THE SHAPING OF EVENTS
The brave man is not he who feels no fear;
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he whose noble soul its fear subdues
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
--_Joanna Baillie._
Ruth Morton was fourteen years of age, but looked far younger. To me
she appeared only a child of twelve. She was diminutive in stature,
and had an innocent childish face. I did not think her beautiful, and
yet I remember that her face was pleasing. I remember, too, that her
mouth looked very sensitive, and was indicative of a gentle nature; but
what struck me most were her eyes. They were large and grey, and
seemed to contain a world of meaning. Her hair was dark brown and fell
in heavy masses on her shoulders.
She looked at me curiously, as if striving to read my character, and
when my father mentioned my name she timidly held out her little hand.
"You must be friends," said he; "indeed, you must be brother and
sister, and I shall look to you, Roger, to take care of her."
I scarcely know now what I answered, but I daresay it was little to the
point. During the next few minutes I was very uncomfortable, for she
tried to thank me for saving her life.
As soon as I could I led her to talk of other matters, chiefly because
I knew not what to say or how to act.
By and by she spoke of her father's death, and what she felt when she
was informed she must leave her home and come to Trewinion Manor. She
told me, also, of her desire to come by boat, and how Mr. Inch, an old
trusted servant, had arranged to get a crew together, and how they had
sailed along in sight of the giant cliffs.
She had a sweet, childish voice, and talked in a way that was quite
fascinating. By and by, as she told how the storm came on suddenly, of
the dread feelings she had as she saw the waves rise higher and higher,
and how she lost hope when the little vessel with an awful crash was
swept upon the great rock, I could fancy myself again out on the angry
sea.
In a little while my father left us, and then I wished I were again
back in my room, for I knew not how to talk. She, too, seemed ill at
ease.
"I'm sorry you and your brother are not better friends," she said,
after we had been silent a few seconds.
I was surprised at this, and wondered who could have have been talking
to her.
"Have you seen Wilfred?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, I have seen him twice. He came yesterday, and again to-day.
Your mother was here, too."
"I am glad they have been to see you," I replied, "but I did not know
that Wilfred and I were not friendly."
She looked at me, I thought, suspiciously, as though she doubted my
words, but did not speak.
Had my mother and Wilfred, I wondered, been saying evil things about
me. I hoped not, and yet it might be. Certainly, their conduct
towards me had been strange. I would not talk of this, however, and so
asked her if she liked my sisters.
"Very much," she replied. "They have been with me every day; and the
first two days when I was ill they were with me nearly all the time. I
think, I see them coming now."
As she spoke Katherine and Elizabeth entered the room. They were
bright, buxom maidens, well-grown and healthy. The latter, though two
years younger was quite as well grown as the stranger who had come to
live amongst us. Yet there was a difference. Ruth Morton possessed a
dignity and a grace which were foreign to both my sisters. Children
they all were, pretty they all were, yet the beauty of Ruth Morton was
of a different nature. She had been cast in another mould, and thus
presented a contrast to my sisters.
I was a great favourite both with Katherine and Elizabeth; but I did
not stay with them. Stiff and weak as I was I found my way back to my
room, where, throwing myself on the bed, I tried to rest.
I knew nothing whatever of the arrangements that had been made about
Ruth staying with us, except that Mr. Inch, the old servant, was to
remain, that the crew had been sent back to Penwingle, and that the
steward was taking care of the Morton estate. I took no interest in
the matter, however. From all I could gather her mind had been
prejudiced against me, and there was a look of satisfaction on her face
when I left her. She was as transparent as the day, so I had no
difficulty in seeing that in spite of my having risked my life to save
her, she had a bad opinion of me. Well, it did not matter much; in a
few years she would be of age and would return then to her old home.
I had banished all unpleasant thoughts from my mind when the door
opened and Wilfred entered.
"Well, Roger," he said, "getting better?"
"First rate, Wilfred," I replied.
"Lucky, as usual," he said.
"How?"
"Why, in the first instance, you were privileged to save Ruth Morton's
life, and secondly, you are the hero of the neighbourhood for miles
around. The talk of the whole countryside is the bravery and daring of
Roger Trewinion."
This was said bitterly I thought, but I was not sure. Wilfred had
sometimes a way of talking which entirely hid his real feelings and
meaning.
"I don't know," he went on, "if the parson isn't going to preach a
special sermon next Sunday, when his subject will be 'Roger Trewinion's
Bravery and the Mercy of Providence.'"
He spoke mockingly, and I began to think that something had displeased
him. I was not sure of this however, so merely said that I hoped
nothing of the sort would be done.
"Oh, but I hope it will," he said. "Why, the people are saying that
you jumped from the top of the highest prong of the 'Devil's Tooth' on
to the wreck, that you waded through water several feet deep, and that
just when you had carried little Ruth on the deck the vessel broke in
pieces, upon which you plunged into the sea and carried her ashore. I
had no idea I had such a brother."
He laughed jeeringly.
His manner of speaking made me feel that if Wilfred had ever possessed
any love for me it was becoming embittered.
"Have you seen Ruth?" he went on.
"Yes, I saw her to-day."
"Father introduced you to her, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"And no doubt she was exceedingly anxious to glorify the hero who saved
her."
"No, I don't think she was, but I did not stay long with her. I fancy
she doesn't like me."
"No?" he said, questioningly. "I wonder at that, for she seems to like
me a great deal; indeed, we are great friends."
"I am glad to hear it," I replied, "for somehow I can't be friendly
with strange girls."
"No," he said, "I don't think you are cut out for a girl's friend, and
you are not the kind of fellow a girl would like."
There is something in every man's heart which causes him to feel hurt
when he hears another say something about him that he would have no
hesitation in saying about himself. I had said many times that I was
not a lad whom girls liked, and yet when Wilfred said it I was annoyed.
"After all, it's right," he went on. "It is not fair that you should
have everything and I, nothing. You have the Trewinion name, its
houses, its lands, and its blessings, while I have nothing but my
brains, and people's love."
"There are curses in connexion with Trewinion's heir as well as
blessings," I said. "I am fettered on every hand."
"Curses," he sneered; "all old wives' tales. I wonder at you thinking
about them. Were I the eldest son I would throw all that to the wind,
I would see the world; I would enjoy myself, and spend some of the
hoarded gold of generations."
He looked at me closely as he said this, and I began to feel that
perhaps the old stories were foolishness. All my father had told me
seemed real in the night time, but in daylight it was shadowy and
unreal.
"Do you know about these stories?" I said.
"Yes."
"How?"
He looked a little confused, and then said, hurriedly:
"Oh, I have read the history of our house, and have hunted up the
family documents. You see, while you have been climbing the 'Devil's
Tooth' I have been grinding away at the story of the devil's curses.
But, bah, Roger, what are curses to you? Surely, you can laugh at them
all."
Throughout the conversation I felt that he had some purpose in his
talk. It seemed as though he were sifting me and seeking to read my
thoughts, and so I was silent.
"Do you know anything about little Ruth's family?" he went on.
"No," I replied.
"Her father owned miles of land," he said, "and it is all left to her.
Your estate, Roger, is but a patch on hers. Morton Hall, too, is about
twice as big as this house. Eh, but you were lucky to save her life."
Looking back after a long lapse of years I feel that this is not the
natural talk of a boy of sixteen, and as I write, I ask myself whether
I have not incorrectly recorded our conversation. It is true I only
write from memory; nevertheless, I think I have faithfully described
what was said. Really, Wilfred was never a true boy. He was always
older than I, though born two years later, and when quite a child he
had an old-fashioned way of speaking. The villagers were in the habit
of saying that Wilfred had the brains of the family, while I had the
heart. Anyhow, he could always outwit me, and if ever we were matched
against each other, I, in the long run, always came off second best.
A few days later I was able to be out again, and once more lived my
old, free, untrammelled life. My father and I still continued friends
and companions; but Wilfred was little with me. I noticed, however,
that he was always anxious to please me. He ceased to sneer when
speaking of me, and I thought he looked sad and downhearted. This made
me gentle and forbearing towards him; so much so, that I often went out
of my way to help him.
I often thought of old Deborah Teague's words as to whether he were or
were not my brother; but I could find no answer to my questionings.
That we both had the same father I did not doubt; but was his mother my
mother? Was that tall, stately woman who always treated me so coldly
really and truly my mother? I asked old Deborah again and again, but
my father I dared not ask.
My mother's demeanour to me was always the same. I never had a
mother's cares, never realised a mother's love, and so I could do no
other than to watch, even as old Deborah told me to watch.
Ruth Morton and I did not become friendly. Evidently she did not like
me. I noticed that she looked at me furtively, and would never be
alone with me by choice. I could not help feeling that in some way her
mind had been poisoned concerning me, and I was not long in deciding
who was the poisoner.
It is true that I did not try to win her liking.
I felt it rather hard that she should treat me so harshly, and so I
never forced my company upon her.
This state of things existed for nearly two years. Wilfred was
friendly, and, evidently, beloved by her, but I was disliked. Often my
brother took her and my sisters for long walks, but I never did. I was
busy on my father's estate and learning the secrets of agriculture,
while he in the hours not devoted to study would be away with them, and
became, I thought, more than ever a favourite with Ruth and my sisters.
During these two years I had become quite a man in stature, while
Wilfred had likewise grown to be a tall, handsome fellow. I remember
that all this time my mother encouraged the growing friendship of Ruth
and Wilfred, and seemed delighted when she noticed her evident dislike
for me.
I was now twenty. Wilfred was more than eighteen, Ruth was sixteen,
and had grown quite a young woman. Katherine, too, who was the same
age, had become a splendid example of a healthy, happy, country girl,
while Elizabeth promised to become the beauty of the family.
At this time an event happened which made us better friends.
One afternoon I was sitting on the great headland overlooking the sea.
It was a glorious day. The sky was clear, the sun was shining
brightly, and the bright waves beneath were laughing and playing in the
light of the sun. To me, as I sat there, the great sea was singing a
wondrous song, full of a rich, rare music, which touched the deepest
feelings of my nature. I had not heard much in my life about religion,
and I am afraid I had not thought much about God, but as I sat there
that day, a great rock above me and hundreds of feet of cliff beneath,
while the sea chanted a song which the tones of a thousand organs could
not reproduce, I felt a longing in my heart to serve my Maker and to do
my duty while here below such as I had never felt before.
While I sat there I heard voices above me. Someone was standing on the
great rock in a crevice of which I sat.
"Let's ask Roger to go with us?" said a voice.
I recognised it in a second as my sister Katherine's and I waited for
the answer.
"No," I heard Wilfred say, "he hates girls; besides, he'll be as ugly
as a bear with a sore head."
"That's not fair, Wilfred," said Katherine. "Roger does not hate us,
and as for his being ugly, you know he's not."
"Well, we can't find him, anyhow," said Wilfred, "so let us go."
I must confess I felt angered by this, for I should have liked to
accompany them. I strove to banish my brother's unkind words from my
mind, however, and again tried to listen to the music of the sea; but
it was all driven from my heart. For I have learnt this is truth: we
must have music within us if we are to realise music in anything
without.
I could not sit there long. My brother's words began to burn and
sting; I would go for a walk, too.
I had not gone far when I saw someone running towards me. It was
Wilfred.
"Help, Roger!" he shouted.
"What's the matter?" I said.
"Ruth has fallen down the cliff!"
"Fallen down the cliff! where?"
"Up here. Come with me."
We started running together and quickly came to a place where Elizabeth
was weeping bitterly, while Katherine was descending the steep
declivity as if to try and render help.
"Where is she?" I said excitedly. "And how did she get where she is?"
"She wanted a plant," cried Wilfred. "I told her it was not to be
obtained, or I would get it; but she would not listen to me, and said
she would fetch it herself. She went down a little way all right, but
when she reached out her hand for the plant she slipped and fell."
"Fell! Fell where?" I asked, excitedly.
"To a ledge a few feet below."
"Did you see her?"
"Yes."
"And did you not try to reach her?"
"Why, how could I do anything? I could only go for help."
It is true Wilfred was younger than I, but I thought this conduct
cowardly. He seemed to fear for himself, and dared not risk his own
limbs. Katherine, on the other hand, though but a girl of sixteen, was
trying to rescue her friend.
I quickly scrambled down the declivity, and was not long in reaching
the point from which Ruth fell. Katherine was here also, but she could
go no farther, for the ledge beneath, although only about eight or nine
feet down, was narrow, and to fall from there meant certain death. The
mystery was how Ruth had fallen on to this ledge, and for a time I was
afraid she had been precipitated on the rugged rocks beneath. I heard
a moan, however, and saw a bit of her white dress, so my mind was
comparatively at ease.
I sent Katherine back, and told her to run for a rope, as it might be
necessary, and then prepared to reach the narrow rock on which Ruth lay.
"Keep a good heart, Ruth," I said; "I am coming to help you."
There was no reply, but I still struggled to get to her. Time after
time I essayed to reach her, and time after time I failed. I climbed
around and around, and from different points tried to get a footing on
the rock where she lay, but in vain. It was isolated, and was at least
nine feet from any point above it, and nearly as many from any standing
place on the same level.
There was only one way by which she could be reached, and that was by
gaining a rock nearly on the same level, and then leaping over the
chasm that lay between. This I determined to do, for how could I do
less? Ruth was lying like one dead, and if I did not help her who
could? I got on the point after some difficulty, and then found that I
was in nearly as much danger as she. I had jumped down to this jutting
rock, but I could not jump up again; the distance was too great. Could
I get on the rock where she lay there seemed a possibility to get down,
for the cliff looked slanting from that point.
Beneath me were two hundred feet of rugged cliff, and if I failed to
reach Ruth I should fall from point to point on the rocks beneath and
be killed.
I took off my coat and prepared to leap.
At this moment she awoke to consciousness and looked around her, and
seeing her position she gave a scream of affright.
"Don't move," I said, "I'm going to save you."
Her eager eyes gave me strength and courage. I disencumbered myself of
everything that would hinder me and placed my feet in the best position
for a leap.
By this time I began to be excited. The sound of the sea seemed cruel,
while the rocks looked like so many giant gaunt spectres that would
lure me to destruction. There was no time for wild fancyings, however,
so I nerved myself for what lay before me.
Then I took the leap.