AN ALARM.
It was a few days later. Mrs. Oscar Dalrymple, who had been spending
the afternoon with her mother and Mary Lynn, was preparing to return
to the Grange. Alice had just come home again, a brilliant hectic on
her cheeks, but weaker, as it seemed to them all. Alice was happier
than she had been for years, in her sweet unselfishness. The trouble
which had divided Colonel Hope and his nephew was at an end; Gerard
had been reinstated in his uncle's favour, and was to marry Frances
Chenevix. Lying on the sofa by the window, in the fading light, Alice
had been giving them various particulars of this; and Selina, greatly
interested, lingered longer than she had intended. But she had to go.
Rising hurriedly, she put on her bonnet and cloak. Mrs. Dalrymple rang
the bell. It was to tell Reuben to be in readiness to attend her
daughter.
"As if I wanted old Reuben with me, mamma!" exclaimed Selina. "Why, I
shall run home in no time!"
"He had better be with you," sighed Mrs. Dalrymple: the sigh given to
the disturbed state of things abroad. "The neighbourhood is not very
quiet today, as you know, Selina, and it is growing dusk."
It was not quiet at all. The summary process, eviction, had been
resorted to by Pinnett, as regarded the tenants of the Mill Cottages.
He had forced them out with violence. One of them, named Thoms, had
resisted to the last. Go out he would not, and the assailants could
not get him out.
A meeting was to be held this same evening at Farmer Lee's. It could
not be called a secret meeting; the farmer would have disdained the
name; but those about to attend it waited until the dusk should
shelter them, conscious that they were likely to speak treason against
their landlord.
"Thoms is out," cried Farmer Bumford, as he entered Mr. Lee's house in
excitement.
"How did they get him out?"
"Unroofed him, Lee. Pulled his place to pieces bit by bit, and so
forced him out. He is now with the rest of the unfortunate lot."
"I thought such practices were confined to Ireland," said the honest
farmer. "It's time something was done to protect us. Oscar Dalrymple
will have his sins to answer for."
It was at this hour, when the autumn twilight was deepening, that
Selina started for home. She chose the way by the common: a longer
way, and in other respects not a desirable one tonight. Selina's
spirit was fearless enough, and she wanted to see whether the rumour
could be true--that the unhappy people, just ejected, had collected
there, meaning to encamp on it. Reuben, with the licence of an old and
faithful servant, remonstrated, begging her to go home by the turnpike
road: but Selina chose to cross the common.
Surely enough, the unfortunate lot, as Mr. Bumford called them, had
gathered on its outskirts, in view of their late homes, their poor
goods and chattels, much damaged in the mêlée, piled in little heaps
around them. Men, their hearts panting for revenge, sobbing women and
shivering children, there they stood, sat, or lay about. The farmers,
Lee and Bumford, would later on open their barns to them for the
night; but at present they expected to encamp under the stars.
In the midst of the harsh converse that prevailed, the oaths, and the
abuse lavished on Oscar Dalrymple--for these poor, ignorant labourers
refused, like their betters, to believe that Pinnett could so act
without the landlord's orders--they espied, hurrying past them at a
swift pace, their landlord's wife. Selina walked with her head down;
now that she saw the threatening aspect of affairs, she wished she had
listened to Reuben, and taken the open road. One of them came running
up; a resolute fellow, named Dyke.
"You'd hurry by, would you?" said he, in tones that spoke more of
plaint than threat. "Won't you turn your eyes once to the ruin your
husband has wrought? Look at the mud and mortar! If the walls weren't
of new brick or costly stone, they was good enough for us. They were
our homes. Look at the spot now."
Selina trembled visibly. She was aware of the awful feeling abroad
against her husband, and a dread rushed into her heart that they might
be going to visit it on her. Would they ill-use her?--beat her, or
kill her?
Reuben spoke up: but he was powerless against so many, and he knew it;
therefore his tone was more conciliating than it would otherwise have
been.
"What do you mean by molesting this lady? Stand away, Dyke, and let
her pass. You wouldn't hurt her; if she is Mr. Dalrymple's wife, she
was the Squire's daughter, and he was always good to you."
"Stand away yourself, old man; who said we were going to hurt her?"
roughly retorted Dyke. "'Taint likely; and you've said the reason why.
Ma'am, do you see these ruins? Do they make you blush?"
"I am very sorry to see them, Dyke," answered Selina. "It is no fault
of mine."
"Is it hard upon us, or not, that we should be turned out of the poor
walls that sheltered us? We paid our bit of rent, all on us; not one
was a defaulter. How would you like to be turned out of your home, and
told the poorhouse was afore you and an order for it, if you liked to
go there?"
"I can only say how very sorry I am," she returned, distressed as well
as terrified. "I wish I could help you, and put you into better
cottages tomorrow! But I am as powerless as you are."
"Will you tell the master to do it? We be coming up to ask him. Will
you tell him to come out and face us, and look at the ruins he have
made, and look at our wives and little ones a-shivering there in the
cold?"
Selina seemed to be shivering as much as they were. "It is Pinnett who
has done it," she said, "not Mr. Dalrymple. You should lay the blame
on him."
"Pinnett!" roared Dyke, throwing his arm before the other men, now
surrounding them, to silence their murmurings, for he thought his own
eloquence the best. "Would Pinnett have dared to do this without the
master's orders? Pinnett's a tool in his hands. Say to him, ma'am,
please, that we're not going to stand Pinnett's doings and be quiet;
we'll drownd him first, let us once catch hold on him; and we be
coming up to the Grange ourselves to say so to the master."
Finding she was to be no further detained, Selina sped on to the
Grange. Oscar was in the oak-parlour. She threw herself into a chair,
and burst into tears.
"Oscar, I have been so terrified. As I came by the common with Reuben,
the men were there, and----"
"What men?" interrupted Mr. Dalrymple.
"Those who have been ejected from the cottages. They stopped me, and
began to speak about their wrongs."
"Their--_wrongs_--did they say?"
"Yes, and I must say it also," she firmly answered, induced by fright
and excitement to remonstrate against the injustice she had hitherto
not liked to interfere with. "Cruel wrongs. Oscar, if you go on like
this, oppressing all on the estate, you will be murdered as sure as
you are living. They are threatening to drown Pinnett, if they can get
hold of him; and they do not lay the blame on Pinnett, except as your
agent, but on you."
"Pinnett is not my agent. What Pinnett does, he does on his own score.
As to these harsh measures--as they are called--my sanction was not
asked for them."
"But the poor men cannot see it in that light, Oscar; cannot be
brought to believe it," she returned, the tears running down her
cheeks. "It does seem so impossible to believe that Pinnett can be
allowed to----"
"There, that's enough," interrupted Oscar. "Let it end."
"Yes; but the trouble won't end, Oscar. And the men say they are
coming up here. There's a meeting, too, at Lee's tonight."
"They can come if they please, and hold as many meetings as they
please," equably observed Oscar. "Men who are living in a state of
semi-rebellion must learn a wholesome lesson."
"They have been provoked to it. They were never rebellious in papa's
time."
He made no reply. Selina, her feelings strongly excited, her
sympathies bubbling up, continued.
"It will be cruel to the farmers if you turn them from their farms; it
is doubly cruel to have forced these poor men from their cottages.
They paid their rent. You should see the miserable wives and children
huddled together on the common. I could not have acted so, Oscar, if I
had not a shilling in the world."
Mr. Dalrymple wheeled round his chair to face his wife. "Whose cruel
conduct has been the original cause of it?" he asked in his cold
voice, that to her sounded worse than another man's anger. "Who
got into secret debt, to the tune of some seven or eight thousand
pounds--ay, nearer ten thousand, counting expenses--and let the bills
come in to me?"
She dropped her eyes then, for his reproach was true.
"And forced me to retrench, almost to starvation, and to exact the
last farthing that the estate will yield, to keep me from a prison?
Was it you or I, Mrs. Dalrymple?"
"But things need not be made quite so bad," she took courage to say in
a timid tone; "you need not proceed to these extremes."
"Your father's system was one of indulgence, mine is not; and the
tenants, large and small, don't know what to make of it. As to
Pinnett, he does not consider himself responsible to me for his
actions; and I--I cannot interfere with them. So long as I am a poor
man, struggling to pay your debts, Selina, so long must Pinnett take
his own course."
Oscar turned back again, caught up the book he had laid down, and went
on reading it. Selina took a seat on the other side of the table, and
sat supporting her head with her hands. She wished things were not so
wretchedly uncomfortable, or that some good fairy would endow her with
a fortune. Suddenly a tramp of feet arose outside the house. Oscar
heard it, unmoved; Selina, her ears covered, did not hear it, or she
might have flown sooner to bar the doors. Before she could effect
this, the malcontents of the common were in the hall, their numbers
considerably augmented. It looked a formidable invasion. Was it murder
they intended?--or arson?--what was it not? Selina, in her terror,
flew to the top of the house, a servant-maid after her: they both,
with one accord, seized upon a rope, and the great alarm-bell boomed
out from the Grange.
Up came the people from far and near; up came the fire-engines, from
the station close by, and felt exceedingly aggrieved at finding no
fire: the farmers, disturbed in the midst of their pipes and ale,
rushed up from Mr. Lee's. It was nothing but commotion. Old Mrs.
Dalrymple, terrified at the alarm-bell, hastened to the scene, Mary
Lynn with her, and Reuben coming up behind them.
Contention, prolonged and bitter, was going on in the hall. Oscar
Dalrymple was at one end, listening, and not impatiently, to his
undesirable visitors, who would insist upon being heard at length. He
answered them calmly and civilly, not exasperating them in any way,
but he gave no hope of a change in the existing policy.
After seeing his mistress seated in the hall, for she insisted on
making one of the audience, poor Reuben, grieved to the heart at the
aspect of affairs altogether, went outside the house, and paced about
in the moonlight. It was a fine, light night. He had strolled near the
stables, when he was accosted by some one who stood aloof, under the
shade of the walls.
"What's the matter here, that people should be running, in this way,
into the Grange?"
"I should call it something like a rise," answered Reuben,
sorrowfully. "Are you a stranger, sir?"
"I am a stranger. Until this night I have not been in the
neighbourhood for years. But I formerly was on intimate terms with the
Dalrymple family, and have stayed here with them for weeks together."
"Have you, though!" cried Reuben. "In the Squire's time, sir?"
"In the Squire's time. I remember you, I think. Reuben."
"Ay, I am Reuben, sir. Sad changes have taken place since then. My old
master's gone, and Mr. Robert is gone, and the Grange is now Oscar
Dalrymple's."
"I knew of Mr. Dalrymple's death. What became of his son?"
"He soon followed his father. It will not do to talk of, sir."
"Do you mean that he died?" returned the stranger. But before Reuben
could answer, Farmer Lee came up and commenced a warm comment on the
night's work.
"I hope there'll be no bloodshed," said he; "we don't want that; but
the men are growing more excited, and Mr. Dalrymple has sent off a
private messenger to the police-station."
"This gentleman used to know the family," interposed Reuben; "he has
come to the place tonight for the first time for years. This riot is
a fine welcome for him."
"I was asking some particulars of what has transpired since my
absence," explained the stranger. "I have been out of England, and now
thought to renew my acquaintance with the family. What did Robert
Dalrymple die of? I knew him well."
"He fell into trouble, sir," interposed Reuben. "A random, wicked
London set got hold of him, fleeced and ruined him, and he could not
bear up against it."
"Died of it?" questioned the stranger.
"He put an end to himself," said Mr. Lee, in a low tone. "Threw
himself into the Thames from one of the London bridges, and was
drowned."
"How deplorable! And so the Grange passed to Oscar Dalrymple."
"Yes," said the farmer. "He married the eldest of the young ladies,
Selina, and something not pleasant arose with them. They went to
London, and there she ran very deeply into debt. Her husband brought
her back to the Grange; and since then he has been an awful landlord,
grinding us all down to powder. Things have come to such a pass now
that we expect a riot. The poor labourers who tenanted the Mill
Cottages have been ejected today; they have come up to have it out
with Oscar Dalrymple, leaving their families and chairs and tables on
the common. One of them, Thoms, could not be forced out, so they just
took his roof off and his doors out."
The stranger seemed painfully surprised. "I never thought to hear this
of a Dalrymple!"
But here Reuben again interposed. Jealous for the name, even though
borne by Oscar, he told of the leasing of the estate to Pinnett, and
that it was he, not Oscar, who was proceeding to these cruel
extremities.
"I should call that so much nonsense," said the stranger. "Lease the
estate! that has a curious sound. Has he leased away all power over
it? One cannot believe that."
"No; and we don't believe it," said the farmer, "not one of us; Mr.
Dalrymple can't make us, though he tries hard to do so. He is playing
Old Nick with us, sir, and nothing else. It was a fatal night for us
that took Mr. Robert."
"You would have been better off under him, you think?"
"Think!" indignantly retorted the farmer. "You could not have known
Robert Dalrymple to ask it."
"Robert Dalrymple died in debt, I take it. Did he owe much in this
neighbourhood?"
"Nothing here."
"Did he owe you anything?"
"Me!" cried the farmer. "Not he. Why, only a day before his death I
had sent five hundred pounds to him to invest for me. He had not time
to do it himself, but a gentleman who took a great deal of interest in
Mr. Robert, and saw to his affairs afterwards, did it."
"What gentleman was that?"
"It was Mr. Grubb: he is Sir Francis Netherleigh now, and has come
into Court Netherleigh. His sister--who is at the Grange tonight with
old Mrs. Dalrymple--and Mr. Robert were to have been married. She has
stayed single for his sake."
"Robert Dalrymple may not be dead," spoke the stranger.
But this hypothesis was received with disfavour; not to say scorn. The
stranger maintained his opinion, saying that it was his opinion.
"Then perhaps you'll enjoy your opinion in private," rebuked Mr. Lee.
"To talk in that senseless manner only makes us feel the fact of his
death more sharply."
"What if I tell you I met him abroad, only a year ago?" There was a
dead pause. Reuben breathed heavily. "Oh, don't play with us!" he
cried out; "if my dear young master's alive, let me know it. But he
cannot be alive," he added mournfully: "he would have made it known to
us before now."
The stranger unwound a large handkerchief, in which his face and chin
had been muffled, raised his soft round hat from his brows, and
advanced from the shade into the moonlight.
"Reuben! John Lee! do I look anything like him?"
Reuben sank on his knees, too faint to support himself in the
overwhelming surprise and joy. For it was indeed his young master,
Robert Dalrymple, raised, as it seemed, from a many years' grave. The
old servant broke into sobs that would not be controlled.
"But it is nothing less than magic," cried the farmer, when he had
wrung Robert's hand as if he would wring it off, and both he and
Reuben had had time to take in the full truth of the revelation.
"Dead--yet living!"
"I never was dead," said Robert. "The night that I found myself
irretrievably ruined----"
But here Robert Dalrymple's explanation was interrupted by a noise.
The malcontents, driven wild by Oscar's cold equanimity, which they
took to be purely supercilious, were rushing out of the Grange by the
front-entrance, fierce threats and oaths pouring from their lips.
Oscar Dalrymple might go to perdition! They'd fire the place over his
head, commencing with the barns and outhouses!
"Stay, stay, stay! let me have a few words with you before you begin,"
spoke one, meeting them with assured, but kind authority; and his calm
voice acted like oil poured upon troubled waters.
It was Sir Francis Netherleigh. Hearing of the riot, he had hastened
up. He reasoned with the men, promised to see what he could do to get
their wrongs redressed, told them that certain barns and outhouses of
his were being warmed and made comfortable for them for the night, and
their wives and children were already on their way to take possession.
Finally, he subdued them to peace and good temper.
But while this was taking place in front of the house, there had been
another bit of by-play near the stables. Mary Lynn, terrified for the
effect of the riotous threats on Mrs. Dalrymple in her precarious
state of health, begged her to return home, and ran out to look
for Reuben. Mr. Lee discerned her leaning over the gate of the
kitchen-garden, gazing about on all sides in the moonlight. A bright
idea struck him, quite a little bit of romance.
"I'll fetch her to you here, Mr. Robert," he said. "I'll break the
glad news to her carefully. And--_you_ won't turn as out of our homes,
will you, sir?" he lingered to say.
"That I certainly will not; and those who are already out shall go
back again. But," added Robert, smiling, "I fear I shall be obliged to
turn somebody out of the Grange."
"There's Pinnett, sir?" came the next doubting remark. "If Mr. Oscar
Dalrymple has leased him the estate, who knows but the law may give
him full power over us----"
"Leased him the estate!" interposed Robert. "Why, my good friend, it
was not Oscar Dalrymple's to lease: it was mine. Be at rest."
Relieved at heart, the farmer marched up to Mary; managing, despite
the most ingenious intentions, to startle and confuse her. He opened
the conference by telling her, with an uncomfortably mysterious air,
that a dead man had come to life again who was waiting to see her: and
Mary's thoughts, greatly disturbed, flew to a poor labourer who had
died, really died, that morning.
"What do you mean, Mr. Lee?" she interrupted, with some awe. "You
can't know what you are saying. Colter come to life again!"
"There! I know how I always bungle over this sort o' thing," cried the
abashed farmer. "You must just forgive me. And you can well afford to,
Miss Mary, for it's not Colter come to life at all; it is young Mr.
Robert Dalrymple. And here he is, walking towards you."
The farmer discreetly disappeared. Mary tottered into the shade, and
stood for support against the trunk of the great elm-tree. Robert drew
her from it to the shelter of his faithful heart.
"Yes; it is I, my darling; I, myself--do not tremble so," he
whispered. "God has been very merciful to me, more merciful than I
deserve, and has brought me back to you and to home again."
She lay there, on his breast, the strong arms around her that would
henceforth be her shelter throughout life.