THE SEVEN FAIL
That night the weather changed from fair to foul. Dense
vapours descended upon the Moor, driving mists wrapped
hill and valley; scarce a mountain thrust its crown above the
gloom. For two days the rain prevailed and Grace was in some
fear that the change would delay Peter Norcot and lengthen his
stay at Fox Tor Farm; but when she whispered that belief to
Kekewich in the breakfast parlour on the morning of their visitor's
departure, the old man showed no fear.
"He'll go. He'm not the sort to change his plans for a scat
o' rain. You'll be rids of him by noon."
"Oh Kek, when shall I be rids of him altogether?"
"'Twill be wiser to get rids of your dislike of the gentleman,
Miss Grace. Master means to see you married by next
Whitsuntide."
"Somebody will have to run away with me."
"There's many would be very willing, I doubt not. But them
as runs away with a maid, will often run away from her come
presently. In this here vale o' tears, the hard deed be the wisest,
nine times out o' ten. You'm so butivul as a painted picture;
but your sort is often miserable in their lives, just because 'love'
be the first thought and only thought in every heart as sees 'em.
So you pretty ones get to think that love be the sole thing as
matters."
"I'm sure I don't, then; at least--I--oh, why do fathers plot
and plan for us so? Is it right? Is it fair?"
"A grown-up faither must be wiser than a young giglet not out
of her teens."
"Where's the wisdom of----?" began Grace; but her mother
appeared at this moment, and Mr. Norcot followed with the
master of Fox Tor Farm.
After breakfast the weather mended, and Malherb insisted that
Peter should ride round the estate with him--a performance of
which they had been disappointed on the previous day. Norcot
obeyed and admired all things, but he ventured to doubt whether
a plan for bringing water from a spring by way of an open conduit
would serve the purpose in winter.
"It is like to freeze or choke with snow," he said.
"Nonsense!" answered Malherb. "Everybody here is always
whining about what will happen come winter. Did not I see last
winter here myself?"
"A very unusually mild one."
"Well, I don't fear it. But my men shiver at the name of it.
It haunts their summer. They begin to see the phantom of it
before September. Woodman and Beer are always crying about
it. Is it not so, man?"
He addressed Mr. Beer, who was ploughing up potatoes with
a yoke of oxen. The stalks had been drawn and collected in
huge heaps, and now, with his coulter held close on the left of
each row, Richard flung up fine tubers at every step, while Tom
Putt, Mark Bickford, and several women, specially engaged for
this important business, followed and filled the carts.
The crop was heavy, and Mr. Malherb regarded it triumphantly.
"These will astonish some of our neighbours, I fancy," he
remarked.
"You must have brought this land with you!" commented
Peter; and the farmer was constrained to admit that the soil had
called for costly preparation.
The weather broke anon, and before midday the mist lifted
sluggishly to the crowns of the hills, sulked there awhile, then
prepared to roll down again.
At his parting meal Norcot had some speech with Grace and,
afterwards, succeeded in winning a little conversation with her
alone. She showed indifference and impatience. Then he
interested her by describing his visit to Prince Town.
"The hero of the chisel honoured me with his attention. I
am to do him a service if I can. He is a gentleman from the
State of Vermont. He congratulated me on my fortune and I
expressed a hope that he might be at your wedding. If I win
his parole for him, it is quite possible that he may be."
"I am resolved with all my soul and all my strength never,
never to marry you, Peter; and you know it; and you are
ungenerous and cruel to press it."
Mr. Norcot nodded thoughtfully.
"Nothing in the world like a hearty resolution," he answered.
"'I have seen a woman resolve to be in the wrong all the days
of her life; and by the help of her resolution, she has kept her
word to a tittle.' But not so Grace Malherb. She is too sensible
for that. I can leave my future happiness with absolute
confidence in her little hands."
"My happiness is of no account!"
"Your happiness is my own. But let us return to Cecil Stark.
A handsome and a gallant lad. He and his companions should
enjoy parole without a doubt; and it may be that I shall assist
them in that direction."
"You're a fool for your pains," declared Maurice Malherb, who
entered at this moment. "Are there not enough of his kidney
quartered all round about at Moreton, Tavistock, Ashburton and
elsewhere? Certain of the Americans have broken their parole as
it is. Conceive, if you can, the mind capable of such a crime.
A dog has more sense of honour than these people."
"There are both heroes and rascals among them as amongst us
all. You know my weakness for physical perfection. He was
such a magnificent lad--Stark, I mean. And sailors always get
upon the blind side of me. I find them so sterling and so
simple. Of course, 'they that go down to the sea in ships,
that do their business in great waters,' surprise one, since you
might suppose that no man of intelligence would willingly select
such a deplorable profession; yet I like 'em for their modesty and
humble behaviour. I shall release Commodore Miller and the
rest, I believe, if Lord Hamilton prove still my friend. He is
_persona grata_ with the Regent."
"And so is Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt at Tor Royal. I am almost
minded to pit my influence against yours," said Malherb, half in
jest, half in earnest. "I am myself privileged to know the Duke
of Clarence, and at his table I was once honoured by meeting the
Prince and received some flattering attention from him when he
learned that I was a friend of Tyrwhitt."
"Oh, dad, don't!" pleaded Grace. "Let Peter free them if he
can."
"And what interest have you in the matter, my dear?"
"Why, didn't the young man nearly knock my brains out?
I have every right to be interested," declared his daughter.
Anon, Mr. Norcot set off for Chagford, and Grace, yielding to
her father's wish, rode with him for some miles. Behind them
followed John Lee and Thomas Putt. The former had come
to escort Grace home again; the latter carried Mr. Norcot's
luggage. As for Lee, Peter's well-knit figure and prosperous mien
quite filled the forefront of his thoughts. His own helplessness
especially crushed him when Norcot occupied his mind, and
while Peter and Grace exchanged ideas, John kept a dark silence
behind them, nor could Putt win any word from him.
At last Miss Malherb reached the turning-point and prepared
to take her farewell.
"I wish you could find a reason for your coldness," said
Norcot, as they drew up on the lonely heights of Believer. "I'm
a logical man. If you convinced me of error, it would be so
different. But I have yet to know why I shouldn't love you and
why you shouldn't marry me."
"I don't love you."
"Tut, tut! That's nothing. What a pitiful fellow should I be
to let so small an accident frighten me from a noble purpose!
Besides, 'don't' and 'won't' are very different words. Patience
is my strong point, and you can't remain a child for ever."
"Words--words, Peter! I often wonder what your real life is
behind so much talking."
"Marry me and find out."
"Never. You think I may love you presently. It is absolutely
impossible, so spare yourself the delusion, and spare me."
"As to that, delusion is half the joy of life, and at least three
parts of true love. Hear Waller. His address to the 'Mutable
Fair' might do you good.
"'For still to be deluded so,
Is all the pleasure lovers know;
Who, like good falconers, take delight,
Not in the quarry, but the flight.'
Farewell, sweet Grace, until we meet again."
He bent over her hand in a very courtly fashion, and then
set off for Chagford with Putt after him.
When they were out of sight Grace turned to her lover and
quickly felt his arm round her, his gentle kisses upon her
cheek.
"'Tis very well," she said; "but I can't live even on your
kisses, sweetheart. This man quite overclouds my spirit. I gasp
for air; I suffocate with quotations. You'll have to run away
with me, John."
"Whither, my lovely Grace?"
"Why--to your grandmother. I'll dye myself nut-brown and
pick snails for Lovey Lee."
Than her jest nothing had better served to show young John
the futility of his hopes.
He groaned aloud.
"I have been mad," he said; "each day, each hour shows me
how mad."
"Your love must find the way. Read some of my story-books.
I'll warrant they'll hearten you. You are meant to do dashing
deeds."
"Life falls out so different. What can I do? How shall I
set about proving that I'm worthy to tie your shoe-string? The
bitter truth is that I'm not."
"Now I see that Mr. Norcot has oppressed you as he oppresses
me. I always feel not good enough, nor great enough to breathe
the same air with him."
"But he is not good, nor yet great," John answered.
"Well, we stand where we did. You must see your grandmother
and be firm with her. You are a man now. Approach
her boldly upon the subject of your father. She knows all about
you--more even than I do--'tis not to be endured. And if you
cannot win her to our side, then I must. Just think how it
might chance if she has the amphora!"
Upon this fascinating problem they spoke at length, and with
such earnestness, that they forgot their love affairs for full five
minutes. Not until familiar landmarks warned them that they
neared their home again, did they become personal. Then John
Lee's soul grew glad once more, and hope woke within him at her
voice.
Peter Norcot, meantime, heard something of interest on his
homeward way. In a wild heath beyond Hameldon, he overtook
two old men plodding along together, and as he possessed a
remarkable memory, the horseman recollected one of them very
well, and offered him greeting.
"How now, Mr. 'Ha'penny for a rook, a penny for a jay'!
How wags the world with you? You forget me, but I remember
Leaman Cloberry who showed me my road to Fox Tor Farm
when I was fog-foundered a while agone."
"To be sure--an' they be reaping what they sowed there by all
accounts--I mean where I took you."
"Reaping what you sowed more like," said Putt wrathfully.
"If I'd catched you at your May-games wi' rats and moles
up-along, I'd have broken your wicked neck--old as you be."
"Stuff an' nonsense!" answered Cloberry, "I never went nigh
the place. 'Tis Childe's Tomb I speak of, not rats an' mice. 'Tis
pulling down of holy crosses wi'out more thought than an honest
man would draw a turnip. An' they lost their only son; and but
for the mercy of God might have had their throats cut last
night--eh, Uncle Smallridge?"
"'Tis so indeed, your honour," piped Uncle. "An' me the
first to tell the news; for if they'd escaped, 'tis odds but they'd
have fallen on man, woman, 'an childern; for they'm little better'n
Red Injuns by all accounts."
"What is this aged but animated earth chattering about?"
asked Peter.
"'Tis thanks to the watching Lord an' Cap'n Cottrell they
didn't," declared Uncle. "But they tried, an' they'd a' gotten
their devilish contrivances all ready; but the red-coats was too
clever for 'em; an' now 'twill be bloody backs for every one of
'em; an' sarve 'em right, I say!"
"The old chap overruns his subject, your honour," explained
Cloberry. "The matter be that last night but one, when the fog
blowed up so thick an' sudden, a party of them Yankees to the
War Prison concocted a wonnerful clever plan for escape. In the
thick of the dimsy light they popped over the first wall wi' a very
nice li'l ladder all made o' rabbit wire; but somehow--God he
knows how--afore they could scale the outer wall, up ran
Commander Cottrell an' his valiant men, as was snugly hidden away in
a covered shed there. The armed sojers made every man Jack
of 'em a prisoner in a moment. How the plot was found out an'
who told upon 'em ban't known; but somebody did for sure--else
they'd a' got clean off--all seven of 'em."
"Pegs! 'tis a merciful escape for Dartymoor!" said Uncle
Smallridge.
"Most interesting; but I hope 'twas not a young acquaintance
of mine," answered Peter, "else I much fear my efforts upon his
behalf will prove vain. Thank you, my men, for this remarkable
news. Now let us sing 'Long live the King,' and Cottrell, long
live he; and here's a trifle to cool your throats when you have
done so."
He handed a shilling to each man, and they clamoured blessings
upon him.
"Always knowed you was a gentleman. An' may it be your
turn next, sir," said Cloberry with great heartiness. "I only hopes
you'll be in a proper tight fix some of these days and 'twill be my
fortune to pull you out!"
"An' me, too," declared Uncle Smallridge, "for you'm one of
the Lord's chosen heroes if ever I seed one. You can take an
old man's word for't."
Within a fortnight, Norcot had succeeded in obtaining the
privilege of parole for Commodore Jonathan Miller, Cecil Stark
and William Burnham. But the boon arrived too late, for in
response to the order came a communication, telling how these
officers, together with four other men, had recently been captured
in a bold attempt to break out of the War Prison. In what
manner the authorities had learned their secret and hindered
them, none knew; but the result proved definite enough; for the
promise of parole was immediately withdrawn and all future hope
of it denied.