CHAPTER CV.

THE TWO DETECTIVES――CAPTURE OF A SMASHER――PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A

DETECTIVE.

Charles Peace, as he wended his way homewards after his escapade at

Mr. Metcalf’s house, was almost bewildered with the singular adventure

that had taken place.

He could not in any way account for the altered position of the girl

whom he had been so intimately acquainted with years before at

Bradford.

He could not fail to understand that she was altered in every way. Her

manners did not appear to resemble those of the mill-hand who was at

one time his constant companion.

How the metamorphosis had taken place, and how she was able to assume

the grace and demeanour of a well-bred woman to such perfection, was a

matter he could not account for.

He felt ashamed of himself, if he ever had any shame in him. The

better term would perhaps be that he was deeply mortified.

He had been foiled by a woman. He had let her have it all her own way,

had given up the stolen property without a murmur or even so much as a

feeble attempt to retain possession of it.

This he did not so much regret, for after all it was but the loss of a

few trinkets.

He was too great an adept at his art to repine at being baffled in

this instance, but he was very much chagrined at being looked down

upon by one whom he had considered at an earlier day as an equal if

not an inferior.

“She’s done the trick, the saucy jade――done it to rights,” he

ejaculated. “How she has managed it is another question. Well, I’m

regularly queered, but I suppose I shall never know the rights of

it――never.”

He was of course in a terrible bad humour when he returned to his

habitation in the Evelina-road, and half regretted not having returned

with Bandy-legged Bill, for he would have given almost anything rather

than have encountered Mrs. Metcalf.

It was gall and wormwood to him to see her under the circumstances,

but it was too late now――he could not recall the past; he had seen

her, and the worst was over. He determined upon avoiding such another

reincontre.

Peace, as we have intimated more than once, had very little feeling in

his whole composition, but he was at times a prey to jealousy, and he

was most certainly both jealous and envious in this case――he was

envious of Mrs. Metcalf’s superior position.

As far as the woman herself was concerned, he cared perhaps but little

about her; but he did not like to be lorded over――he did not like the

tone of superiority she assumed, and it is likely enough, under any

other circumstances, he would have hurled at her a perfect shower of

epithets and virulent abuse. He was, however, unable to do so; upon

meeting her in her own house, to use his own expression, he was

regularly “floored.”

Upon arriving at his own domicile he at once made for the stables. He

found “Tommy” properly stalled, and the valuables he had purloined

carefully secreted by the gipsy in the place he had named.

So far all was satisfactory, and after seeing to this he retired to

rest.

The history of the two women――Mrs. Bristow and Bessie Dalton――is in

many respects a romantic one. We have not taken note of them for a

long time, but doubtless those who have perused these pages will

remember that a number of Bank of England notes were found secreted in

a looking-glass――behind the plate and back-board of that useful piece

of furniture.

The notes represented in the aggregate many thousands of pounds.

When Mrs. Bristow and her faithful companion and friend, Bessie

Dalton, arrived in London they changed their names, as they had

changed their condition in life.

Mrs. Bristow, although the wife of a working engineer, was tolerably

well connected, certainly better than most women in the same walk of

life.

She took an elegant suite of apartments in Brook-street,

Grosvenor-square, and having ample means at her disposal, she lived in

good style, and in the due course of time contrived to get introduced

into society, as it is termed――that is, she became acquainted with

people who moved in the upper circles.

Bessie passed as her younger sister, and as time went on they both

improved, became more polished in their manners, dropped

provincialisms as much as possible, and really turned out very

creditable specimens of unostentatious gentility, and were pretty

generally liked, for their kindliness of heart and unobtrusive manners

and demeanour.

They were introduced to Mr. Metcalf, a rich city merchant, and

frequently paid visits at his house at Greenwich.

He was seized with a sudden fit of illness――a virulent fever.

Bessie Dalton volunteered her services as nurse, and her attention was

so unremitting, her gentleness was made so manifest on many occasions,

that it laid the foundation of a deep and endless love which found its

way into the heart of Mr. Metcalf.

The result of all this was an offer of marriage, and Bessie Dalton

became the wife of, as she told Charles Peace, an honourable

gentleman.

Soon after this Mrs. Bristow found a husband in the person of an obese

widower, with two daughters.

This is a brief account of the factory hands who rode to rank and

fortune upon a bundle of bank notes found in the looking-glass of a

deceased miser.

The history is a romantic one, but not more so than we find in the

affairs of every day life. Life is full of romance to those who have

the wit to see it, and the one we have been describing is based on

fact. This the writer could prove beyond all cavil.

But our scene shifts to other characters in this veritable history.

Mr. Shearman, who had so industriously and cleverly ferreted out the

murderer of the American planter’s daughter, was, as a matter of

course, much chagrined when he heard of Doctor Bourne’s suicide.

Justice had been baffled and baulked. It is true the end would have

been much the same――with this difference, however, instead of coming

by his death from the effects of prussic acid, the doctor would have

had to meet his fate on the public scaffold.

Mr. Shearman, in common with the majority of his countrymen, had a

certain amount of respect, or, it might be said, admiration for the

mother country; he therefore embraced the opportunity afforded him of

seeing something of London life before he returned to the United

States. He was, as we have already seen, on the best of terms with our

old friend Wrench, and at the latter’s instigation he had put up at

Sanderson’s Hotel, where, it will be remembered, Peace sojourned for a

short period after his leaving Broxbridge. The buxom widow, Mrs.

Sanderson, made the American and the persons he had under his

charge――these being the witnesses in the Bourne case――as comfortable

as possible, and Mr. Wrench generally dropped in on those evenings

upon which he was disengaged to have a friendly chat with Shearman.

To all appearance the American detective liked the old country so well

that he was loth to leave it. Anyway he remained as long as

circumstances would warrant.

The day, however, was drawing nigh upon which Mr. Shearman was

destined to take his departure.

“The best of friends must part,” said he, as Mr. Wrench dropped in on

the evening before the appointed time. “I’ve enjoyed myself and seen

more of the old country than I ever expected to do this journey, and I

have to return you many thanks, Wrench, for all the trouble you have

been at on my behalf. If you should ever have to come to the States

the first person you will inquire for, I hope and trust, will be me.”

“That you may rest assured of.”

“It’s turned out a bit of a frost this business, but it can’t be

helped. Confound old Bourne for making away with himself, say I.”

“He’s gone to that bourne from whence no traveller returns,” observed

Wrench, with a smile. “Excuse the pun.”

“I’d excuse anything in you; but now you have come we’ll make a night

of it, as possibly it may be the last we shall be able to pass

together for one while.”

“Can’t be done just now,” returned Wrench. “Have a little matter on

hand.”

“The devil! What――something particularly urgent?”

“Rather so.”

“What might it be, if it’s a fair question?”

“I’m after an old scoundrel whom I hope to take to-night――he’s a

well-known thief. We’ve got one or two cases against him.”

“What’s he been up to, then?”

“Oh, his old caper――smashing.”

“Are you going to pull the string this evening, then?”

“Yes, in less than half an hour.”

“And after then?”

“Oh, well, then I shall be at your service.”

“Very good then, I’ll wait here for you――shall I?”

“Just as you like; or you may go with me, if you prefer it.”

“I should much prefer it――very much.”

The two detectives in a few minutes after this sallied forth from

Sanderson’s hotel in quest of the “smasher.”

“He’s an old hand, I suppose,” said Mr. Shearman.

“Old hand, bless you, yes; he’s been a thief all his life, but he’s a

stranger to me, or rather was, but a few days ago. I saw a chap

yesterday, who had six years’ penal servitude; met him by chance in

the street. He is leading an honest course of life now, and has been

doing so for some years. He’s one of the few that have reformed. Well,

this old scoundrel, whose arrest for smashing I am bent on I did not

know much about. Well, as I was saying, I met the other one, whose

name is Kedge. I asked him if he knew anything about my ‘smasher.’”

“Know? Of course,” said he. “Why you know who he is――don’t you?”

“Well, no, I can’t say that I do.”

“He had ten years for breaking into a public-house in Oxford-street

sixteen years ago. Well, after his return from transportation, he goes

to the public, calls for something to drink, and as he stood in front

of the bar he asked the landlord if he kept the house sixteen years

before. ‘No,’ says the landlord, ‘I did not.’ ‘Sure on it,’ says

Hardy――that’s his name, though he calls himself Mr. Dawes――‘sure on

it?’ says he.”

“Quite sure,” says the landlord, “who, I fancy, suspected something

was wrong.”

“Well, then, I b’lieve you’re telling a thundering lie. Do you

remember charging a man with burglary sixteen years ago?”

“No, I do not,” says the landlord. “I never charged anyone with

burglary in all my born days.”

“I’m glad on it,” said Hardy, “for if you’d been the man as got me

convicted of burglary, I’d have had yer life――that’s all.”

“You see, Mr. Wrench,” said Kedge, “Hardy wasn’t sartin about his

being the same man, and it’s likely enough the landlord saved his life

by declaring he was not the person who kept the house sixteen years

before. Of course he was greatly altered in his appearance――so much so

that the returned convict did not know him.”

“It was lucky for the bung,” observed Shearman.

“Very lucky, for he’s a desperate old scoundrel is this Dawes, as he

now calls himself, but I shall be able to prove several previous

convictions against him, I’ve no doubt, but let me make sure of my man

first.”

Mr. Wrench made the best of his way to Drury-lane. In one of the

narrow turnings, which led from that place to Great Wild-street, the

smasher resided, and it was to this turning that our two detectives

were bending their steps.

It was the resort of thieves and all sorts of disreputable characters,

many of whom were well known to the police. They had got about twenty

yards or so down the court or alley, when Mr. Wrench was accosted by a

woman who was a native of the Emerald Isle.

“Ah, good luck to ye, Mr. Wrench,” said the woman, making a curtsey,

“An’ it’s right ye are this time if any jintleman iver was. Oh, sure,

now aint he fast asleep in the front room, and a snorin’ like a dozen

fat hogs?”

“He’s in his room, Winny, is he?” cried Wrench.

“Didn’t I see him myself wid my own precious eyes not a moment ago?

Oh, bedad, he’s a waitin’ for ye, and no mistake at all at all.”

That’s all right, then, Winny; we’ll pay the gentleman a visit.”

“Oh, the thief of the world; but he’s a dirty circumvinting

blackguard, mek the best av him. But arrah don’t ye be afther saying a

word about me, or maybe he’d be a little rampageous like.”

“I won’t mention your name――depend upon that,” said Wrench. “We never

do that in cases of this sort; besides, you know, there is no

occasion.”

“Thin, I’ll be afther going, or maybe he might suspect something. Oh,

but ye’ve jest come in the nick of time. My duty to ye, Mr. Wrinch,

and good luck to ye.”

The old Irishwoman at once disappeared from the scene. Whither she

went Mr. Shearman had not the faintest notion; neither did he take the

trouble to inquire.

The detectives now arrived in front of a miserably dirty and

dilapidated habitation; indeed, it was so covered with filth, and such

an offensive odour came from the place, that Mr. Shearman half

regretted having set out on the expedition.

Mr. Wrench went into the passage, opened the door of the front room

and entered. He was followed by the American. On a dirty mattress

which was on a ricketty bedstead, an old man was stretched――that he

was sleeping soundly was evident enough.

Mr. Wrench nodded significantly to Shearman.

“Your man?” whispered the latter.

“Yes, that’s my gentleman.”

The room was dimly illumined by a gas lamp in the court, the feeble

rays of which found their way through the dingy window panes. There

was, therefore, light enough to distinguish the features of the

sleeping man with tolerable distinctness.

“Now then, wake up, man! you are wanted,” cried Mr. Wrench, in a loud

voice.

The sleeper uttered a kind of sigh or groan, and then, opening his

eyes, he beheld those of an officer looking into his own.

“Curses on you, what brings you here?” cried the “smasher.” “Get

out――will you? Leave me alone.”

“Come, come, Dawes, you’re wanted, and you are my prisoner.”

“What for? I aint done anything. It’s a lie, I aint your prisoner, and

don’t intend to be.”

He sprang out of bed and glared round the room like a wild beast.

“Get away, will you?” cried he. “If you don’t――” he paused suddenly,

and made a hideous grimace, which he intended for a look of defiance.

“Wall, stranger,” said Shearman, “it’s no good hollering. You’re

cornered――aint got a ghost of a chance. The game’s up, you’d better go

quietly.”

“Who are you, I should like to know; and what business have either of

you here?” cried the “smasher,” making a hideous grimace, which he

intended to be a look of defiance.

“If you are going to ride rusty,” observed Mr. Wrench, “say so, and we

shall know what to do.”

“Perhaps you will first of all tell me what you have come here for? I

aint done nuthin’ as I know of.”

“Well, that is a matter of opinion. You are charged with passing bad

money――with ‘smashing,’ and you are my prisoner.”

“It’s a lie. I aint passed any bad money for ever so long, and so you

may take your change out of that, Mr. Wrench.”

“I am not here to take any change, as you term it, but I shall have to

take you, and you had better put on your coat and hat and come along

with me to Bow-street.”

Mr. Wrench had observed upon his first entrance a sort of trap-door in

the centre of the room. The boards had been cut away so as to afford a

place of retreat for the “smasher.” Had he succeeded in passing

through this into the cellar below, he would doubtless have succeeded

in making his escape, but our detective had the forethought to stand

on the trap while he was interrogating the man, Dawes.

“You see,” he said, with admirable coolness, addressing himself to the

smasher, “there is no chance for you to effect an escape, so come on

at once. The game is up.”

“Curses on you!” exclaimed Dawes. “You’re a meddling dirty crew, the

whole lot of you, and if I had my way you would have been sent to

kickereboo long ago.”

“Oh, I dare say――but you see fellows of your class are not permitted

to have it all your own way. Now then, man, look sharp. Put on your

coat and hat at once, or otherwise I shall have to take you as you

are.”

The man was only partially dressed, having on only his shirt and

trousers.

In appearance he was a ruffian of the very worst type, and had there

been a chance he would have offered an obstinate resistance, but he

was taken by surprise and did not see very clearly any way of getting

out of his present difficulty.

“Vell,” he said, in a sulky tone, “if yer vants me, which I ’spose yer

do, I’d better put on my togs and be off with you.”

[Sidenote: No. 56.]

[Illustration: A MAGNIFICENT BLACK WAS BROUGHT BY THE OSTLER, AND THE

STRANGER MOUNTED.]

He went to a corner of the room, drew forth a coat and waistcoat,

which he put on in a leisurely manner; then he drew on a pair of

highlows and, lastly, his hat. When this had been done he made a

sudden rush towards the door in the hope of making his escape, but Mr.

Wrench, who had been watching him, was prepared for this; he tripped

his man up――and as he lay on the floor clapped a pair of handcuffs on

his wrists, and then told him to get up.

Dawes was by this time completely cowed; he rose to his feet, cast a

malevolent look upon the American and Mr. Wrench, and then walked

towards the door, held firmly the while by the English detective, who

conducted him safely enough to Bow-street, where, after the charge had

been entered, he was locked up till the morning, when he would be

taken before the magistrate.

“He was disposed to be nasty,” said Mr. Shearman to his companion,

after they had left the police station, “and is a sort of gentleman I

fancy who wouldn’t stick at a trifle.”

“Oh, dear me, no――a regular bad un. Wouldn’t mind what he did if he

only had the chance.”

“Is the evidence fully clear?”

“It is. We’ve got him as straight as an arrow. There’s half a dozen

cases against him. Oh, he’s safe to be convicted; he knows that well

enough. He is a most daring and determined ‘smasher.’ Just to give you

an idea how these fellows carry on their business I’ll tell you of one

case. A shop was opened a few days ago in the neighbourhood of

Oxford-street. It was a publication and cigar business, which was left

in charge of a young girl, the niece of the proprietor. On the day it

was first opened one of the smashing fraternity went into the shop and

bought half a quire of note paper. He tendered a florin, which the

girl changed. Half an hour afterwards another of the same respectable

body of men purchased some tobacco. He also tendered a florin, which

was changed. Six florins were taken in the course of the day and five

shillings. Upon the proprietor of the establishment coming home in the

evening he was delighted to find that there had been so many

customers; but, alas! upon his looking over his money he found that

the six florins and five shillings were all bad ones.”

“And where do the rascals get all these bad coins from?” inquired Mr.

Shearman.

“They are sent up in boxes or cases from one or more of our provincial

towns, and bought by the ‘smashers’ for next door to nothing. The man

I have just ‘quodded’ has been following the calling for years.”

CHAPTER CV.

AT “SANDERSON’S HOTEL”――RECOLLECTIONS OF AN AMERICAN DETECTIVE.

After a little further conversation the two friends reached

“Sanderson’s Hotel,” where Mr. Wrench spent the remainder of the

evening with the American.

“I like the old country after all,” said Shearman, “though a good many

of my countrymen run it down, and, as far as expert thieves are

concerned, you beat us into an almighty smash.”

“That’s a very doubtful sort of compliment,” observed Wrench, with a

smile, “but I will not attempt to deny the statement. I believe we do.

A London rough is a match for any one in brutality.”

“By the way,” said Shearman, “what became of that horse-stealer, the

gipsy, you were in search of? Did you ever find him?”

“No. Well, the fact is, I have given up the search. The gentleman from

whom the horse was stolen don’t care about prosecuting now.”

“Why not?”

“He don’t――that’s all I know. The fact is, he was persuaded to do so

by Bourne, and now the doctor’s dead he’s disposed to let the matter

drop. He says Rawton is not so bad as he has been painted.”

“What’s your opinion?”

“If I am to speak the truth I am of the same opinion. It was nothing

but spite, revenge, or whatever you may please to term it, that made

Bourne so bitter with the gipsy.”

“’Twas a nice article to give himself airs and graces, and do the

virtuous.”

“Yes, particularly so――wasn’t he?”

“I had one scrimmage with a horse thief which I shan’t easily forget,”

said Shearman. “He was a resolute rascal, surely. I’ll tell you all

about it. Light up another cigar before I begin.”

Mr. Wrench did as he was bid.

“You must know,” observed Shearman, who was never so happy as when

recounting one or more of his adventures, “that I had been furnished

by an Omaha express firm with the means to ferret out a horse thief,

by whose operations they had lost some ten animals. Being persuaded by

information, too tedious to detail, that the purloiner had gone to

Silver Creek, on the Pacific Railroad, I proceeded to that unknown

settlement, and immediately commenced operations.

“The man and his habits were so familiar to me from repeated

description that I felt certain of identifying him in some of the many

faro establishments of the place; or, failing in them, in one of the

multitudinous fire-water dispensaries.

“One night I visited all the gambling banks unsuccessfully. The next I

proceeded to inspect the drinking places. The first one was a large

frame house, which I entered, and, while drinking, quickly scrutinised

every face and incident.

“In the middle of the room, upon a huge barrel, stood a red-faced,

broad-shouldered Irishman, in his one hand a bottle, in the other a

glass; on the floor, close to the barrel’s base, crouched an

ill-looking mastiff who eyed around savagely.

“At the bar was a tall man waiting the replenishing of his flask. His

hat concealed half his face, and a scarlet handkerchief wound round

his neck buried in its greasy folds a mass of matted, gipsy-like hair.

“I caught him glancing furtively at me when entering, then saw him

turn his back; so I kept my eye brisk for any suspicious incident.

“Suddenly the Irishman, who all along had been afternately singing in

his native dialect and absorbing spirits, fell headlong upon the dog,

whizzing the glass and bottle across the floor with a crash.

“Simultaneously with his fall out went the light. The reeling man had

clutched and wrenched the fixture from the ceiling. Now it was

confusion with a vengeance.

“The different card-playing groups, deprived of light, rose from the

tables, and each gainer or loser struggled for the little heaps and

balls of money.

“Noises from shouts and loud curses from the hard breathing through

the clenched teeth of combatants filled the room; and in this

pandemonium I nearly gave up all hope of nabbing my man.

“In the midst of the confusion the door opened, the dear moonlight

streaming in. Stepping across the sill I saw the man with the red

kerchief.

“Ere this I had decided that this one was no other than the thief I

was after; so I made a spring towards the door, but came to the ground

stunned and bruised. Rising, with bleeding face, I saw that I had

fallen over the prostrate Hibernian. I rushed out and ran to my

horse――he was gone!

“Clattering hoofs, gradually lessening in sound, told me that the

thief had outwitted me――gone on my own horse. I chafed considerably at

the discomfiture, but only for a moment, detectives having little time

for sentiments of any kind.

“Without any exact purpose, I started off in the direction of the

decreasing sound, and suddenly came upon a team of mules.

“In predicaments necessitating immediate action, we sometimes hit upon

expedients which at other times might seem ridiculous.

“So now with me; I cut the breeching and traces of the saddle mule,

vaulted on his back, and scampered after the appropriator of my

horseflesh.

“I knew well that my horse was too fagged for much riding; and as the

animal I bestrode was fresh from the stable, I was pretty sure of

making my captive, if it was to be determined by speed alone.

“Moreover, my mule being miraculously void of the attributes of his

race――obstinacy and slow gait――warmed to work, and gradually the thud

of the hoofs ahead became more distinct.”

“Ah, you are a good rider, I suppose?” observed Wrench.

“Pretty well――aint you?”

“Nothing much to boast of.”

“Ah, but a fellow must know how to ride in America well.”

“In twenty minutes, on the moon-lit road, one-fourth of a mile ahead,

I saw the man mounting a hillock at a far less rapid pace than mine.

At last I come so near that I discerned two pistols stuck in his belt.

“I disengaged my own weapons, but did not fire, the rascal’s irregular

motion――darting in and out of the skirting woods――excluded the

possibility of hitting him.

“I called him to halt, at forty yards, levelled, and then let fly at

him; a strange, agonising cry arose at the report; galloping through

the smoke, I came upon a prostrate horse, no man.

“A crunching of crisp leaves among the trees betrayed the quick

footsteps of the fugitive. Dashing into the woods, at three paces came

a shot from the forest gloom, laying my mule stark dead, I leaping off

just in time to escape a crushed limb.

“I whipped behind a tree, straining to see my assailant, but I heard

and saw nothing; so creeping cautiously back, I found my horse dying

and the mule dead. Being a good distance from town, I had no choice

but to camp out or foot a weary journey home.

“Mounting a low tree, I espied, far in the woods, a bright fire, which

I knew was a camp of railroad labourers.

“After a two-mile walk I entered a circle of gambling, smoking,

low-talking men of different nationalities, receiving a rough welcome.

“To my inquiries I found they had heard the shots, but such things

were too common to notice; and about ten the most of the camp fell

asleep.

“I entered a small log tenement belonging to the boss, the hospitality

of which was tendered me by that worthy himself; and the company not

being very assuring of safety, prepared to take a watchful sleep.

“The boss, however, was, as he told me, above the generality of his

class as to family and education, having come out of the States for

the sake of adventure.

“He sat up late, playing with a large, glossy Newfoundland; talking

over the topics of the day, and relating many anecdotes of the

stirring life in the Western land. Inspired by some excellent punch, I

told him my whole adventure, describing minutely the man who had so

miraculously eluded me.

“He listened thoughtfully, then said he doubted of my ever capturing

him, because of the many desperadoes swarming along the line of the

roadsmen――who held law officers as foes to the death, and who would

espouse the cause of any rascal against them.

“Finally we both fell asleep, after I had bargained with him for a

horse. Aurora had just arisen from her gray couch, as a shout and

bustling without made us both leap from our slumber.

“A violent beating at the door, nearly shaking it from its fastening,

accompanied by vociferations for the boss, impelled my host to begin

rapidly drawing the door bolts, but I clutched his arm and told him to

stop, for I had distinctly heard my name pronounced without. We

listened; a savage voice yelled:

“‘Sind the blackguard out; it’s Shearman, the detective, an’ shure

he’s afther Scrubby, the spalpeen! Sind him out, or be jabers we’ll

have both av ye out, ye bloodsuckers!’

“A pick came hurling, and thrust its four inches through the door; a

huge missile fell violently upon the roof, almost coming through.

Terribly serious was it becoming. The boss commanded them to desist,

but was greeted by a tornado of rocks, spades, &c., thudding over

every inch of the edifice.

“Two bullets now buried themselves in the doorpost, three inches more

and they would have entered the superintendent’s heart. Seeing nothing

but our death would allay their drunken rage, the boss declared his

intention of fighting to the last.

“We grasped hands and then piled all the available moveables against

the door; and then charged the three rifles and four revolvers we had.

“We both ascended into a low loft over the room, the eaves of the roof

forming a narrow opening near the floor. We knelt down and peered out.

About thirty men, most intoxicated, armed with excavating tools and

firearms, were grouped a little way off, gesticulating and reeling at

a terrible rate.

“Though divested of his scarlet kerchief, I recognised my horse-thief.

Communicating my discovery to my companion, he said that when I first

described the rascal he thought he knew him, for his name was entered

on the work-list yesterday when he came from Omaha.

“‘And depend upon it,’ added the boss, ‘he has escaped some criminal

penalty in other settlements than Omaha.’

“The lull in the human tempest was now accounted for. Part of the

crowd were now engaged in belabouring four Chinamen who had refused to

join in the assault; the rest were hilarious witnesses of the

performance.

“At last, the luckless Celestials being punched into speechlessness,

attention was turned on us. Not to betray our refuge, the boss slipped

down the ladder and ordered our assailants once more to desist, as we

were prepared to kill, if necessary, and determined to rather die than

surrender. A renewed bombardment of projectiles inconceivable was

their response.

“‘Now Shearman,’ said the boss, “use your weapon well, for the way

things look, I dont think we could procure life assurance policies on

any terms. However, we can stand a siege if fire is not enlisted on

the enemy’s side. We have provisions and water below for a week, and

half a cwt. of bullets and powder. But, by Jove, this roof will never

stand such missiles as the one that Irishman is picking up; and it is

not proof against the balls of that crack rifle your friend of the

scarlet kerchief is loading; so we’ll put these planks along this

side, and keep them from bringing fire to the door――that would be

death. See him! look!

“The Irishman was drawing back to hurl that death and ruin-dealing

rock when the boss fired; the man dropped in his tracks, the heavy

stone falling on his face.

“The wild drunken crowd rushed at the door with yells of drunken

madness. Four small puffs and flashes issued from under the eaves; the

rabble drew back pell-mell, leaving three stretched upon the ground.

“Our precise locality being thus discovered, the bullets came thick

and fast, and the efficacy of the planks was proven――a dozen balls

perforated the roof, but lodged in the stout boards.

“Suddenly I saw the horse thief partially slip from shelter and poise

his deadly-looking rifle. I was aware that its contents would pierce

our barricades, and not being able to pick the fellow off in his

position, I sprang aside, dragging the boss with me.

“Hardly done ere whizz went the ball through a spot of the plank where

my brain was the preceding instant, and buried itself in the noble

Newfoundland’s heart.

“With a mournful cry of agony the brute sprang up, and fell across his

master’s knees. The boss stroked his glossy coat, then a strange gleam

flashed in his eyes.

“We both fired at the slayer――he dropped, then sprang up, and savagely

laughing whipped behind a tree.

“By this time, from continual battering, the door hung loosely on its

broken hinges; nevertheless, our fire kept the mob from attempting the

breach, and finally they retreated far back in the forest, giving us a

respite to refresh and contemplate our begrimed and bruised faces, our

arms discoloured, and trembling from violent exertion, for we had

begun the struggle at dawn; it now wanted one hour of noon.

“Suddenly a wreath of smoke curled up from the tree; firing and

shouting again were rampant; and we got a glimpse of the horse-thief

darting from tree to tree, at last bringing up behind a huge oak,

exactly in front of which and opposite our citadel grew a tall,

flexible sapling.

“The man clutched a roaring brand, and I saw his hand cautiously creep

around the tree trunk toward the sapling. Then I fired at his huge

palm; but he drew it back too quickly. When the smoke cleared away, we

saw the sapling bent behind the tree――the man, unseen, busily

attaching something to the branches.

“We wondered at these proceedings, but the mystery soon cleared up;

the sapling bent back, touching the ground, then sprang forward with

elastic violence, and from its branches, like a meteor, darted a

glancing, hissing brand, lodging on our frail roof with an ominous

thud. In unison came a joyful shout from the villains, who made a rush

for the door.”

“My word, you were hardly pressed,” exclaimed Wrench.

“Ah, it’s nothing to what followed. It was a smartish piece of

business――take it altogether.

“Pell-mell, firing, &c., on rushed that mass of brutal, drunken

strength, thirsting for the lives of us two men. A well-timed volley

drove them back, less by four; but on the forest-edge stood the

horse-thief, exultingly pointing to the blazing roof.

“The solar rays of noon, the roof in a whirlwind of flame, and the

dense smoke made the house a suffocating oven; hot cinders fell upon

us, and the floor below in perilous proximity to the powder; glowing

coals fell upon our bare breasts, and put us in momentary agony.

“Death stood at our shoulders, and Hope did not accompany him. Seconds

now were priceless.

“We dashed down the ladder as a heavy beam fell from the roof, and

left the loft open to the shots of the enemy. Quickly the boss pulled

up a trap from the floor, pushed me down, sprang in himself, and shut

and bolted it.

“The rapid tramp of feet overhead teld our escape was none too soon;

we heard the reckless fiends tearing away the barricades, shouting in

expectant revenge.

“I followed the boss along a narrow, low, excavated passage, till

coming into a sort of cellar, which he said was the storage place for

the spirits, he exclaimed, hoarsely――

“‘Take this pick, and dig for your life, through the wall, upward;

after bursting the spirit-barrel, I will do the same.’”

“What a position to be in!” observed Wrench.

“Well, I can’t say I have ever had anything so hot as that.

“Neither should I care for such another dose. Of course you understand

that I was in uniform, and serving my country as a volunteer at this

time.”

“No, I did not quite understand that.”

“Ah, but I was; although a mere detective, I could handle a rifle with

the best of them.

“Well, I need not tell you that I worked as I never worked before――the

axe tore down the earth in masses――the darkness, the perilous mystery

in that I was doing, the faint-heard shouts of the wretches above,

storming about the burning house, the flames roaring, the wood

crashing, wrought me up to a herculean frenzy.

“The spirit-cask was now staved; ankle deep in the fiery contents we

both worked, like Gog and Magog of yore; suddenly a huge lump of mould

rolled down, light and air pouring in upon us. Tear! wrench! a fissure

sufficient for human egress presented itself; quickly dragging

ourselves through, we stood in a thick clump of low rose bushes, where

we lay peering out towards the roaring mass of flame, and through the

smoke endeavoured to get a sight of the murderous rascals who ran riot

amidst the flames.

“Hark! The riot lulls; a thud of hoofs, a regular monotonous

clanking――ah, we knew those sounds. Rushing out of the bushes, we came

upon a cavalry squad, holding at bay the drunken crowd.

“We shouted to the officer in charge to order a surround, which was

quickly done; then followed explanation. In the excitement of the

scene I had almost forgotten the man with the scarlet kerchief; now I

thought of him.

“Looking sharply around I espied him creeping off towards the place

where the boss’s horses were tethered.

“There is the ringleader, Dan Whipple, the horse-thief; in the law’s

name, lieutenant, I order you to help capture that man!’

“Saying this, I threw myself on the nearest horse, followed by four

soldiers; but he had reached the tetherage, and we saw him galloping

through the woods, far ahead, saddleless, and managing his nag with a

mere halter.

“Our horses and his were about the same mettle, and we gained nothing

on him. The soldiers told me they had left Silver Creek in search of

this Dan Whipple, who, in the open street, had stolen a mule from a

team about to set out with a colonel’s camp furniture; that on the

road they had come upon a dead horse and the stolen mule with a

bullet-hole in his head, being at a loss to account for it; however,

they had pressed on in hopes of capturing the outlaw.

“They had not gone far before they heard shots and saw smoke, and

after a sharp ride came upon the camp.

“I did not enlighten them in regard to the mule, but kept a look-out

for the fugitive. Although during the civil war the popular estimation

of Government horse flesh was not very great, nevertheless these

Western war steeds were not at all despicable, for they brought us

near enough to get a sight of our prey; but just then the mare whisked

into the woods and was invisible.

“An ejaculation of a soldier caused me to turn my head, and, fifty

feet right behind us, came on the horse the rascal had two minutes

before bestrode.

“We looked at each other astonished. One man secured the horse, and I

ordered the troops to proceed with me to the place where the thief had

darted into the forest. We scrutinised every bush and hollow closely;

for the moves of the man were so sudden and unexpected that I looked

for a fatal shot from every corner.

“In apparent despair, I ordered the men to face homeward as our prey

had certainly escaped us. We had not gone far, however, before I

signed them to keep on slowly, while I lightly dismounted and made a

large circuit, until I stood hidden in the bush, ten paces from a

certain large tree I had noticed.

“Yes, the branches swayed in a manner not at all natural. First a limb

rather high up moved queerly; then a lower one; now one farther down;

and so the strange motion was communicated till the legs of a man

appeared beneath the lowermost branch. I cocked my pistol.

“Gradually the body of the veritable Dan Whipple came down till he

hung by the hands. Now was the time. Wishing merely to disable him, I

aimed for his legs.

“‘Ping, ping,’ went those barrels. He tried hard to draw himself up

into the tree. Then hung by one hand, with the other endeavouring to

detach a weapon.

“But it was too much for him. He dropped to the ground with a heavy

thud. I pounced upon him, held him by the throat, my knee on his

chest, shouting for the soldiers.

“A cavalryman detached from his saddle a pair of iron cuffs,

originally intended for the appropriator of the luckless mule, and the

unenviable ornaments speedily enveloped the captive’s wrists. The

wound not seeming serious, we placed him astride his last booty and

started for camp.

“To conclude, suffice it to note, that the rioters were liberated with

the exception of a few of the most prominent, who were sentenced to

some months’ labour at the garrison in Silver Greek.

“There was no convenient penitentiary in the locality; besides men

were in demand by the P. R. R.――therefore they were set at large. As

for Dan Whipple, it was found necessary, after surgical examination,

to amputate his wounded limb; but his thiefship obstinately refused to

undergo the beneficial operation, and three days after his capture he

died miserably from the effects of gangrene; thus preventing me from

taking him to Omaha, to be subjected to lawful justice by the injured

express firm――my employers.

“In justice to the departed purloiner of other people’s horses so as

to obliterate from his record at least one crime, I explained to the

military authorities the abstraction of the mule from the team, and

was cleared of all intention of joining the profession, of which Mr.

Whipple was such a prominent member.

“The labour superintendent, since these adventures were shared, has

often met me, and we have undergone the same perils over and over――in

words.”

CHAPTER CVI.

A GLANCE AT BROXBRIDGE――THE ROBBERY AT NETTLETHORP――A VISIT TO MOTHER

BAGLEY――A STRANGER AT THE FARM HOUSE.

We must beg of the reader to accompany us once more to Broxbridge,

which has been the scene of so many important events in connection

with our history. Since our last visit to this place time has made

many sad alterations.

Old Mr. Jamblin has passed away from the living things of the earth,

and his daughter and son-in-law are in full possession of Stoke Ferry

Farm. The old rascal with the scythe, forelock, and hour-glass, has

dealt mercifully with the noble earl at the Hall; nevertheless Lord

Ethalwood gives unmistakable indications of advancing years.

He does not shoot or hunt so much as he used to do of yore, his fine

frame is a little bent, and his step has lost a something of its

elasticity; but despite all these drawbacks he is a fine specimen of

England’s boasted aristocracy, and it is pretty generally admitted

that there is not such another aristocracy in the world.

Think of the American honourables, and spit from nausea as they do

from fashion; think of the Continental counts, who are as numerous and

as dirty as the paving-stones of a London street.

An English nobleman has the breeding of a French marquis before the

Revolution, the majesty of a Spanish hidalgo, the phlegm and

equanimity of a German baron. He can show you a pedigree which has no

beginning, for its roots are buried in the obscurity of tradition, and

which will end only with the world itself. He can show you his name

crowned with fresh laurels in each fresh generation, and then he can

show you himself――brave and loyal as his ancestors, should his

services be needed for his country or his sovereign.

It has been said that we live in degenerate times, that the age of

chivalry has passed, and that the English aristocracy are not the

proud and noble race they were. And it cannot be denied that some

members of noble families are frivolous, enervated, and deficient in

mental power, but they are the exceptions, not the rule.

Lord Ethalwood, as we have already intimated, was a fine sample of his

order. His leading fault was his indomitable pride and his undisguised

contempt for the lower classes.

When his daughter was divorced from her husband he seemed for some

time to have taken a fresh lease of his life. As a matter of course

the Lady Aveline was surrounded with admirers, and the greater portion

of her time was spent in London.

Mr. Jakyl, like his master, was falling into the “sear and yellow

leaf,” but he had the same soft, unobtrusive, respectful manner as of

yore. As to the radiant footman, Henry Adolphus, he got sick of

service, and yearned to be his own master.

He jilted the young female he was engaged to, and paid marked and

persistent attention to Nell Fulford, whom Peace had been smitten with

in an earlier day, and who afterwards became the mistress of Philip

Jamblin.

These circumstances, however, did not appear to have any great weight

with Henry Adolphus, who, in the course of time, made up his mind to

pop the question. At first he was refused, but as he was a man not to

be easily cast on one side, and chose to press his suit again and

again, he was ultimately accepted, and he led Nell to the hymeneal

altar.

After his wedding he started in the green-grocery line, had a big

plate-glass front put into the old shop, originally owned by Nell’s

aunt, and drove a very prosperous trade; he served the hall, Brickett,

and a host of the surrounding gentry and tradespeople; and it is but

justice to him for us to signify that he made Nell an excellent

husband.

Brickett still kept the “Carved Lion,” and would often, when in a

contemplative mood, wonder what had become of Charles Peace, but it

was only to his particular cronies that he would broach the subject,

for Peace by this time was looked upon as a daring and hardened

offender, and the more discreet portion of the villagers forbore from

mentioning his name or making any allusion to him.

Let us now take a glance at Stoke Ferry Farm. The external appearance

of this English homestead we described in a preceding chapter.

Now there is seated on the roughly-hewn bench before the front door, a

bright-eyed, dimpled-cheeked young woman twittering to a baby which

she holds in her arms, the female in question being none other than

she whom we have known as Patty Jamblin. She is now Mrs. Richard

Ashbrook.

She caresses the child――she talks sweet gibberish to it with her lips;

doubtless the words she gave utterance to were but a mere sound to the

child, but, to all appearance, it is a pleasing sound, for the little

thing “rears its creasy arms” and smiles, and sometimes the young

mother, sustaining her offspring with one arm, would stroke its face

with her fingers, which were soft and delicate.

And ever and anon she would look down the long white road, which was

only lost to view among the dark and distant woods.

She was evidently expecting something or someone, for her glance was

earnest and frequent.

Presently her eyes brightened, and she tossed the baby gaily in the

air, the infant uttering loud and rapid screams, which no one but a

mother or one who had been accustomed to children could have

understood to be demonstrations of delight.

The black dot in the distance had now become a man on horseback, who

galloped towards the farmhouse enthroned in a cloud of dust.

“It is Richard,” cried Patty. “I knew it by the manner he rode――it is

he.”

She was right enough, it was her husband, who upon arriving at the

front gate called lustily out for Joe, the same Joe who had been so

intimately connected with the discovery of the murderer of Philip

Jamblin. He was still retained on the establishment.

His master gave him injunctions to rub the mare down well.

“I’d no business to put her out to such a pace, especially as there’s

a bit of a hill. However, she’ll be none the worse for it if she’s

well looked after. A horse should always go cool into the stable――rub

her down. I’m desperately behind to-day, there’s no doubt about that,

but she went along bravely though, and is as good as gold to any man.”

“She’ll be all right,” said Joe. “I’ll see to that; don’t you concern

yourself about her.”

“Dear me, you have been a time,” cried Patty. I thought you would

never come back; but here you are――and that’s enough.”

She placed her hand upon his broad shoulder, and rising on tiptoe

kissed him tenderly.

He took her in his arms and they kissed each other repeatedly. Oh, it

is a pretty sight these meetings of husband and wife after the day’s

work is done.

When they have been separated for a few hours they greet each other

with the warmth which follows an absence of years.

They have carried each other’s photographs in their mind; having

cherished the emblems all day long, they spring to each other’s arms

with transports which the forethought has prepared.

What a contrast these two persons afford to the matrimonial life of

Mr. and Mrs. Bourne――the one is unalloyed happiness, the other supreme

misery.

“And now, sir,” said Patty, endeavouring to call up a frown, “what

have you to say for yourself? How is it you have kept your wife

waiting in this way?”

“Couldn’t help it, dear.”

“And why not?”

“Well, in the first place, I had got to start ’em right with their

sowing for the spring wheat, and after that I made over to Oakfield.”

“To Oakfield, eh?”

“Yes, one of my chaps told me John was not at all the thing, and I was

a bit anxious, you see.”

“And how did you find him then?”

“Oh, only middling――very middling one might say. He don’t seem to ha’

a bit a life about him.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Oh, no; but Maude, poor gell, troubles herself a goodish bit. Well,

it aint to be wondered at. He gets such strange notions in his head. I

must go over there for a day or two, and give him a good talking to,

else――hang me, if he won’t go melancholy mad or summat.”

“However, let’s hope he’ll mend. I suppose dinner’s pretty well cooled

by this time, eh?”

“It won’t be too hot, I dare say, but the girl has set it down before

the fire.”

The husband and wife went into the front parlour, where dinner was

served. Richard Ashbrook was as hungry as a hunter, and did ample

justice to the repast set before him.

“I’m sorry to hear so poor an account of John, though,” observed

Patty. “Very sorry, but he mustn’t give way.”

“No, of course not; half his ailment proceeds from the mind. The

doctor says he’s a――hip――adriach, or summat of that sort. I aint quite

got hold of the right word, but I dessay we shouldn’t be much the

wiser if I had.”

“It’s a longish word, aint it?”

“Oh, yes; an’ you’ve got to jolt it out if you want to make anything

of it; but I say, old gell, I’ve got some news to tell ’ee――summat as

’ill surprise ’ee.”

“Lor! Out wi’ it, then; tell us what it is.”

“Why, I dessay you remember carroty-head Nettlethorpe, him as you used

to be spooney on before you were silly enough to marry me.”

“Spooney on Nettlethorpe! Get out with you.”

“Well, we won’t dispute about that.”

“Don’t be so foolish, Richard!” cried Patty, pouting.

“There, don’t be crabby. I was only joking, you know that well

enough.”

“Go on with what you were about to say.”

“Old Nettlethorpe’s been robbed.”

“Never! Why it will kill him.”

“Oh, you may well say that. He’s been robbed, house broken into,

strong-box opened, and all the money he and his amiable sister had

stinted themselves of, for I don’t know how many years, gone in one

night. Think of that.”

“Well you do surprise me,” returned Patty. “Poor fellow, it is cruel

though, most cruel of anyone to take a man’s all.”

“It is, you are quite right; but do you know people――a goodish

many――say that it serves the beggarly screws right? They starved

themselves, and worse than that starved their servants and watered the

men’s beer at harvest time.”

“So father used to say.”

“Yes, and he was right; they gave the men shorter wages than any other

farmer, and when there was a holiday given all over the land made ’em

do work the night before, and that they did, too, and ploughed by

moonlight.”

“But suppose there was no moon,” said Patty, with a laugh, “did they

find the men rushlights?”

“Ah, you may make light of the matter, missus, but it’s a fact

nevertheless. Still I don’t wish Nettlethorpe any harm; he’s a

pinch-and-starve farmer, it is true, but that’s no reason for his

being robbed, for after all it can’t be less trouble to them to lose

what they came by hardly and honestly than it is for folks as be more

open-handed, and we oughn’t be glad that mischief is done to a

neighbour, whatever that neighbour may be. ‘Never rejoice at nobody’s

downfall,’ my old father used to say, and a good saying it be.”

“You are quite right――it must be a hard blow for them, and it must be

harder to find that people are glad because of it. But how did it

occur? Whoever could have been wicked enough to commit such an act?”

“Oh, there are plenty who are wicked enough if they only had the

chance――you may depend upon that; but I haven’t heard the particulars.

I tell you what we’ll do.”

“Well――what?”

“Presently we’ll go up to old mother Bagley’s, and she’ll be sure to

know the whole history of the affair by heart――trust her for that.”

“Excellent thought; we’ll pay a visit to the old dame then.”

Soon after this Mrs. Ashbrook went upstairs to put on her things, for

the purpose of paying the visit agreed upon.

Upon coming down again she found her husband waiting at the front

door, when he scolded her good-humouredly for having been so long with

her bonnet and shawl.

This is by no means an uncommon complaint with husbands.

She gave him back his jokes transformed into repartees, and thrust her

wrist through the loop of his arm.

They walked along the bare white road for about a mile and a half. As

they proceeded along Ashbrook said――

“I tell’ee what it is, Patty――it’s my belief that Charles Peace ’as

had a hand in this business. People say he’s the most desperate and

determined burglar out.”

“Oh, Richard, dear, be just,” returned his wife. “It don’t seem fair

to accuse a man without the faintest scrap of evidence against him.”

“Well, I dunno as it is, but it’s just like one of his tricks.”

“But he has not been seen in the neighbourhod for years.”

They presently turned aside through a gate which opened on a footpath

which led to Mother Bagley’s cottage.

This humble habitation stood in a field, with no safeguards from

solitude but a walnut tree, hollowed by lightning, a pair of apple

trees, a microscopic garden of cabbages and potatoes, and a high

untrimmed hedge, in which bloomed, side by side, the last

convolvoluses of summer and the first berries of approaching winter.

The cottage was small and compact. It did not ramble over a fraction

of an acre as most cottages do, and its appearance made one believe

that it was not the home of a common peasant.

In point of fact, Mrs. Bagley was the relict of an old servant of the

earl’s.

When her husband died Lord Ethalwood made her a present of the

habitation in which she now resided, and in addition to this he

settled on her a small annuity, which sufficed for all her wants.

The earl never let any of his dependents come to want, and this was

only one instance out of numberless others of his kindness in this

respect.

Mrs. Bagley lived a secluded, almost solitary life, and yet contrived

to acquaint herself with every tittle of parish gossip. She knew

everything, and anybody wanting information need only to consult her.

Whenever there was a mystery it was to old Mother Bagley that the

cronies of the village resorted, as if she had been a sibyl or a

priestess of the oracle of Delphos.

The interior of her house was remarkably clean and neat, the articles

of furniture were so many varied mirrors, her tiny poker, tongs, and

shovel were as bright as a set of surgical instruments, and the very

smoke seemed to go carefully up the chimney, curling and twisting and

rolling itself into the smallest possible compass, as if doing its

best not to leave any soot behind.

Mrs. Bagley was a character in her way――one of those oddities one

seldom meets with nowadays. She possessed a Bible, prayer-book, a pair

of spectacles, and a snuff-box.

With these she amused herself all day long, or, to speak more

correctly, during that portion of it upon which she was not otherwise

engaged, for, being a lady of gregarious habits for all her solitary

life, she had innumerable droppers in, who were, of course, village

gossips.

Like most old peasant women, she was an inveterate tea drinker, and

her favourite beverage was always brewing by the fireside.

The teapot was a round, red, little thing about the size and shape of

an apple dumpling, with a spout like a baby’s finger, and the lid made

fast to the handle with a silver chain.

This cleanly old woman took snuff, it is true――of the light yellow

pungent species――for she was a victim to headaches, the natural result

of incessant twankay or souchong, but she took it without permitting a

grain to fall upon her Bible or her dress.

When Mr. and Mrs. Ashbrook entered her unpretending dwelling, she was

sitting like “Simon, the Cellarer,” in her high-backed chair, enjoying

the faint warmth and rosy light of the fire, and bestowing a glance

every now and then upon a baby which reposed in a cradle by her side.

Patty saw this cradle as soon as she opened the door, for it was a

sight which was pretty sure to attract the attention of any young

mother.

She gazed upon the tiny creature with evident interest.

It was a sweet little infant about six months old. Its hair was

already dark, and promised to be black as the raven’s wing; silky

eyelids fringed the pearl-white lids, and its skin was as delicate and

soft as satin.

“I say, missus,” cried Ashbrook, “what’s the meaning of this? What

have you been up to? Going to turn baby farmer, eh?”

The old woman laughed good-humouredly.

“No, Master Ashbrook; thanks to his lordship I don’t need anything of

that sort. The little thing belongs to one of my neighbours. They

often bring their children here for me to take care of when they go to

work or to market, or anywhere for a day. But won’t you take a seat,

sir, and you as well, madam?”

“You are very good, I am sure, to take charge of your neighbour’s

children. What a sweet little thing it is!” observed Mrs. Ashbrook.

“A very nice child, and so good-tempered, too――don’t give any

trouble,” said Mrs. Bagley, rising and wiping with her apron two

chairs, which she placed at the disposal of the visitors.

“Thank ye,” said Ashbrook. “You are looking just the same as ever,

Mrs. Bagley――not a bit altered since I last saw you――not a day older.”

“Ah, Master Ashbrook, I be older, and, what be more, I find it out. My

back is so weak at times that I hardly know how to hold myself up; but

I haven’t any great reason to complain, all things considered.”

“You are happy and contented――that’s the chief thing.”

“Well I do hope as I never was one of the complaining sort, poor dear

Bagley used to say.”

“Oh,” thought the farmer, “if I once let her loose on that string, we

shall have to listen to her for heaven knows how long.”

He therefore interrupted her with a sharp query.

“We have called here, being in the hopes of learning something about

the robbery at Nettlethorpe’s. Do you know anything about it?” cried

Ashbrook, all in a breath.

“Aye, Master Ashbrook; I know something about it.”

“Well, then, tell us――there’s a good soul.”

“It went this way, Master Ashbrook. You must know that, four or five

days it might be――I couldn’t swear which it was――two men came a

drivin’ round the country in a gig; I saw ’em myself――one a rare big

black-mouthed-looking fellow as ever you’d wish to see.”

“Or, rather, wouldn’t care about seeing on a dark night in a lonely

road――eh?”

“That’s more like it, master. Well, the other was a poor weazened bit

of a chap as ever you’d set eyes on in a day’s travel. The pair on ’em

were goin’ about like bagmen with japanned tea-trays; but instead of

going to the towns and doing business only with the shops, they went

round the country and called at the houses themselves, and among

others they went to farmer Nettlethorpe’s, not to sell trays (for

everybody, yourself among the rest know that Master Nettlethorpe aint

the man to spill money over such like things), but to take the measure

of his kitchen window with a piece of tape.”

“Goodness me, is it possible?” exclaimed Patty, in a tone of alarm.

“It be the solemn truth, mum, as sure as I be a speaking to you this

very minnit. They not only measures the window wi’ tape, but they take

the shape of his lock wi’ a bit of bread paste.”

“Never!”

“Oh, we knows this, because the sarvint caught one man at the window

afore he’d quite done, and found a bit of bread crumb in the lock that

same evening, but she being a poor silly morsel of a field wench,

didn’t think no harm ’ud come of it.”

“She must have been a born idiot. That’s what she must be,” cried

Ashbrook. “Well, what followed?”

“Harm did come, as we all on us know, for last night the house was

broken into by the kitchen window and the passage door; the master and

missus were gagged and bound wi’ cord a by two men wi’ crape on their

faces, and wi’ pistols in their hands, and every farden in the house

was robbed right away.

“Oh! but I be very sorry for poor Mr. Nettlethorpe and his sister.

They say as how she was senseless for hours, and the doctor had a hard

job to bring her to at all.”

“I am sorry for both of them, but I tell ’ee that there’s summat more

to be said in the business. It was only yesterday as farmer Cheadle

met me out riding, and he told me about a couple of impudent fellows

as had driven up to his house, and one on ’em had got out and come

into the kitchen, and asked his housekeeper, Dorcas, if she wanted any

tea-trays, and she said ‘No.’”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes, and then they told her to go in and ask her master if he wanted

any trays, and she said she knew he didn’t, because she had bought one

for him not long before that, and she had the control of these things

herself; and she declared that she wasn’t going to trouble her master

for nothing. When they saw she wasn’t to be got out of the room, they

did abuse her frightfully, and she did not stir for all their

bullying. Oh, she’s a tartar, and no mistake.”

Mrs. Bagley heard the farmer out so far, on the chance of picking up

some additional gossip, under which circumstances alone she consented

to listen to anyone’s tongue but her own.

Ashbrook having told his story, she fired away again, and related to

him, at full length, all the burglaries which had been committed in

the neighbourhood and the surrounding districts for years past.

“Well, I’m much obliged to you for the information you have given us,

Mrs. Bagley, and that be all I can gi’ ye in return,” said Ashbrook,

rising, and preparing to take his departure.

“I don’t want anything else――nay, not even that――for you are quite

welcome, and I be glad to see ’ee and miss――I beg pardon――Mrs.

Ashbrook as is, and Miss Jamblin as was.”

“But I say,” cried the farmer, “your hedge wants trimming; it’s the

only untidy thing about the place. I’ll send a man up to do it for

’ee.”

“I am sure you are very kind, sir,” said the old woman, dropping a

curtsey. “It do mek me wild like, when I ses it, but I aint strong

enough to do a job like that, and the earl, if he were to pass by, I

know he’d be more annoyed than what I be myself. ’Course, he’s a very

particular gentleman, and so kind I’m sure I ought to pray for him,

for he’s been that kind.”

“Oh, no doubt, he is to all his tenants, dependents, and, in short,

everybody,” said Ashbrook sidling towards the door, and nudging Patty

to follow him.

“I’ll send round one of my people, either to-morrow or next day,

depend upon that,” cried Ashbrook, as he passed out of the house.

“Good-bye.”

The farmer and his wife returned home.

“I tell you what it is, Richard,” said Patty, “we had best be on our

guard, for probably these tea-tray men may pay us a visit――who knows?”

“Oh, we none of us know. The burglary committed at Oakfield House

years agone has proved to be almost a curse――certainly it has been

attended with fatal effects to one member of our family.”

“Fatal! To whom?”

[Sidenote: No. 57.]

[Illustration: SEIZING A STOUT ASH STICK FARMER ASHBROOK PROCEEDED TO

GIVE THE VILLAIN A THRASHING.]

“To poor Jane,” said Richard Ashbrook. “And it has not ended with her

death. John is no longer the same man. I think, of all men in the

world, the Ashbrooks have reason to dread any attack of that nature.

So, as you say, we’ll be prepared――to be forewarned is to be

forearmed. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Patty.”

“Well――what?”

“I’ll just step round to Brickett’s for half an hour or so. I shall

learn more about this business at the ‘Lion.’”

“Very well――only don’t stop late, Richard.”

“I’ll take good care of that.”

“It being market-day there’ll be a goodish many people there, I

expect.”

“Likely enough I may pick up some information.”

Richard Ashbrook sallied forth, and in a few minutes’ time he was in

the snug little parlour of the “Carved Lion.”

The room was full of people, many of whom were very well known to the

farmer, who was a special favourite with the frequenters of the room.

A young swell, who was a stranger to all present, was holding forth to

the yokels. To all appearance he was a gentleman. There was an air of

refinement and condescension about him which seemed to indicate that

he was of gentle birth.

He affected to commiserate with the person who had been the victim of

the burglars, and assumed such a high tone of morality that all

present were under the impression that he was a person of great

rectitude.

But Ashbrook was not furnished with much more information than he had

already gathered from Mother Bagley.

Nevertheless, he remained for some time listening to what the people

had to say. As he was about leaving the stranger rose also, and made

his way towards the bar. By this time it had commenced to rain in

torrents.

“A most wretched night, it must be confessed, sir,” said the stranger,

addressing himself to Ashbrook.

“Yes, sir. I thought we should have it before morning, but didn’t

expect it to come on so suddenly.”

“This is very awkward,” remarked the stranger to Brickett. “Are you

sure you cannot accommodate me?”

“I’m sorry to say I’m quite full. This is market day, and I have got

more than my average number of visitors. Every bed in the house is

engaged.”

A magnificent black horse was brought by the ostler in front of the

“Carved Lion,” and the stranger mounted. It was at this time pouring

in torrents. Brickett, who was holding a horn lantern, seemed much

annoyed that he could not find the rider a bed.

“Do you know of any other house where I am likely to meet with the

accommodation I require?” said the stranger.

“Well, there’s the ‘Frighted Horse’ about two miles and a half down

the road, but it’s not a place I should like to recommend,” returned

Brickett.

“What does the gentleman want?” cried Ashbrook. “A bed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you surely are not going to turn him out such a night as this?”

“It goes against the grain for me to do so,” said the host of the

“Carved Lion,” “but there’s no help for it as I can see.”

“Have you far to go, sir?” inquired the farmer of the stranger.

“Well, that depends upon what luck I have,” answered he, with a

winning smile. “I’ve a good horse, and don’t much care about a

soaking, and must take my chance, I suppose.”

“Dall it all, but it seems cruel, Brickett,” cried Ashbrook, rubbing

his head in a puzzled manner. “Look at the night.”

“It seems like cruelty, I admit.”

“I tell ’ee what ’ee can do――I can give you accommodation for one

night, at all events.”

“I am sure you are extremely kind, sir, and I hardly know how to

sufficiently thank you for the offer, but I should not like to intrude

upon a stranger.”

“Oh, ye be quite welcome, for the matter of that,” said the

good-natured Ashbrook. “I expect you are a stranger to these parts.”

“Yes, quite a stranger. I am from London.”

“Aye, well you mustn’t go back with a bad account of the hospitality

of the pipple of Broxbridge――must he, Brickett?”

“I hope he won’t do that, Master Ashbrook,” said the landlord.

After some further discussion it was eventually arranged that the

gentlemanly young man from the metropolis was to become the guest of

farmer Ashbrook.

He was conducted by his host to Stoke Ferry Farm, and upon arriving

there Ashbrook told his wife to see the things were well aired, and

everything got ready in the spare bedroom.

Patty did not quite like the presence of a stranger under the

circumstances, but in the course of a quarter of an hour or so she

found him so courteous and pleasant-spoken a gentleman that she became

more reconciled.

Richard Ashbrook, who was hospitable to a fault, conducted his guest

to the spare bedroom, wished him good night, and the inmates of Stoke

Ferry farmhouse then retired to their respective chambers.

CHAPTER CVII.

THE STRANGER IS COMMUNICATIVE――BREAKERS AHEAD.

To the farmer’s surprise the stranger was up and stirring by early

morn; he professed to be a lover of the country, who liked to see the

sun rise.

When Ashbrook and his wife had seated themselves at the breakfast

table they were informed by their newly-formed acquaintance that his

name was Mr. Eric Fortescue, and that he was spending his four weeks’

leave of absence from the red tape and parchment of a fashionable

Government office to which he belonged.

All this appeared to be natural enough; he had the appearance of a

gentleman attached to some such establishment, and the farmer and his

wife were duly impressed with the respectability of their guest.

Mr. Fortescue was loquacious and confidential――he said he was fond of

riding. Besides his two hours’ ride in Rotten-row, between five and

seven in the morning, it was his custom to take a long journey on

Sunday through the Middlesex meadows, sometimes as far as the

hop-fields in Kent, and to spend his annual holiday upon the saddle,

with no luggage but the carpet bag, which he strapped upon the pommel,

and with no companions but the feathered choristers in the fields and

the sweet odour of the wild flowers and the music of his horse’s

hoofs.

Ashbrook thought him a jolly sort of fellow enough, genial and

companionable――indeed, he was charmed with his discourse.

He abounded in anecdote, and revealed to their astonished mind much of

the arcana and interior machineries of polite society, which are

hidden from the uninitiated by a spangled but impenetrable veil.

He knew, or affected to know, a number of notabilities whose names had

reached Patty through the medium of her friends, Lady Aveline and Lady

Marolyn, and she was therefore under the full impression that Mr.

Fortescue was intimately acquainted with many of the leading

personages who figured in the fashionable world.

His manner was engaging, and he was scrupulously polite and

respectful.

He hastened to assure his host and hostess that he was ignorant upon

many subjects in which they were well versed, by asking them about

farming and housewifery, and listened attentively to their

explanations. In an incredibly short time he became on excellent terms

with the master and mistress of Stoke Ferry, and they would not hear

of his leaving on that day or the next.

Joe Doughty was sent round to the “Carved Lion” for the gentleman’s

horse, and it was stalled at the farmhouse, carefully groomed, and got

ready whenever its master needed it.

Thus matters went on for some days until at length a tacit agreement

became established between them that Mr. Erric Fortescue should spend

his holidays at Stoke Ferry Farm.

He appeared to be quite charmed with the establishment into which he

had been by chance thrown. He went to bed with the linnet, rose with

the lark, and breakfasted on fat bacon and home-made bread and butter

at half-past seven. His life was one round of pleasure and

happiness――so he averred.

After breakfast the horses would be saddled and brought round to the

door by Joe, and Mr. Fortescue and Ashbrook would ride over the farm

together.

Now ambling along the fallows and watching the progress of the

plough――now cantering along the greensward by the road side――now

taking a flight of hurdles or a five-barred gate――little matters which

the Londoner achieved, to Ashbrook’s astonishment, with a seat as firm

and a hand as light as his own.

Fortescue was not much of a hand at a gun; he said he did not shoot,

but that it always gave him pleasure to see the sport, and often he

would take a big stick in his hand and do as tidy a day’s beating, so

said Joe Doughty, “as e’er a man on the farm.”

It certainly was most remarkable how he accommodated himself to the

ways of Richard Ashbrook. On market days the latter was quite proud of

him.

He would take his seat about half way down the table, and before the

first quarter of an hour had passed he would contrive to be on good

terms with every farmer at the ordinary.

In short, he was a general favourite.

When dinner was over and glasses round was the war-cry of the knights

of the plough, he told them stories till they clapped their hands to

their aching sides, and spluttered in their glasses as they vainly

strove to drink.

“He was a right-down proper sort of gentleman,” the yeomen declared.

“There warn’t no mistake about that.”

He was popular with all classes.

“He comes from another breed nor most Cockneys,” said one man. “He

aint one of those starchy sort of customers. Dall their rich and

stuck-up ways; they’s too proud to look at we poor folks, and when we

touches our hats to ’em their heads seems as if they were made of ice.

But there aint no pride in this gentleman, ne’er a crumb or morsel.”

So Mr. Fortescue was looked upon as a right down good fellow on the

farm and premises――with all but one.

This was the maid servant, or household manager, Kitty, whom the

reader may probably remember as the same serving wench who waited upon

old Mr. Jamblin when he spoke his mind so freely to Richard Ashbrook

in respect to his daughter Patty.

Kitty had remained in the same establishment after the death of her

old master, and she was now chief domestic to his daughter and her

husband.

She had watched the stranger from the very first time he entered the

house. He read in her eyes that she hated him by instinct.

These antipathies are common enough with women, and are very difficult

to conquer.

It touched his pique, and he resolved to wage war against her, for he

knew that she was prejudiced against him, and that to remove any such

prejudice in a woman of her class was next to an impossibility.

He addressed her at first with those silly compliments which are

omnipotent with most girls of the lower class, because they are

mysterious. These she spurned with a contempt which appeared to be

genuine; so he changed his tactics and treated her with diffidence and

reserve.

Soon, however, his aims were turned to another quarter.

He had liked Patty Ashbrook during the first few days as a pretty and

agreeable woman, but of the two his senses had been captivated by the

tall, athletic servant girl, whose arms, full of strength and

symmetry, resembled those of the Amazons of old, and whose eyes seemed

to flash real fire when they encountered his.

But one day he caught Patty looking at him, and in the languishing

expression of these beautiful blue eyes, in that language which the

eye alone speaks and is never false, he read that she admired him.

This was enough, for he was vain, and, we might add, unscrupulous.

It was this look which showed him that she was lovely, that she was a

prize which kings might have knelt to obtain.

He wondered how it was that he had not admired her before, as one

wonders how one has passed the tuft of grass without detecting the

nestling place of the sweet and hidden violet.

This look was also a reminescence. He now remembered the dear little

child who had so often tried to conceal his faults, and who had given

him innocent kisses when he was a boy.

All these things seemed to strengthen him in his admiration for the

sweet and gentle farmer’s wife.

Once this feeling took possession of him it grew with such strength

and rapidity as to be almost overwhelming. His mind very shortly

afterwards became filled with this woman.

He would sit in long reveries, dreaming to himself that he held her

hand in his, and that she was whispering to him and caressing him

tenderly, and at night, when the house was hushed to rest, when all

was silent within and without, when the cries of the night birds were

heard no more, when the moon was shining brightly and covered him with

her pale light, visions more voluptuous still would seize him in their

grasp――visions so powerful and intense that they made him rise

trembling, almost shrinking from his sleep. And when he awoke he would

find that it was yet dark night, and that he was alone, and he would

press his hands to his burning brow and sigh, as men sigh when evil

spirits are wrestling at their hearts.

Beneath the dark mantle of the night he conceived and plotted a most

diabolical design. It was to destroy the happiness of two fond hearts,

whom the roses of youth and love had twined lovingly together.

But roses soon wither when touched by a poisoned hand. In this world

thorns alone are those which do not die.

And to gratify a whim this wretch would lead a poor woman, in the one

weak moment of her life, from peace, from innocence, from happiness

for ever! Oh why are men so wicked and women so weak? Why is it that

the good are the victims of the bad, and that the foolish bear all the

sufferings of the world upon their breasts?

But Mr. Fortescue was under the surveillance of one who had from the

very first looked upon him with eyes of suspicion and mistrust――this

was the girl Kitty.

From his fits of abstraction, from the clouds which constantly

gathered on his forehead, and from her own indefinable misgivings, she

learnt that there was something on his mind, and began to watch him

with the eyes of a lynx.

“He’s quite the gentleman, and has most charming manners, that

everyone acknowledges,” said Mrs. Ashbrook, to her serving maid, “and

is so greatly interested in farming matters.”

“He knows a great deal more of farming and things of that sort than

people suppose,” returned Kitty. “Don’t ’ee mek any mistake,

missus――he aint the greenhorn you imagine.”

“I never said he was a greenhorn, you foolish girl,” said Patty, a

little petulantly.

“Well, mum, it aint no business of mine; but I think――――”

She paused suddenly.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I shouldn’t like to say.”

“And why not?”

“Ye might be a bit offended. But I don’t think as how he’s the man you

and master tek ’im to be――’scuse my plain speaking.”

“Ah, you are prejudiced, and don’t understand people of his class. It

is not at all likely you should be able to do so.”

“I’ve got eyes, and plain common sense, I ’spose?”

“You don’t like Mr. Fortescue――why or wherefore, I cannot imagine;

he’s always behaved well enough to you.”

“Perhaps he has; but I tell ’ee plainly, I don’t like him. I should be

telling a lie if I said I did. We can’t help our likes and dislikes,

none on us; and he isn’t one of my sort.”

Mrs. Ashbrook broke out into a laugh.

“You foolish girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Ashbrook. “You are both unjust and

unfair.”

“I don’t like his ways, mum, and I think sooner or later you’ll be of

my opinion, but, as I said afore, it beant any business of mine, so

I’ll say no more about your newly-made friend.”

Patty Ashbrook was greatly annoyed and troubled by these observations,

but she deemed it advisable not to press the question further, and so

the matter dropped for some little time, but she afterwards remembered

all that her maid had said.

CHAPTER CVIII.

KITTY’S SUSPICIONS――HER RENCONTRE WITH FORTESCUE.

Matters went on smoothly enough for some days after this, and no

reference was made to the visitor at Stoke Ferry. Ashbrook made him

his companion as heretofore, and his popularity had not in any way

diminished.

One morning the farmer said in a tone of banter, “Come Patty, dear,

what have you been about? The tea isn’t made, and the cloth isn’t

laid, and I’m half famished. Has Mr. Fortescue got into your head, or

what?”

“Mr. Fortescue!” exclaimed Patty, colouring. “What could induce you to

make such an observation as that? Mr. Fortescue, indeed!――’taint

likely.”

The farmer laughed.

“There, don’t ’ee lose yer temper――I didn’t mean to offend ’ee,” said

he.

“Oh, you don’t offend me, Richard, but I should say that he’s more in

your head than in mine.”

“That’s true enough, old gell, quite true. But hark’ee, Kitty don’t

think much on him――does she?”

“I believe not.”

“Ah, so I thought. Lord bless us, what a funny world it is, to be

sure. She says that she’s quite sure from his face that he’s no good,

and that he must ha’ given us a false name, because the initials on

his linen aint E. F., or anything like it.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, that’s what the gell sez, and she aint often mistaken. When

Kitty meks up her mind to do a thing I’ll back she’ll stick to it, but

I don’t think it at all likely that he would give us a false name.”

“Neither do I. I’m glad to hear ’ee say so, wife,” returned the

farmer. “Very glad. The gell must ha’ gone stark crazy, I do believe.

Why, a better fellow than Fortescue never breathed――there’s no man can

hold a candle to him for jokes and stories.”

“I believe him to be a very good fellow, and should be sorry to find

myself mistaken.”

Mr. Fortescue entered at that moment――he was looking pale, and his

eyes were gentle and almost pathetic.

Richard Ashbrook was a handsome man enough, but there was something so

unmistakably physical about him. His face was red, and streamed with

that which is praiseworthy and even scriptural upon the brow of a man

who works for his bread, but which is certainly not poetical.

Then his hair was ruffled, and his garments, the offspring of the

village sheers, were clumsily put on.

Patty looked at their visitor, who, with features so _distingué_, with

clothes that fitted him like a glove, with perfumes encircling him,

appeared to her like the genii of a romance.

The contrast between him and her husband was most marked, which no one

could fail to notice.

Mrs. Ashbrook loved her partner quite as much, if not more, than women

are accustomed to do, but it must be confessed, however, that she was

not insensible to flattery and attention.

The visitor at Stoke Ferry was scrupulously polite and respectful in

his manner towards the farmer’s wife.

It was his purpose to lure her from her fealty to her liege lord by

slow degrees.

Patty had at all times displayed a disposition before her marriage to

flirt with those of the opposite sex. She never for a moment thought

there was any harm in this, for in the main she was a true-hearted,

honourably-disposed woman. Nevertheless, she did give ear to the

fulsome flattery bestowed upon her by Mr. Fortescue.

The farmer had full confidence in his wife, and would have trusted her

with anybody, but he did not calculate with anything like exactness

the viper he was cherishing in his household.

“You’re looking a little pale and jaded, Mr. Fortescue,” said he.

“Leastways, it strikes me so――I hope I’m mistaken, sir.”

“I’m tolerably well, thank you,” returned the visitor. “But I could

not sleep well last night;” here he glanced at Patty.

“That be a bad job,” cried Ashbrook. “When a man can’t sleep there

must be summat the matter wi’ him.”

“Oh, I shall be all right in an hour or two, I dare say,” returned

Fortescue, with a laugh. “It’s no use giving way to idle fancies.”

“Not a bit on it, none in the least. Tek a mug of beer wi’ your

breakfast and come over to Cheadle’s farm wi’ me. They’ve got an ingin

there.”

“Oh, indeed.”

“Yes, ha’ another there, and a crust of bread and cheese; then if

you’re done up you can come back here while I walk over the farm.”

“All right, my friend, I will do so.”

Long before they had come in sight of Cheadle’s farm they heard a low

humming sound like the music of a jew’s harp, and as they drew nearer

the rattle and clanking which formed a deafening accompaniment.

Then they saw a stream of smoke curling over the trees, and on

reaching the yard found themselves close upon the thrashing machine

itself.

A huge machine with revolving wheels and high narrow funnel and a

great iron belly, out of which rolled sheaves of straw.

These the men and women standing by caught on their pitchforks and

piled into a rick.

“What do ee’ think of it?” cried Ashbrook. “You don’t see that sort of

thing every day――do’ ee?”

“No, I can’t say that I ever did see one before――it’s a wonderful

sight. Do you use it on your farm?”

“Not I,” replied the farmer, contemptuously. “I’m one of the

old-fashioned sort, and stick to flail and barn door. My men hold to

me in the summer when men are gold――so I keep work for them in the

winter when work is scarce, and the best on ’em are glad of a job just

to keep the pot boiling.”

“Ah, and it’s a very proper course to adopt. These machines must be

bad things for the labourers?”

“Yes, I ’spose they are, but it don’t so much matter as far as the

thrashing goes. Ye see farmers were drove to hire or buy these

ingins――why? Because they couldn’t get the thrashing done without. The

men round here would sooner be thrashed than thrash any day. Barring

my own men, you won’t find three flails for miles around. Thrashing

indeed! Why if everyone hereabouts had to thrash his own corn, there’s

many as ’ud have to eat their’n in the straw.”

“And how about reaping machines?” said Mr. Fortescue.

“Well, they do take the bread out of the poor men’s mouths; for you

see at harvest time a poor man counts on getting the money to put

something on his back and feet. It’s all a man with a family can do to

buy bread and pay his rent with what he gets a week; but farmers don’t

like to use machines, and don’t do it when they can get men. There’s

very little difference in the expense, and I always will believe that

a man with a head on his shoulders can do his work cleaner and better

than a great iron thing with a lot of teeth and wheels.”

“Machinery is now made use of for almost every purpose,” said

Fortescue; “but I had no idea the population was so thin in the

country.”

“Ah, but it is miserably thin. If we go on as we have been within the

few last years our ‘bold peasantry,’ as they’ve been termed, will

disappear altogether, and I’ll tell ’ee why. There’s fresh commons

enclosed and bits of waste lands constantly taken into cultivation,

arable lands increases every year, but the population don’t; it drops

behind. The young men go to London to be mechanics, or to market towns

to learn trades, or to Australiay or Californee to mek fortins――heaven

help ’em――and the girls go to service. You can’t get girls to field

work now, or if you do by chance she comes with a big hoop on, as if

she was agoin’ to a party. Ugh! I like to see a field wench as she

ought to be――in a smock and leather gaiters, not dressed like a

milliner, and moppin’ and poppin’ about as gay as the first lady in

the land.”

“Oh, certainly, that’s right enough,” said Fortescue, “but the

question is whether it is to the advantage of women to go to field

work?”

“I dunno as it is,” said Ashbrook, drily. “It meks ’em dirty, and

their homes dirty, and their children are left all day to themselves,

and their clothes be soon spoilt. The little they do get is fetched

out of the foire like.”

Fortescue affected to be deeply interested in the subject. He asked

question after question, and Ashbrook replied with oration after

oration, for he was never tired of discussing upon farming matters,

and was an oracle in his own particular way.

He little thought, however, where his companion’s thoughts were

wandering all the while.

“A man must have his head screwed on in the right way to be a

successful farmer,” observed Fortescue, thinking thereby to please his

companion.

“You’re right, it does――there beant any mistake about that. Many

pipple think any fool is fit for a farmer, but they are deucedly

mistaken though, and so many of them find out arter they ha’ tried

their hands at the business.”

“But after all it’s a healthy pleasant sort of life.”

“Aye, it be that――all that.”

The two companions walked for some distance together over the ploughed

fields.

Presently Ashbrook glanced at his companion in a furtive manner, and

said in a tone of something like commiseration――

“Ye beant looking at all the thing this morning, and seem to ha’

overdone it in the way of exercise. I think ’ee had better go home and

see what the missus can do for ’ee. She’ll tackle your complaints

better than I can. I know more about physicking horses and dogs than

human critters, but she finds all the neighbours in medicine――she do.”

“Oh, I have no desire to return.”

“But ’ee must. Enough’s as good as a feast, and you had more than

enough, I guess. Go back, Mr. Fortescue, and keep yourself as quiet as

possible.” They walked together as far as the front gate, then

Ashbrook pressed his hand warmly, and gave his visitor kind words.

The villain’s conscience, seared as it was, felt a momentary pang, but

it was only momentary. He walked slowly till a high hedge hid him from

the farmer’s sight; then he ran at full speed towards the house.

He entered through the kitchen. There he found Mrs. Ashbrook standing

over a deal table with a rolling-pin in her hand, a heap of paste on

one side, and a dish of apples pared and sliced on the other. Her

plump white arms were bare above the elbows, and her fair hair was

parted across her forehead and gathered up in a thick cluster at the

back of her head. She looked more charming and captivating than

ever――so her visitor thought.

She started as Fortescue entered.

“So you’re come back, eh? said she.

“Yes, Mr. Ashbrook did not think I could bear any further fatigue, and

he advised me to return.”

“Oh, well, I hope you are better for your walk, sir, but I fear that

our early hours and rough fare do not agree with you.”

“It is not that which prevents me from sleeping,” he murmured, in a

low plaintive voice――“not that,” he replied.

“Oh, indeed!” She glanced at him curiously, and saw something in his

look which made her avert her eyes.

There was a pause. Presently the farmer’s wife said――

“Oh, I dare say you’ll be glad when you get back to London.”

“Indeed, I shall not,” he returned quickly. “I don’t care about the

metropolis now, and shouldn’t be sorry if I never saw it again.”

“Why, Mr. Fortescue, what can you be thinking about to say such a

thing? You would never be able to submit to the humdrum of a country

life.”

“I should if I were near you,” he answered.

Her face wore a puzzled expression.

He placed his hand on hers, which she suddenly withdrew.

“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, “You don’t seem yourself to-day; I don’t

know what to mek of you.”

At this moment Kitty who had been at work in the back kitchen came in.

She took up a pail of water which was standing near the door and went

out again as if she had not noticed them.

Mrs. Ashbrook had looked uneasy, and had shrunk back a little when she

entered.

The scoundrel saw this, and his eyes shone triumphantly.

“I should like to make pastry as well as you do,” said he, following

her to the table, and standing close beside her.

He pretended to assist her, and sometimes their fingers met, and

sometimes his hand encountered as if by accident, her soft bare arm. A

faint colour, the harbinger of a blush, tinged her cheeks, and her

eyes were lowered upon the table.

She was in a state of trepidation, but did not know very well how to

get rid of her tormentor.

“I hope I am not in your way, Mrs. Ashbrook,” he said, in a respectful

tone.

“Oh, dear no,” she returned, “not at all; you will be away the whole

of Saturday.”

“I’m getting tired of the market people,” he answered; “but how can I

avoid going unless I fall ill, or something of that sort?”

Her face became crimson, but she made no reply.

“You will not be angry with me if I was to fall ill,” he asked, in a

whisper, and placing his hand caressingly on her shiny soft hair.

“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, in evident surprise. “I do not understand

your meaning――angry! In what way can your movements concern me?”

Kitty came in again.

She darted a panther-like look at Fortescue, who received it with a

face of marble.

“I have been showing Mr. Fortescue how to make pastry,” said Mrs.

Ashbrook to her servant.

“Is the gentleman going to take a situation as man cook, then?” said

Kitty, sarcastically.

Mrs. Ashbrook was greatly chagrined at this last observation.

“You are a funny girl,” cried she.

“I think it very funny that a Lunnon gentleman should be pushing his

nose in a farmer’s kitchen,” observed the maid. “I dunno what to mek

on it,” and with these words she darted out of the apartment.

“That girl is a great deal too forward――takes too many liberties to my

thinking,” said Fortescue.

“She will speak her mind,” returned the farmer’s wife. “But you know

she is privileged――she has been here for so many years that she looks

upon herself as one of the family.”

Mr. Fortescue smiled and shrugged his shoulders, and deemed it best

under the circumstances to beat a hasty retreat. Nodding to Mrs.

Ashbrook he left the kitchen.

“I wish you’d not be so ready with your tongue before strangers,” said

the farmer’s wife to her servant. “You see what you’ve done.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why, you’ve offended Mr. Fortescue.”

“Oh, is that all?” cried the girl with an impudent toss of her head.

“It’s a good job if he is offended.”

“Of that I am the best judge.”

“Well, I doan’t care for ’un, and never shall. I could take my Bible

oath that he be a false man.”

“Go along wi’ ye――do.”

“Well, I’ve sed it, and mean to stick to it. He’s no good――I be sartin

sure of that. His ways are not like those of an honest man.”

“Kitty, for shame!”

“Ye mayn’t loike to hear it, ’cause you and master be taken so much up

wi’ him; but it don’t alter my opinion.”

“Nobody asked you for your opinion. Go away and attend to your

business.”

Kitty left, but she was heard muttering to herself in the wash-house

for some time after this.

Contrary to his usual custom, Mr. Fortescue sat up till late that

night reading.

His candle died out in the socket, he had no matches in his pocket,

and was, therefore, obliged to feel his way up in the dark.

As he passed Kitty’s door he saw a light shining through the keyhole.

This he thought was a strange circumstance, and urged by curiosity

more natural than refined he bent his head and peeped in.

She was seated on the bed half undressed busy with some work in her

lap.

“Oh, female vanity! female vanity!” he soliloquised. “The new ribbon

for the Sunday bonnet, or the worked hem for your Sunday petticoat, is

sufficient to impel you to almost fabulous exertions; to work your

fingers to the bone; to rob you of your needful sleep; to make you

burn your master’s candles. As men labour to increase their wealth, so

women will to decorate their persons.”

Filled with these sage reflections, he was about to withdraw his eye

from its post of observation, when, to his surprise, the girl placed

her work on one side, and rose from her seat.

She proceeded to disrobe herself, and was evidently preparing to go to

bed.

“She’s a fine woman――that is evident enough,” cried Fortescue, who

was, however, afraid to risk staying any longer――so he crept up to his

own room again. “She hates me and mistrusts me, and will baulk me if

she can. She is no contemptible enemy, it must be confessed――is

self-reticent and watchful. But I hold a trump card in my hand which

she little suspects. Well, we shall see. When you draw your sword,

Miss Kitty, you will find that you have only a feather in your

sheath.”

CHAPTER CIX.

A YOUNG WIFE’S DANGER――THE DENOUEMENT.

Mr. Fortescue managed to sleep pretty soundly, despite his plans and

machinations. He was such a consummate scoundrel and hypocrite that he

was enabled to carry out his infamous project with the utmost coolness

and address.

He had neither pity nor remorse for the friend who had cherished him

in such good faith and in such unshaken confidence.

He rose early, in the hope of enjoying half an hour with Patty before

her husband returned to breakfast. He had met her thus the day before,

and had told her that he intended to rise earlier the next morning.

To this she replied with one of those looks which women use when they

wish to accord favours, but fear to betray themselves by words.

In a few minutes he heard footsteps outside the door; he ran to it

before it was opened and said――

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashbrook.”

“It is not Mrs. Ashbrook,” replied a stern voice. Kitty confronted

him.

“It is not Mrs. Ashbrook,” she repeated.

He shrugged his shoulders, but beneath this apparent non-challenge he

prepared himself for a duel. He saw that the crisis was come, and that

his opponent was not to be despised.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” said the girl. “Very glad.”

“Indeed, and why, pray?”

“Because I’ve a serious word to say to you, sir, and the time’s come

to say it.”

“A serious word, my girl. Well, I’m all attention. Say it, then,

without further ado. Something strictly confidential, I suppose?”

“I dunno about that; but harkee, Mr. Fortescue, or whatever may be

your name――”

“That is my name. You are particular. One would suppose you were a

lawyer about to open an indictment. Go on, Kitty.”

“Ye mean to act basely towards my young mistress――that’s what ’ee mean

to do. Oh, none of your lying looks and lifting of hands at me. I be

only a common country gell, but I can tell what it is as shines in

your eye when you see her, and trimbles in your voice when you speak

to her. I can tell what it is as meks you sit thinkin’ by day and

wander about your room by night. I can tell what it is that’s plottin’

in your hard black heart as well and better than a lord’s lady or a

squire’s wife.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Upon my word you are an astonishingly clever girl. I should not have

given you credit for so much penetration. You can read my thoughts,

can you, and see into my――my――‘black heart,’ as you are pleased to

term it? I don’t know which to admire most――your perspicuity or your

politeness.”

“It won’t do, Mr. Fortescue. I won’t be put aside by foine words.”

“You take my advice, my excellent and sagacious friend. Look after

your pigs and poultry, and don’t attempt to meddle in matters which

don’t concern you.”

“Not consarn me! not consarn me! Don’t it, indeed? Do you suppose I am

likely to stand tamely by and see a white dove carried off by a

ravenous kite? Don’t it consarn me to see the dear lady I’ve known

from a child on the edge of being ruined for this life, and for the

next, too, maybe?”

“Your similes do you great credit,” said Mr. Fortescue coolly, paring

his nails with his penknife――“very great credit, especially the white

dove and kite. I am the kite, I presume, and your mistress is the

white dove. Anything more?”

Kitty became furious. She could not stand the fellow’s cool impudence

and sarcasm.

“Harkee, Mr. Fortescue; if you aint out of this house by to-night’s

dusk or afore then, I’ll tell Mr. Ashbrook, and he’ll pitch ’ee out;

aye, and I’ll help ’im, too. D’ye see this arm? it’s bigger than

your’n, and it’s stronger than your’n, and it’s thrashed a better man

than you, for all your fine beard and cloth clothes and women’s

scents.”

Mr. Fortescue was perfectly unmoved. He looked languidly at the

speaker, and said, carelessly――

“You are a brave champion, I admit; but you are a silly girl,

nevertheless――a very silly girl. I have no intention of acting badly

towards your mistress; dismiss such a thought from your mind.”

“I won’t believe it. Be out of the house by the shank of the evening,

or Mr. Ashbrook shall towel ’ee till your white skin’s black and blue,

my London gentleman.”

He clenched his teeth, and approached her. Revelling in her vast

strength, Kitty waited for him with her bare brown arms folded on her

chest.

He poured a fierce whisper in her ear.

She became pale. “Oh, no, no,” she cried. “He is dead, and there has

never been a breath agen him yet.”

He saw her weak point, and attacked her like a fiend.

“Don’t tell me,” he cried. “I know the whole history. Mr. Philip

Jamblin, who was murdered in Larchgrove Lane, had another sweetheart

besides the one who gave evidence on the trial. I know who that was.”

“It is false,” she cried; “but even if he had, what has it to do with

you? Do what you like wi’ me. Pelt me, put me in the pillory, but not

a word agen him.”

He went up to her, and said in a soft voice――

“Do not be afraid, Kitty――I will not betray you. I have a secret of

yours――you have a secret of mine; let us be friends.”

She did not answer him; he left the kitchen, contented with his

morning’s work.

Matters after this went on much the same as usual at Stoke Ferry Farm

for some few days after the altercation between Kitty and Fortescue.

One morning, however, there was a change in the aspect of affairs.

Richard Ashbrook was moody and discontented. It was easy to perceive

that he was ill at ease, and that something troubled him. What this

was his wife was at a loss to divine.

“You seem to be out of sorts,” said Patty; “you have scarcely touched

your breakfast. Richard, dear, what ails you?”

He did not answer at first. When he spoke it seemed as if there was

something in his throat choking him.

“Matter, indeed!” he ejaculated. “To my thinking there’s a deal the

matter. I’ve heard bad tidings, and it’s upset me.”

“Goodness me, what is it, then? Tell me all about it. Is anyone ill?”

“No it beant that. Everybody as we know seems to be well enough. It’s

not a matter of sickness or disease, nor yet of bones breaking, nor

crops failing, nor cattle dying of the rinderpest. It be worse than

that I’ve heard to-day, Patty. I’ve heard to-day that the man I

trusted most in the world――the man I loved loike a brother as one may

say――the man I treated as one of my own kin and my own blood――――”

He ceased suddenly, and drew his hand across his eyes.

“That man is trying to ruin me――to rob me of all I hold best in the

world――that while my bread has been in his mouth, and my words of

welcome in his ear, he has been jeering at me in his heart, and

setting snares to betray me and mine.”

“Ah, Richard, how very dreadful; but are you sure of this?”

“Quite sure,” he returned――“Quite sure.”

“Ah! I do hope you are mistaken.”

He strode across the room, and gripped her by the shoulder till she

winced with pain.

“I tell ’ee there aint any mistake about it,” he ejaculated. “If ye

had nursed a worm in your bosom till he had turned a viper what would

ye do? Would you let the reptile crawl away, alive and strong as ever,

to sting other hearts, or would ye crush his head beneath your heel,

as ye’d crush a weazel or a stoat? Wouldn’t ye crush the varmint?

Answer me, Patty――speak, wife.”

“You are so excited, so moved, that I hardly know what answer to make;

but, Richard, be careful――keep within the law.”

“I’ll keep within the law, never fear,” he answered, with a terrible

smile. “But the law, my gell, is hard upon such men as he; and I

intend to be hard upon him, or my name’s not Richard Ashbrook. The

soft-spoken, circumventing vagabond!”

Kitty now made her appearance. She was very pale, but her voice was

firm.

“Your horse is at the door, master. Ye’ll be late for market unless

you are off at once.” And she added some words in a hoarse whisper.

The farmer mounted his horse and rode off.

His wife was seriously concerned about him. She sat by herself,

thinking and trembling. She had never seen him in such a fluster

before, and he had not told her who it was that had behaved so

ungratefully, nor what it was that he had tried to do. She was greatly

puzzled. Who could it be? She could not determine. Possibly he would

give her the whole particulars when he returned from market. Any way,

she must rest contented for a while――that is, as contented as she

could be under the circumstances.

In a few minutes after Ashbrook’s departure, Mr. Fortescue came down

stairs. There was an expression of anticipated triumph in his face,

cloaked by precaution.

At first Patty’s manners were absent and restrained. She was thinking

more of her husband’s violence than of the fascinating young gentleman

who was endeavouring to make himself so agreeable. Mr. Fortescue was a

little disconcerted at her indifference, the reason for which he could

not very well comprehend; but he strove to hold her engaged, and he

succeeded so well that in the course of half an hour of his

mellifluous conversation all thoughts of her husband were banished

from Patty’s mind.

Still she had no idea of doing anything actually wrong. She reasoned

to herself that she was fond of being alone with Mr. Fortescue because

she liked his conversation, and when her husband was present they

talked so much about farming and so little about the world. The

association with the Lady Aveline had given her a taste for the gaiety

of London life; this, however, had in a measure passed away. She was

well satisfied with her present sphere of action; nevertheless, she

liked to hear the scandal and gossip which floated about respecting

those who move in fashionable society. Mr. Fortescue abounded in

anecdote, and seemed to be deeply versed in the movements of great

personages. As may be readily supposed, he drew largely upon his

imagination, and did not confine himself to the truth. She listened to

his discourse, and was charmed. In other words, she wished to gaze

into the depths of a horrible abyss, and had invited a murderer of

women’s souls to lead her to the brink.

Fortescue soon guided the conversation to topics of fashionable life,

and with consummate art drew a sketch of matrimonial intrigue――a

sketch in which he took care to introduce none of those dark and

terrible tints which form the background of such pictures in real

life.

She remembered having heard similar narratives fall from the lips of

persons she met with in London, when she sojourned there with Lady

Marolyn and Aveline, but these were pure and innocent――no comparison

to Mr. Fortescue’s.

And, as an experienced huntsman does not frighten his quarry by riding

straight towards it, but rides round and round, gradually lessening

the circle, till the deer having become familiarised with the

dangerous object, no longer heeds it――so by imperceptible gradations

he approached this foolish deer, who sat listening to all his wicked

nonsense with open ears and wondering eyes.

I do not wish to analyse the infernal art with which he excited the

senses of an innocent and guileless woman; many who read these pages

might take that as a guide――others would refuse to accept it as a

warning.

Mr. Fortescue presently poured into her ear a passionate declaration

of attachment, which she ought not to have listened to. He hung over

her, he placed his arm round her waist, and before she was aware of

it, his lips met hers. She struggled to release herself from his

grasp, and said――

“Mr. Fortescue, release me. This conduct is unpardonable. Pray――”

She ceased suddenly, for a dark shadow fell across the room, and they

both looked up. It was Richard Ashbrook standing on the threshold.

“I am glad you have come,” cried his wife.

He made no reply, but with one hand gestured for her to leave the

room.

She crept past him with her head bowed upon her breast.

For a few brief moments the farmer stood still as if to reflect. His

face was white, but very calm. Presently he made towards the door,

locked it, and thrust the key into his pocket; after this he drew down

the blinds.

Fortescue, who was perfectly astounded at the sudden appearance of the

farmer, was at no loss to comprehend that he was made a prisoner.

Trusting to bravado to save him he hummed an air from the last new

opera.

“You infamous, deceptive scoundrel,” cried Ashbrook; “I’ve half a mind

to shoot ’ee as I would shoot down a fox or a wolf. It would be no

more than you deserve.”

“Indeed, and why so?”

“You came here a stranger,” said Ashbrook, endeavouring as best he

could to command his temper for a while; “I gave you a night’s rest

unasked; for several weeks I have made you live with me, and have

treated you to the best of my poor power; I have made my home your

home――I have made my friends your friends.”

“I do not deny all this,” said Fortescue. “In point of fact, I admit

it. But then, my honest yeoman, consider the honour of having a

gentleman in your house. I have to return you many thanks for your

kindness and hospitality.”

“A gentleman!” cried Ashbrook; “God keep me from such gentlemen! A

blackguard, you mean――a gambler――and a thief!”

“Have a care, Mr. Ashbrook, as to what you say. There is such a thing

as indicting a man for defamation of character.”

“Character! you’ve none to lose, you sneak. You’ve deceived my wife,”

said the farmer, raising his voice; “ye’ve deceived me, poor fool that

I have bin; ye’ve tried to disgrace us both for life.”

[Sidenote: No. 58.]

[Illustration: ASHBROOK RECEIVING THE CHALLENGE FROM “CAPTAIN

BRADLEY.”]

“That I deny. Assertions are one thing and proof is another――remember

that, Mr. Ashbrook.”

“I call ye a coward and a dirty, contemptible hound, but I don’t

intend to let ’ee off with hard words――I mean to give ’ee a few hard

blows. You won’t forget Stoke Ferry, I’ll dare be sworn, for many a

long day.”

“Ah, you are pugnaciously disposed, are you? Well, we can easily

arrange matters. I have a pair of new trigger pistols upstairs, and am

ready to give you satisfaction wherever and whenever you please.”

“Satisfaction, ye call it, you audacious varmint. Ah, ah! That’s a

queer sort of satisfaction. Because you’ve done me wrong I’m to be

shot at with a pistol. No, no, my man――I know a trick worth two of

that. This is what I call satisfaction, you impudent monkey.”

He sprang to the fireplace and snatched down a stout ash stick which

hung over the mantel-shelf, and which he made whistle a sinister

melody.

“One minute, sir, if you please,” said the wretch, who soon began to

tremble for the first time. “You accuse me of being a coward and a

scoundrel because I have flirted with your wife. Pray may I inquire if

you knew Mr. Philip Jamblin――he was murdered in Larchgrove-lane?”

“What if I did? Don’t ’ee say anything agen him.”

“You knew him?”

“Yes. What of that?”

“Did he flirt with anybody? Answer me that.”

“Dall you, if you speak a word agen Philip, I’ll have your life, you

cowardly dirty scoundrel. He aint here to take his own part, but I am

here, and that’s just as well. Dare you speak of a murdered man to me

his bosom friend, by all I hold most sacred, before you leave this

room, you shall pay in part for the pain ye’ve made me bear.”

Mr. Fortescue was at no loss to divine that the farmer was in earnest.

He whirled round the stout ash stick in a most menacing manner. The

London gentleman sprang towards the window, which he endeavoured to

open, but the farmer was too sharp for him. He caught Fortescue by the

collar of his coat, and with herculean strength dragged him from the

window, then he belaboured him most unmercifully with his stick, with

which he rained a series of terrible blows on his back and shoulders.

Fortescue flew to the fireplace and snatched up the poker. On the

instant he received a terrific blow on the wrist, the poker dropped

from his hand, which by this time had been rendered powerless, and

then another series of blows followed in quick succession.

If any man ever had a sound thrashing, Mr. Fortescue was the man.

“Get out of my house and never darken my doors again,” cried Ashbrook,

opening the parlour door, and thrusting his visitor forcibly out. The

latter did not want a second bidding. He made his exit without further

ado. As he was passing the back kitchen which abutted out from the

farmhouse, the girl Kitty, who had been watching for his appearance,

flung a paii of dirty water over him.

“Take that, you dirty conceited puppy,” said she.

Dripping with wet and aching in every limb, Mr. Fortescue flew over

the fields as if pursued by some wild animal, and was soon lost to

sight.

“Joy go with him!” cried Kitty, “the dirty lying blackguard. I dont

think it likely we shall be troubled with him agen, master.”

“I hope not,” said Ashbrook. “I fancy he’s had a pretty good dose.”

“And one as ell last him a long time,” observed the servant,

retreating into the washhouse.

Patty Ashbrook remained sad and silent upon a seat in her own chamber,

her face distorted with terror as she listened to the sound of heavy

blows and the cries of the man who but a few moments before had been

whispering loving words into her ear. She despised him now, but not

more than she despised herself. For now she remembered every little

act, every word of kindness her husband had ever bestowed upon her.

Now she felt that she was an ungrateful wretch, that she deserved to

be driven from her home, even as Mr. Fortescue had been.

This last thought flashed upon her like a flash of fire, and dried up

the last glad warm drops of blood in her unhappy heart.

Oh, what a horrible fate it seemed to be――compelled to leave the house

in which she had been happy from her earliest infancy――in which she

had lived with those whom she loved and honoured most in the world!

She glanced tearfully round the room, as if to engrave everything it

contained more firmly on her memory. Perhaps she might never enter

that room again.

All was silent below. Then she heard the door open and shut; then the

voice of Kitty; then another interval of silence.

There were then minutes of terrible silence. She heard a slow and

solemn footstep upon the stairs. She held her breath; her tears ceased

to flow.

She flung herself into a chair, and raised her eyes full of repentance

to the pale calm face of her injured husband.

“I’ve got rid of un for good and for all; heaven be praised for that,”

said Ashbrook.

“Oh, Richard!” exclaimed Patty; “beat me; beat me heavily, for I

deserve it, but do not drive me from you. I could not live away from

you.”

“I hope not,” returned he, placing his broad brown hand upon her

shoulders. “Nobody would wish it――leastways not me.” His voice was

gentle with love, tremulous with pity.

“I say I have got rid of that viper whom I ha’ bin foolish enough to

cherish. I ought to be set down as a born idiot for my foolishness.

But we are none on us wise at all times.”

“Oh, Richard!” exclaimed his wife. “You ought to blame me――which no

doubt you do. I have been more to blame than you have; but can you

forgive me, my dear, honest husband?”

“Can I forgive you?” cried Ashbrook. “You ha’ bin a good wife for me

for five long years, Patty. You have worked hard for me by day and by

night. When I’ve come home weary, and oftentimes, it may be, a bit

ruffled in temper, you ha’ always had a sweet word and a kind kiss for

me; and do you think, my lass, that I ha’ any right to forget all

that, and let a silly, foolish hour or so blot out the thoughts and

memories of five good years? No, no, my gell. We’ve been both to

blame; I ha’ bin more foolish and blind than what you ha’ bin.”

He took her in his arms and cradled her on his manly breast.

“Oh, Richard,” she ejaculated――“my own dear, good Richard!”

“It was more my fault than yourn,” cried Ashbrook――“a deal more my

fault. I know that now. I put faith in this――this deceivin’ varmint. I

left him with ’ee. I gave him good chances to pison your mind, and to

draw your love from me to him for a little while. More fool me. But

your love’s all come back agen now――aint it, lass?――and stronger and

warmer and truer than afore, if that be possible, which somehow I

doant think it can?”

She did not answer him. Her head was upon his shoulder, and her face

was covered with her beautiful brown hair. She was still weeping, “but

now her tears were tears of joy.”

“My dear Patty,” cried the farmer. “Heaven be praised! you’ve bin

saved from the teeth of the wolf.”

CHAPTER CX.

MR. ERIC FORTESCUE AND HIS RESPECTABLE ASSOCIATES――THE CHALLENGE, AND

THE RESULT.

Mr. Eric Fortescue, alias Alf Parvis, alias Mr. Algernon Sutherland,

smarting with pain, and foaming with rage, made the best of his way to

London after he had been ignobly expelled from Stoke Ferry farmhouse.

He was in a terrible plight――was saturated with the dirty water which

had been thrown over him by the girl Kitty, and his back and shoulders

were black and blue from the blows that had been so mercilessly

showered upon him by Ashbrook, but he contrived to reach the

metropolis. For three days he preserved a moody silence, and shut

himself up in one room from morning to night.

On the evening of the third day he sent for Laura Stanbridge. He made

her acquainted with all that had passed at Broxbridge. She laughed at

him, and this made him perfectly furious.

“You make a jest of my misfortunes,” cried he. “It’s just like

women――they are always pleased when they hear of a friend’s mishap. I

am sick of the world――sick of you and of everybody.”

“I dare say you are, but who have you to blame but yourself? You

imagine every woman must of necessity be smitten with you. You

shouldn’t be so vain, my young spark.”

“Don’t preach to me, you fool. I’m not disposed to listen to your

lectures. I have had enough of them.”

“Very well, that being so, “I’ll make no further observations,”

replied Miss Stanbridge, with perfect composure.

“What am I to do?” he inquired, after a pause. “Tell me what I am to

do. How can I be revenged?”

“I am not able to tell you,” said she.

“Confound it, Lorry, you appear to be most indifferent about the cruel

treatment your old friend has met with.”

“I know not what advice to give you. The whole affair I look upon as a

piece of folly. This is the second time you have been thrust forth

with cuffs and hard words from Stoke Ferry house. The first time you

were not so much to blame, but the last time you were much to blame. I

don’t know that you deserve much pity,” she added, scornfully.

“Hang your pity!――I want none of it. But you’ve got a good head-piece

of your own. Can’t you advise a fellow in this business?”

“You must be badly off, indeed, to come to a woman for advice,” she

rejoined. “When you want to rob a house, do you ask me how to pick the

locks? And now that a lusty farmer has insulted you and given you a

good drubbing, you ask me what to do. Throw off your fine clothes and

your finnicking airs. Alf Purvis, I am only a weak woman, but I need

no instruction when I wish to be avenged. Ah! you do not know how

sweet it is to be revenged.”

She became frightfully pale as she made this last observation, and

cast upon him a look as venomous as a viper. He remained silent for

some minutes. She watched him eagerly.

“Your friends have been more successful than you have been,” said

Laura Stanbridge; “they managed to get into Nettlethorpe’s house, and

carried off all the valuables in a regular business-like way. They

were clever, but you are not.”

“I am much obliged for the compliment,” returned her companion; “much

obliged. This is a fitting time to indulge in taunts and sneers. You

compare me to the Smoucher and the Cracksman――a low-bred pair of

rascals as ever darkened the doors of an honest man’s house. I tell

you what it is, my lady, you are not the same woman to me that you

were, not by a long way.”

“That is most surprising――isn’t it?”

“It’s a fact that I know full well.”

“Are you the same? As long as you were an outcast, a poor wretch,

wandering about the streets without a home or a friend, you were civil

and tractable enough; but now――――”

“Well, go on, Lorry, go on, finish the sentence.”

“Now you are vain, haughty, and unmindful of those who have befriended

you.”

“It is false. I never was unmindful of past favours, but I intend to

alter my course of life――to reform, and, if possible, to live

honestly.”

His companion laughed.

“I mean it,” he added――“mean what I say, but I must commit one crime

more. I will not rob this man, I will not steal his money, I will rob

him of a treasure he holds dearer than his gold――I will take his wife.

Thus my heart shall be consoled and my hate revenged.”

Miss Stanbridge looked at the speaker in a state of bewilderment.

“You love her then?” said she, as her eyes scintillated sparks of

fire.

The young man nodded significantly. “I love her,” he repeated, “and

will go abroad and take her with me.”

“Excellent device!”

“She shall never leave me.”

“She will always hate you.”