican. 'It would no longer be a
shelter for Admonition and that beau Timothy. I am not going to be
trifled with, I have endured too much. I will be a man. I shouldn't
mind a bit smoking them out of this snug lair.'
'And what about yourself?'
'Oh, as for me, I could go to the Blue Anchor, and put up there for the
rest of my days. I think I could be happy in a tavern, happier than
here, and I should have the satisfaction of thinking I had shaken the
weevils out of the biscuit.'
Elijah started, and strode up and down the room, with head bent, and his
eyes fixed on the floor. His hands were clenched and rigid at his side.
'You will tell Liddy,' said the cripple, watching him.
'Smoke them out! Ha! ha! that is a fine idea!' burst forth from Elijah,
with a laugh.
'You will tell Liddy,' repeated Charles Pettican. 'You must, you know,
or I am lost. If Admonition were to return with Timothy at her heels,
and were to find the flag flying, and me alone----' he passed his
agitated hand over his face, and his lips trembled.
'I see,' said Rebow. 'You would then cease to be a man.'
It was late when Admonition and her cousin returned from the market. It
was so dark that they did not see the flag. But as Admonition put her
hand on the gate it was grasped.
'Stop,' said Elijah. 'A word with you.'
'Who are you?' asked Mrs. Pettican in alarm, and Timothy swaggered
forward to her defence.
'Never mind who I am. I have waited here some hours to warn you. Was
there a girl, a handsome girl, a glorious girl, here to see that man,
your husband, a month ago? You need not answer. I know there was. She
is his cousin. He lent her money.'
'No, he did not. I stopped that, didn't I, Tim?'
'He lent her money. You think you stopped that, but you did not. He
let her have the money, twenty pounds, how I know not. She had his
money, and she will have more, _all_, unless you keep a sharp watch on
him.'
'Tim! do you hear this?' asked Admonition.
'He will send for his cousin to live in the house with him, and to
support him against you.'
'Oh, oh! That's fine, isn't it, Tim?'
'If they come, your reign is at an end. That girl, Glory, has a head of
iron and the heart of a lion. No one can stand against her but one.
There is only one in all the world has dared to conquer her, and he will
do it yet. Don't you think you will be able to lift a little finger
against her will. She will be too strong for you and a hundred of your
Timothys.'
Admonition laughed. 'My little mannikin daren't do it. He is under my
thumb.'
'The flag is flying,' sneered Elijah.
At that moment the faint light of evening broke through the clouds and
Admonition saw the Union Jack at the mast-head.
'He is right. There is audacity! Run, Tim, haul it down, and bring it
me. It shall go into the kitchen fire to boil the water for a glass of
grog.'
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*ON THE BURNT HILL.*
It was Christmas Eve. A hard frost had set in. The leaves which had
hung on the thorn trees on the Ray rained off and were whirled away by
the wind and scattered over the rising and falling waters in the Rhyn.
On the saltings were many pools, filled from below, through crab
burrows, from the channels; when the tide mounted, the water squirted up
through these passages and brimmed the pools, and when the tide fell, it
was sucked down through them as if running out of a colander. Now a
thin film of ice was formed about the edges of these pondlets, and the
marsh herbs that dipped in them were encased in crystal. The wild geese
and ducks came in multitudes, and dappled the water of Mersea channel.
'There's four gone,' said Abraham Dowsing in a sulky voice to Mehalah.
'Four what?'
'Four ewes to be sure, of what else have we more than one?'
'Where are they?'
'That is what I should like to know. Two went yesterday, but I said
nothing about it, as I thought they might be found, or that I hadn't
counted aright; but there's two more missing to-day.'
'What can have become of them?'
'It's no use asking me. Is it like I should know?'
'But this is most extraordinary. They must have wandered off the
saltings, on to the causeway, and so away.'
'That is likely, ain't it,' said Abraham. 'It is like the ways of
sheep, to scatter, and two or three to go off and away from all the
flock. I'll believe that when sheep change their nature.'
'They must have fallen into a pool and been drowned.'
'Then I should find their carcases; but I haven't. Perhaps there has
been a spring tide at the wrong time of the year and overflowed and
drowned them. That's likely, isn't it?'
'But, Abraham, they must be found.'
'Then you must find 'em yourself.'
'Where can they be?'
'I've told you it is no use asking me.'
'Can they have been stolen?'
'I reckon that is just about it.'
'Stolen!' exclaimed Mehalah, her blood flashing to her face and
darkening cheek and brow. 'Do you mean to tell me that some scoundrel
has been here in the night, and carried off four of our ewes?'