HOW ONE FELL OVER
Gard’s first waking thoughts next morning were of Nance entirely.
He would see her at dinner-time. How would he find her? Last night the
disturbance of her feelings had shaken her out of herself somewhat, and
shown her to him in new and delightful lights.
If, this morning, she should be to some extent withdrawn again into her
natural modest shell, he would not be surprised; and he made up his
mind, then and there, to be in no wise disappointed. Last night was a
fact, a delightful fact, on which to build the rosy future.
It was a long time to wait till dinner-time to see her. What if he went
round that way, before going to work, just to inquire if Tom got home
all right.
And then the feeling of discomfort in his eye and nose, as though the
one had shrunk to the size of a pin-point and the other had grown to the
bulk of a turnip--brought back the whole matter, and on further
consideration he decided not to go to the farm till the proper time. If
he came across Tom, the fray would inevitably be resumed at once, and
his right eye, at the moment, showed a decided disinclination to open to
its usual extent, or to perform any of the functions properly demanded
of a right eye contemplating battle.
He must get up at once and bathe it and bring it to reason.
Raw beef, he believed, was the correct treatment under the
circumstances. But raw beef was almost as obtainable as raw moon, and
even raw mutton he did not know where he could procure, nor whether it
would answer the purpose.
So he bathed his bruises with much water, and reduced their excesses to
some extent, but not enough to escape the eye of his hostess when he
appeared at breakfast.
“Bin fighting?” she queried dispassionately.
“A one-sided fight. Tom Hamon was drunk last night and hit me in the
face, but he was not in a condition to fight or I’d have taught him
better manners.”
“He’s a rough piece,” with a disparaging shake of the head. “It’d take a
lot to knock him into shape. Try this,” and she delved among her stores,
and found him an ointment of her own compounding which took some of the
soreness out of his bruises.
But black eyes and swollen noses are impertinently obtrusive and
disdainful of disguise, and the captain’s battle-flags provoked no
little jocosity among his men that morning.
“Run up against su’then, cap’n?” asked John Hamon the engineer, who was
one of the few who sided with him.
“Yes, against a drunken fist in the dark. When it’s sober I’m going to
give it a lesson in manners.”
“Drunken fisses is hard to teach. You’ll have your hands full, cap’n.”
It seemed an unusually long morning, but dinner-time came at last and he
hastened across to the farm, eager for the first sight of the sweet shy
face hiding in the big sun-bonnet.
Quite contrary to his expectations Nance came hurrying to meet him. She
had evidently been on the watch for him. Still more to his surprise, her
face, instead of that look of shy reserve which he had been prepared
for, was full of anxious questioning. The large dark eyes were full of
something he had never seen in them before.
“Why--Nance--dear! What is the matter?” he asked quickly.
“Did you meet Tom again last night? Oh,” at nearer sight of his bruised
face, “you did, you did!”
“Yes, dear, I did. Or rather he met me--as you see.”
“Did you fight with him?” she panted.
“He was too drunk to fight. He ran at me and gave me this, and my first
inclination was to give him a sound thrashing. Then I saw it would be no
good, in the condition he was in, so I just kept him at arm’s length
till he tired of it. He went off at last, and I was so afraid he might
tumble off the Coupée that I followed him, and he hurled rocks at me
whenever he came to a stand. But he got across all right, and I went
back and went to bed. Now, what’s all the trouble about?”
“He never came home,” she jerked, with a catch in her voice which
thought only of Tom had never put there.
“Never came home?”
“And they’re all out looking for him.”
“I wonder if he went back to Peter Mauger’s.... If he tried to cross
that Coupée again--in the condition he was in--”
“He didn’t go back to Peter’s. Julie went there first of all to ask.”
“Good Lord, what can have become of him?”
The answer came unexpectedly round the corner of the house--Julie
Hamon, in a state of utmost dishevelment and agitation, which turned
instantly to venomous fury at the sight of Gard and Nance.
Her black hair seemed all a-bristle. Her black eyes flamed. Her dark
face worked like a quicksand. Her skirts were wet to the waist. Her
jacket was open at the top, as though she had wrenched at it in a fit of
choking. Her strong bare throat throbbed convulsively. Her hands, half
closed at her side, looked as though they wanted something to claw.
“Did you do it?” she cried hoarsely, stalking up to Gard.
“Do what?”
“Kill him.”
“Tom?... You don’t mean to say--”
“You ought to know. He’s there in the school-house, broken to a jelly
and his head staved in. And they say it’s you he fought with last night.
The marks of it are on your face”--her voice rose to a
scream--“Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!”
“You wicked--thing!” cried Nance, pale to the lips.
“You--you--you!” foamed Julie. “You’re as bad as he is. Because my man
tried to save you from that--murderer--”
“Oh, you--wicked!--You’re crazy,” cried Nance, rushing at her as though
to make an end of her.
And Julie, mad with the strain of the night’s anxieties and their abrupt
and terrible ending, uncurled her claws and struck at her with a
snarl--tore off her sun-bonnet, and would have ripped up her face, if
Gard had not flung his arms round her from the back and dragged her
screaming and kicking towards her own door.
Mrs. Hamon had come running out at sound of the fray. Gard whirled the
mad woman into her own house and Mrs. Hamon followed her and closed the
door.
Gard turned to look for Nance.
She was nervously trying to tie on her sun-bonnet by one string.
“Nance, dear,” he said, “you don’t believe I had anything to do with
this?”
“Oh no, no! I’m sure you hadn’t. But--”
“But?” he asked, looking down into the pale face and bright anxious
eyes.
“Oh, they may say you did it. They will think it. They are sure to think
it, and they are so--”
“Don’t trouble about it, dear. I know no more about it than you do, and
they cannot get beyond that. Promise me you won’t let it trouble you.”
“Oh, I will try. But--”
“Have no fears on my account, Nance. I will go at once and tell them all
I know about it.”
He pressed her hands reassuringly, and she went into the house with
downcast head and a face full of forebodings, and he set off at once for
Sark.