It was nine months now since the scene, at the little bay, when one soft
spring evening Bigley and I were walking slowly back to the Gap, after
seeing Bob Chowne part of the way home to Ripplemouth. The feeling of
coming summer was in the air, the birds were singing in the oak woods
their last farewell to the day, and from time to time we startled some
thrush and spoiled his song.
Every now and then a rabbit gave us a glance at his furry coat as he
sprang along, but soon it grew so dark that all we saw after each rustle
was the speck of white which indicated his cottony tail, and soon even
that was invisible.
The thin sharp line of the new moon hung low in the west, and the sea
had quite a steely gleam in the dying day, while the stars were peeping
out and beginning to look at themselves in the glassy surface of the
sea.
Here and there we could see the coasting vessels going up and down the
Channel, and just beneath the sinking moon there was a larger vessel
coming up with the tide, but it was getting too dark to make out what it
was. We kept along by the cliff path, and as we came to the descent
that led to the cottage Bigley and I parted, little thinking what an
eventful night it was to prove.
"You'll come up by and by," I shouted, when he was about half-way down;
and he sent back a cheery reply that he would, as I went on along the
Gap.
I found my father seated before his books entering some statement by the
light of a candle, and as I came in he thrust the book from him wearily.
"Oh, there you are, then," he said good-humouredly. "Look here, young
fellow, I don't see why I should go on worrying and toiling over this
mine just to make you well off. I was happy and comfortable enough
without it, and here am I wearing myself out, getting no pleasure and no
change, and all for you."
"Sell it then, father," I said. "I don't want you to work so hard for
me. I don't want to be rich. Give it up."
"No," he said smiling; "no, Sep. It gives me a great deal of care and
anxiety, but I do not mind. The fact is, Sep, I was growing fat and
rusty, and loosing my grip on the world. A do-nothing life is a
mistake, and only fit for a pet dog, and him it kills. I wanted
interesting work, and here it is, and I am making money for you at the
same time."
"But I don't think I want much money, father," I said.
"Maybe you will when you grow older."
"I wish I could help you better," I said.
"Help me? Why, I am quite satisfied with you, my boy. You help me a
great deal. There, put away those books, and let us have some supper.
I find we have nearly eight thousand ounces of silver down below here,
and it's far too much to have in our charge. We must get it away, Sep,
as soon as we can."
"What would eight thousand ounces be worth?" I said.
"Somewhere about two thousand pounds, my lad. But there, let's have
some supper, and then I should like to have a pipe for half an hour in
the soft fresh air."
A tray was already waiting upon a side-table, and bringing it to occupy
the place where the books had lain, we sat down and ate a hearty meal
before we had done, after which I lifted the tray aside, and handed my
father the tobacco jar.
In a few minutes he began to fill his pipe, and when he had lit it, I
sat watching him and noticed how the soft thin smoke began to curl about
his face, and float up between me and the row of cutlasses and pistols
with the belts that were arranged along the wall.
"Now, let's have ten minutes' fresh air before we go to bed," he said
rising. "You don't want to come, I suppose."
"Oh, yes, I'll come," I replied, and I stepped out with him into the
soft transparent night.
"Ah, that's delicious!" he exclaimed as we walked a little way down the
Gap, and then struck up the path leading to the high cliff track.
It was very dark, but at the same time clear; and as we paused after a
time there were the lights below us in the new cottages, while above the
stars shone out brilliantly and twinkled as if it was about to be a
frost.
"What a calm peace there is over everything!" said my father
thoughtfully. "Why, Sep, my very weariness seems to be a pleasure, it
is so full of the promise of rest."
"I'm tired too," I said. "I've been walking a good way to-day. How
plainly you can hear the sea!"
"Yes, the wind must be from the north. But how soft, and sweet, and
gentle it is! What is that?"
"What?" I replied listening, for I had not detected a sound.
"That noise of trampling feet. Don't you hear?"