It was soon known in Roehurst that Captain Culverin had returned from
his voyage, and Sir Mark ground his teeth with rage as he heard the
news.
"The more need to get the matter over," he said to himself; and he had
at once a long interview with the founder, one which set him more at
ease, for it was decided then and there that the wedding should he that
day week, and Mace was summoned to hear her fate.
She heard it without a word, and from that day forward went about the
house like one in a dream, but with a strange feeling of excitement ever
growing in her brain.
Wedding clothes lay about her room, and presents, but she hardly glanced
at them. At one of her interviews with Sir Mark she had begged that she
might be left much alone, and to her great relief this was accorded to
her, and she waited for the eventful eve.
She longed to visit Father Brisdone at his hiding-place in the old
ironstone pit, but she dared not go, for whenever she set foot beyond
the scattered houses she found either Sir Mark or a couple of his men
following upon her track. She had this consolation, however, that Gil
was evidently in communication with the father, for he had promised to
have him on board.
At first she was all excitement to know whether Sir Mark had heard her
speaking to him; but she felt sure at last that this had not been so,
and so she waited.
Two or three times over her heart was in a flutter, for there were
well-known voices about the place, as Gil's men arrived escorting some
dozens of the country-carts chartered to bear to the foundry-works load
after load of dirty-looking saltpetre bags, and sacks of pure, pale
yellow stone.
These were dangerous times, for all were well-armed, and there was risk
enough of encounters between the sailors and Sir Mark's men, for the
former gazed with jealous eyes at the position taken by the latter
amongst their old friends; while the latter, who knew of the treatment
of two of their companions, longed for an open quarrel and a fight.
But the orders were strict on both sides, Gil making Wat Kilby scowl as
he gave the most stern commands as to the behaviour of the men when in
the little village; and so, day after day, loads and loads of the
special commodities were landed and carried away, and Gil made no effort
to see his love or even speak.
Mace asked her trembling heart whether Gil would know which was the
wedding eve, as if he would not be sure; and so great was her desire to
hear of the condition of Father Brisdone that she daily made a journey
to Tom Croftly's cottage, where the news she heard was always good; and
the father sent her messages to be of good cheer, for he was safe.
These visits seemed to puzzle the followers of Sir Mark, who himself had
his suspicions that they were made by appointment, and that she here
made rendezvous with Gil; but following her one day, the most he saw was
a small basket of provisions and a little flask of wine, all of which he
set down to charity, and walked back with her quite content.
The unloading of Gil's ship continued rapidly, and the followers of Sir
Mark heard one or two mysterious communications about the strange
processions that sometimes were seen in out-of-the-way parts at night,
but their orders were to keep close to the Pool-house, and no
expeditions were made to see what the processions meant.
In short, there was a lull in the little hamlet--the calm that precedes
a storm--and women whispered that Mother Goodhugh had been foretelling
that the time of evil for the house of Cobbe was close at hand.
Sir Mark seemed to be passing his time in busily superintending the
despatch of the last piece that had been finished, after careful proof,
and then in idling about the woods, or rowing upon the Pool, while the
preparations for the wedding still went on.
Once or twice he occupied himself with shooting the wild fowl with
arquebus or cross-bow, but all the same his eyes and ears were attent to
every change.
Now that the news must have reached the Moat, he studiously avoided
visiting there, for he half-laughingly wondered what Anne Beckley would
say.
Jeremiah Cobbe was of opinion that his intended son-in-law was trying to
make friends with all the people about the place, so frequent were his
visits from cot to cot; but this was not so, for he was busy trying to
learn all he could about Gil's whereabouts and habits; an inquisition in
which he was aided by Master Tarpling, the temporary resident parson;
but the total of their knowledge when added up amounted to _nil_.
Once or twice did the founder hesitate as to the course he was pursuing,
but in his business encounters with Gil he found him calm and stern, and
it struck him that Mace had of late grown resigned; so he let matters
drift, fully aware though he was that Sir Mark would now have forced him
to keep to his word should he have shown any disposition to draw back.
"He'll make her a good husband," he said to himself. "She don't fancy
it, perhaps, at first; but a father must be the best judge of what is
for his child's happiness."
He was down at one of his powder-sheds, busying himself, and thinking
that the Pool-house would soon be no longer the same, when he came upon
Croftly, who, on the strength of his old service, said what he pleased.
"Oh, look here, Tom," said the founder, "Thursday's to be the
wedding-day; you ought to set the men to work getting ready something in
honour of the event. It's a busy time, but I shall not take any notice
if some of you stop to rig up a sort of arch."
"Rig up!" said Tom Crofty. "Hadn't you better ask some of the Captain's
men? It's more in their way."
"No, no," said the founder, hastily. "Make an arch of green boughs and
flowers, and that sort of thing. You know better than I do; go up to
the village and bid the men get the case of viols, and let there be a
dance--the girls will be pleased. Tell the men they shall have their
shilling and plenty of ale; and you can get some powder--a keg of coarse
black--and the two little old guns, and fire 'em off. You can have what
wood you like, too, for a bonfire at night. Do the thing well, my lad,
and take a holiday all of you. I'll find the ale."
Tom Croftly took off his cap, and wiped his grimy brow with a blacker
hand, as he seated himself on the bottom of an empty keg.
"We had a girt meeting 'bout it in the 'ood last night, master," said
Croftly; "and talked it all over."
"Oh, you did?" said the founder, looking pleased. "Well, and what did
you settle?"
"First find foremost, master, we sattled that we'd muffle the three
bells up in the tower o' the church."
"Why, it's two miles away, man, and the sound wouldn't hardly be heard
here."
"And then we'd toll 'em all day long."
"Toll them?" cried the founder.
"Ay, master, for it be like to us as if young mistress had been put in
her grave."
"Nonsense, my lad. She'll come back sometimes. And it's a happy day
for her."
"Happy, eh, master?" said Croftly roughly. "Look here, you asked for
this, so you may as well have it slap i' th' mooth. I talked to the
boys, and they talked to me; and at last of all they, swore as they'd be
damned, every man Jack of 'em, if they didn't treat the whole thing as a
fun'ral, and that, if any of Sir Mark's chaps tried to get up an ale
shouting, they'd shove 'em in the Pool."
"But you musn't take it like that, Tom," cried the founder. "It's very
good of the lads to take on so about losing their young mistress, but
you must rejoice. It's to be a happy day."
"She looks like it, master," cried Tom. "Why her face be terrifying.
Where be her bright sperrits, and her sparkling eyes? Don't you make a
mistake about it, master. We don't take on about losing her, none of
us, and we'd half bust every old gun on the place and raise such a girt
bonfire as would set the country alight, if she was going to wed the man
of her choice. But this gay fly-golding ladybird chap fro' London! Ah,
master, you be doing wrong, and that be what we all say."
"You, Tom Croftly," roared the founder, angrily, as he writhed beneath
the lash of his man's words, "how dare you speak to me like that?"
"Cause it be right," said Croftly, stoutly. "Haven't she and the
captain been like two lovers ever since they was little children, and
sent my heart in my mouth to see 'em playing so nigh the edge of the
race?"
"I will not listen to such insolence," cried the founder. "You, Tom
Croftly, come for your wage on Saturday night, and give up the cottage
the week after."
"And maybe you'll put William Goodley in my place, eh?" said the
foreman.
"Maybe I shall," cried the founder. "You ungrateful rascal!"
"Nay," said the foreman, "you need not trouble yourself, mas' Bill
Goodley would not step into my shoes, nor another man in the place.
And, just to show as I beant ungrateful as you say, I'll stop on."
"Stop on!" roared the founder. "Ay, stop on. Haven't you just took
another good order? Haven't you got all that 'ood ready for the
colliers; and haven't you just got in a shipload of sulphur and Chinese
salt? Lookye here, mas', you don't know, I s'pose, that if I left here
every man and boy would go as well. No, master, we beant ungrateful,
none of us; but we don't like to see our young mistress sold, and him as
should have had her thrown over."
"And pray who is that?" cried the founder.
"Captain Culverin, mas'; that be the man she meant to have."
"A wild adventurer--a man who murdered that wretch Churr."
"Nay, master, there beant a man of us here who thinks that he did," said
the workman, sturdily; "and if Captain Gil was here you wouldn't say it
to he."
"I am here, Tom Croftly," said Gil, stepping into the big powder-shed,
"and I thank you and your fellows for your good opinion. But take no
notice of this. Master Cobbe here does not believe what he said."
"But I do," cried the founder, furiously.
"Tom Croftly," said Gil, quietly, but with a flush in his cheek, "go,
and leave me with Master Cobbe here. I want to talk with him."
"All right, captain!" said the workman. "Bah!" he added to himself, "if
he be'd the lad I thought him, he'd make no more ado but upset the whole
of this London trade, and carry young mistress off. I would."
"Now, Gil Carr," cried the founder, as soon as they were alone. "We've
done our business. You've delivered all your cargo that I want, and
you've been paid your money. Wouldn't it have been more decent if you
had kept away?"
"Perhaps so, Master Cobbe; but there are times when a man feels that he
must speak. But, first of all, why do you rake up that wretched story
about Abel Churr?"
"Because I believe it," cried the founder, angrily.
"Nay, you do not. You know I am innocent, or I should not dare to come
to you now, and ask you by all you hold dear to give up this wretched
business."
"What wretched business?" cried the founder.
"I mean this proposed marriage. Listen to me, Master Cobbe. You have
known me from a boy. I have been wayward and rough, perhaps, but fairly
honest, for my love for Mace has kept me a better man than I should have
been."
"What does all this mean, Gil Carr?"
"It means, sir, that I make my last appeal to you before it is too late.
I love Mace dearly. Give up this wedding and wait a year--two years--
any time you will, till you are satisfied I am innocent of the death of
Abel Churr, and then give me your consent. Don't condemn us both to a
life of wretchedness and pain."
Gil had made his appeal at the wrong time. No matter when he had come,
he would have met with a stern refusal; but now, when the founder was
irritated beyond measure to find the echo of his own feelings in the
breast of his very workmen, who, with true British sturdiness, refused
to a man to take part in what they looked upon as the selling of his
child, he was unable to contain himself, and the pent-up anger came
pouring forth.
"Go!" he cried, white with rage, as he pointed to the entry. "Go, ere
I'm mad enough to strike. Thou hast come now to try and breed fresh
dissension--to try and raise my poor, foolish child in rebellion against
me. I am not a man of blood, but, look you, your presence near my house
from now till when this wedding has taken place will be the signal for
my people, or those of Sir Mark, to use force."
"But you will not let the wedding take place, Master Cobbe? For all our
sakes, pause in time."
"In time!" cried the founder; "what do you mean? There, no more."
As he spoke he turned and hurried out of the powder-shed, and past two
or three more, to enter at last one of the stone buildings, where the
casting was carried on; but Gil stuck to his heels, following him
closely without noticing Sir Mark, who, on catching sight of him, raised
a finger as a signal to one of his men.
"You will not sell poor Mace like this," cried Gil, as the founder
turned upon him as if at bay. "Master Cobbe, for both our sakes, pause
while there is yet time."
"Out upon thee, Gil Carr; thou maddenest me!" cried the founder. "Yet
time? What do you mean by speaking to me like this? Am I not my own
master?"
"Yes," replied Gil, humbly; "and this is why I appeal."
"Why you rebel against me, you should say," cried the founder,
passionately. "What am I to understand that you mean by `yet time'?"
"I mean before it is too late," said Gil, speaking humbly and
imploringly as he forced himself into making this last appeal, before
venturing on an act that was repugnant to him, and which on calmer
consideration he would have avoided for Mace's sake.
"Gil Carr!" cried the founder, furiously, "go thy way, and let me go
mine. I will not be dictated to by the man who has come like a blight
upon my threshold. Like a treacherous adder, thou hast stung the hand
that warmed thee back to life. Coward--villain--thou could'st do
nothing better than set thy snares to trap my weak child. Now go, or--"
He raised his hand and dropped it again.
"For heaven's sake, listen to me!" cried Gil, excitedly. "Master Cobbe,
I would be an honourable gentleman for my father's sake, to thee and
thine, but you drive me to despair."
In his eagerness he caught the founder by the arm, but the latter turned
upon him furiously, mad as he was with rage against himself as much as
with the suppliant, whom he struck heavily across the face, and then
strode away.
Gil staggered back as much from surprise as from the weight of the blow,
and the blood in a hot flush of passion suffused his face.
"For thy sake, darling," he said, calming down, "for thy sake. There,
Master Cobbe, I have done my duty as a man; if blood be shed in what
follows, I wash my hands of it; for 'fore God I swear, that if I fail in
one way, I'd kill my darling at the altar before she should become that
fellow's wife."
"Captain--quick--this way, Captain!" cried a voice in a hasty whisper.
"What is it, Croftly?"
"This way, skipper. Here in at this furnace-mouth; it is open behind.
Follow me."
"What for, man?" cried Gil, sternly, as he saw the grimy face of Croftly
at the opening to one of the great brick smelting-furnaces now void and
cold.
"Sir Mark, with a dozen men be surrounding the place."
Gil's hand flew to his sword, but he let it fall.
"Nay," he said, "we must have the wisdom of the serpent here. We'll try
that first, and if it fails--the sword."
Entering the furnace, then, Croftly helped him into a black passage
beyond, which let them pass between two vast stacks of charcoal to the
rough track into the forest, which Gil reached unseen, while Sir Mark,
with a dozen men, searched the powder-sheds and furnaces in vain.
Volume 2, Chapter XIX.