A Set of Rogues

by Frank Barrett

  CHAPTER XXII.

  _How Moll and Mr. Godwin come together and declare their hearts'passion, and how I carry these tidings to Dawson._

  "What!" cries Moll, starting to her feet. "He whom I have treated thusis--" and here she checked herself, as if recoiling (and for the firsttime) from false pretence in a matter so near her heart.

  "He is your cousin, Richard Godwin," says the wise woman. "Simon knewthis from the first; for there were letters showing it in thepocket-book he found after the struggle in the park; but for his ownends he kept that knowledge secret, until it fitted his ends to speak.Why your cousin did not reveal himself to you may be more readilyconceived by you than 'twas by me."

  "Why, 'tis clear enough," says Moll. "Pressed by his necessities, hecame hither to claim assistance of his kinsman; but finding he was deadand none here but me, his pride did shrink from begging of a mere maidthat which he might with justice have demanded from a man. And then, forshame at being handled like a rogue--"

  Surely there is something in the blood of a gentleman that tempers hisspirit to a degree scarcely to be comprehended by men of meaner birth,thinks I.

  "When did Simon urge him to dispute my rights?" asks Moll.

  "On Sunday--in the wood out there. I knew by his look he had sometreacherous business in hand, and, matching my stealth with his, I foundmeans to overhear him, creeping from thicket to thicket, as noiseless asa snake, to where they stood; for, be assured, I should not otherwisehave learnt one word of this."

  "How did _he_ receive these hints at my ill doing?" asks Moll.

  "Patiently, till the tale was told; then, taking your steward by thethroat with sudden passion, he cries: 'Why should I not strangle you,rascal? 'Twould be a service to humanity. What have I done to deserveyour love, or this lady your hate? Nothing. You would pit us one againstthe other merely to keep your hold upon these lands, and gratify yourinsensate love of possession. Go, get you gone, beast!' cries he,flinging him off; ''tis punishment enough for you to live and knowyou've failed. For, had you proved your case to my conviction, I'd notstir a hand against this lady, be she who she may. Nay,' adds he, withgreater fury, 'I will not stay where my loyalty and better judgment maybe affected by the contagion of a vile suspicion. Away while you may; myfingers itch to be revenged on you for sundering me from one who shouldhave been my closest, dearest friend.'"

  Moll claps her hands together with a cry of joy and pain mingled, evenas the smile played upon her lips whilst tears filled her eyes.

  "Sunday!" cries she, turning to me and dashing the tears that blindedher from her eyes; "Sunday, and it 'twas o' Monday he refused to stay.O, the brave heart!" Then, in impetuous haste, "He shall be found--wemust overtake him."

  "That may be done if you take horse," says Anne Fitch, "for he travelsafoot."

  "But which way shall we turn?"

  "The way that any man would take, seeking to dispel a useless sorrow,"answers the wise woman; "the way to London."

  "God bless you!" cries Moll, clasping the withered old woman to herheaving breast and kissing her. Then the next moment she would be gone,bidding me get horses for our pursuit.

  So, as quickly as I might, I procured a couple of nags, and we set out,leaving a message for Don Sanchez, who was not yet astir. And we shouldhave gone empty, but that while the horses were a-preparing (and Moll,despite her mighty haste at this business too), I took the precaution toput some store of victuals in a saddle bag.

  Reckoning that Mr. Godwin (as I must henceforth call him) had been setout two hours or thereabouts, I considered that we might overtake him inabout three at an easy amble. But Moll was in no mood for ambling, andno sooner were we started than she put her nag to a gallop and kept upthis reckless pace up hill and down dale,--I trailing behind andexpecting every minute to be cast and get my neck broke,--until herhorse was spent and would answer no more to the whip. Then I begged herfor mercy's sake to take the hill we were coming to at a walk, and breakher fast. "For," says I, "another such half-hour as the last on an emptystomach will do my business, and you will have another dead man to bringback to life, which will advance your journey nothing, and so morehaste, less speed." Therewith I opened my saddle bag, and sharing itscontents, we ate a rare good meal and very merry, and indeed it was apleasure now to look at her as great as the pain had been to see her sounhappy a few hours before. For the exercise had brought a flood of richcolour into her face, and a lively hope sparkled in her eyes, and thesound of her voice was like any peal of marriage bells for gaiety. Yetnow and then her tongue would falter, and she would strain a wistfulglance along the road before us as fearing she did hope too much.However, coming to an inn, we made enquiry, and learnt that a man suchas we described had surely passed the house barely an hour gone, and oneadding that he carried a basket on his stick, we felt this must be ourpainter for certain.

  Thence on again at another tear (as if we were flying from ourreckoning) until, turning a bend of the road at the foot of a hill, shesuddenly drew rein with a shrill cry. And coming up, I perceived closeby our side Mr. Godwin, seated upon the bridge that crossed a stream,with his wallet beside him.

  He sprang to his feet and caught in an instant the rein that had fallenfrom Moll's hand, for the commotion in her heart at seeing him sosuddenly had stopped the current of her veins, and she was deadly pale.

  "Take me, take me!" cries she, stretching forth her arms, with a faintvoice. "Take me, or I must fall," and slipping from her saddle she sankinto his open, ready arms.

  "Help!" says Mr. Godwin, quickly, and in terror.

  "Nay," says she; "I am better--'tis nothing. But," adds she, smiling athim, "you may hold me yet a little longer."

  The fervid look in his eyes, as he gazed down at her sweet pale face,seemed to say: "Would I could hold you here for ever, sweetheart."

  "Rest her here," says I, pointing to the little wall of the bridge, andhe, complying (not too willingly), withdrew his arm from her waist, witha sigh.

  And now the colour coming back to her cheek, Moll turns to him, andsays:

  "I thought you would have come again. And since one of us must ask to beforgiven, lo! here am I come to ask your pardon."

  "Why, what is there to pardon, Madam?" says he.

  "Only a girl's folly, which unforgiven must seem something worse."

  "Your utmost folly," says he, "is to have been over-kind to a poorpainter. And if that be an offence, 'tis my misfortune to be no moreoffended."

  "Have I been over-kind?" says Moll, abashed, as having unwittinglypassed the bounds of maiden modesty.

  "As nature will be over-bounteous in one season, strewing so manyflowers in our path that we do underprize them till they are lost, andall the world seems stricken with wintry desolation."

  "Yet, if I have said or done anything unbecoming to my sex--"

  "Nothing womanly is unbecoming to a woman," returns he. "And, praised beGod, some still live who have not learned to conceal their nature undera mask of fashion. If this be due less to your natural free dispositionthan to an ignorance of our enlightened modish arts, then could I findit in my heart to rejoice that you have lived a captive in Barbary."

  They had been looking into each other's eyes with the delight of readingthere the love that filled their hearts, but now Moll bent her head asif she could no longer bear that searching regard, and unable to makeresponse to his pretty speech, sat twining her fingers in her lap,silent, with pain and pleasure fluttering over her downcast face. And atthis time I do think she was as near as may be on the point ofconfessing she had been no Barbary slave, rather than deceive the manwho loved her, and profit by his faith in her, which had certainlyundone us all; but in her passion, a woman considered the welfare of herfather and best friends very lightly; nay, she will not value her ownbody and soul at two straws, but is ready to yield up everything for onedear smile.

  A full minute Mr. Godwin sat gazing at Moll's pretty, blushing, half-hidface (as if for his last solace), and then, rising slowly from thelittle
parapet, he says:

  "Had I been more generous, I should have spared you this long morningride. So you have something to forgive, and we may cry quits!" Then,stretching forth his hand, he adds, "Farewell."

  "Stay," cries Moll, springing to her feet, as fearing to lose himsuddenly again, "I have not eased myself of the burden that layuppermost. Oh!" cries she, passionately, casting off all reserve, "Iknow all; who you are, and why you first came hither, and I am here tooffer you the half of all I have."

  "Half, sweet cousin?" answers he, taking her two hands in his.

  "Aye; for if I had not come to claim it, all would have been yours byright. And 'tis no more than fair that, owing so much to Fortune, Ishould offer you the half."

  "Suppose that half will not suffice me, dear?" says he.

  "Why, then I'll give you all," answers she; "houses, gardens,everything."

  "Then what will you do, coz?"

  "Go hence, as you were going but just now," answers she, trembling.

  "Why, that's as if you took the diamond from its setting, and left menothing but the foil," says he. "Oh, I would order it another way: giveme the gem, and let who will take what remains. Unless these littlehands are mine to hold for ever, I will take nothing from them."

  "They are thine, dear love," cries she, in a transport, flinging themabout his neck, "and my heart as well."

  At this conjuncture I thought it advisable to steal softly away to thebend of the road; for surely any one coming this way by accident, andfinding them locked together thus in tender embrace on the king'shighway, would have fallen to some gross conclusion, not understandingtheir circumstances, and so might have offended their delicacy by somerude jest. And I had not parted myself here a couple of minutes, ere Ispied a team of four stout horses coming over the brow of the hill,drawing the stage waggon behind them which plies betwixt Sevenoaks andLondon. This prompting me to a happy notion, I returned to the happy,smiling pair, who were now seated again upon the bridge, hand in hand,and says I:

  "My dear friends,--for so I think I may now count you, sir, as well asmy Mistress Judith here,--the waggon is coming down the hill, by which Ihad intended to go to London this morning upon some pressing business.And so, Madam, if your cousin will take my horse and conduct you back tothe Court, I will profit by this occasion and bid you farewell for thepresent."

  This proposal was received with evident satisfaction on their part, forthere was clearly no further thought of parting; only Moll, alarmed forthe proprieties, did beg her lover to lift her on her horse instantly.Nevertheless, when she was in her saddle, they must linger yet, he tokiss her hands, and she to bend down and yield her cheek to his lips,though the sound of the coming waggon was close at hand.

  Scarcely less delighted than they with this surprising strange turn ofevents, I left 'em there with bright, smiling faces, and journeyed on toLondon, and there taking a pair of oars at the Bridge to Greenwich, alleagerness to give these joyful tidings to my old friend, Jack Dawson. Ifound him in his workroom, before a lathe, and sprinkled from head totoe with chips, mighty proud of a bed-post he was a-turning. And it didmy heart good to see him looking stout and hearty, profitably occupiedin this business, instead of soaking in an alehouse (as I feared at onetime he would) to dull his care; but he was ever a stout, brave fellow,who would rather fight than give in any day. A better man never lived,nor a more honest--circumstances permitting.

  His joy at seeing me was past everything; but his first thought afterour hearty greeting was of his daughter.

  "My Moll," says he, "my dear girl; you han't brought her to add to myjoy? She's not slinking behind a door to fright me with delight, hey?"

  "No," says I; "but I've brought you great news of her."

  "And good, I'll swear, Kit, for there's not a sad line in your face.Stay, comrade, wait till I've shook these chips off and we are seated inmy parlour, for I do love to have a pipe of tobacco and a mug of alebeside me in times of pleasure. You can talk of indifferent things,though, for Lord! I do love to hear the sound of your voice again."

  I told him how the ceiling of our dining-hall had been painted.

  "Aye," says he. "I have heard of that; for my dear girl hath writ aboutthat and nought else in her letters; and though I've no great fancy forsuch matters, yet I doubt not it is mighty fine by her long-windedpraises of it. Come, Kit, let us in here and get to something fresher."

  So we into his parlour, which was a neat, cheerful room, with a fineview of the river, and there being duly furnished with a mighty mug ofale and clean pipes, he bids me give him my news, and I tell him howMoll had fallen over head and ears in love with the painter, and he withher, and how that very morning they had come together and laid opentheir hearts' desire one to the other, with the result (as I believed)that they would be married as soon as they could get a parson to dotheir business.

  "This is brave news indeed," cries he, "and easeth me beyondcomprehension, for I could see clearly enough she was smitten with thispainter, by her writing of nothing else; and seeing she could not get athis true name and condition, I felt some qualms as to how the mattermight end. But do tell me, Kit, is he an honest, wholesome sort of man?"

  "As honest as the day," says I, "and a nobler, handsomer man neverbreathed."

  "God be praised for all things," says he, devoutly. "Tell me he's anEnglishman, Kit--as Moll did seem to think he was, spite his foreignname--and my joy's complete."

  "As true-born an Englishman as you are," says I.

  "Lord love him for it!" cries he.

  Then coming down to particulars, I related the events of the past fewdays pretty much as I have writ them here, showing in the end how Mr.Godwin would have gone away, unknown rather than profit by his claim asSir Richard Godwin's kinsman, even though Moll should be no better thanold Simon would have him believe, upon which he cries, "Lord love himfor it, say I again! Let us drink to their health. Drink deep, Kit, forI've a fancy that no man shall put his lips to this mug after us."

  So I drank heartily, and he, emptying the jug, flung it behind thechimney, with another fervent ejaculation of gratitude. Then a shade ofsorrow falling on his face as he lay it in his hand, his elbow restingon the table:

  "I'd give best half of the years I've got to live," says he, "to see 'emtogether, and grasp Mr. Godwin's hand in mine. But I'll not be temptedto it, for I perceive clearly enough by what you tell me that my waywardtongue and weakness have been undoing us all, and ruining my dear Moll'schance of happiness. But tell me, Kit" (straightening himself up), "howthink you this marriage will touch our affairs?"

  "Only to better them. For henceforth our prosperity is assured, whichotherwise might have lacked security."

  "Aye, to be sure, for now shall we be all in one family with theseGodwins, and this cousin, profiting by the estate as much as Moll, willnever begrudge her giving us a hundred or two now and then, forrendering him such good service."

  "'Twill appease Moll's compunctions into the bargain," says I,heedlessly.

  "What compunctions?"

  "The word slipped me unintended," stammers I; "I mean nothing."

  "But something your word must mean. Come, out with it, Kit."

  "Well," says I, "since this fondness has possessed her, I have observeda greater compunction to telling of lies than she was wont to have."

  "'Tis my fault," answers he, sadly. "She gets this leaning to honestyfrom me."

  "This very morning," continues I, "she was, I truly believe, of twominds whether she should not confess to her sweetheart that she was nothis cousin."

  "For all the world my case!" cries he, slapping the table. "If I couldonly have five minutes in secret with the dear girl, I would give her ahint that should make her profit by my folly." And then he tells me how,in the heyday of courtship and the flush of confiding love, he didconfess to his wife that he had carried gallantry somewhat too far withSukey Taylor, and might have added a good half dozen other names besidehers but for her sudden outcry; and how, though she might very wel
l havesuspected other amours, she did never reproach him therewith, but wasfor ever to her dying day a-flinging Sukey Taylor in his teeth, etc.

  "Lord, Kit!" cries he, in conclusion; "what would I give to save herfrom such torment! You know how obedient she is to my guiding, for Ihave ever studied to make her respect me; and no one in the world hathsuch empire over her. Could it not be contrived anyhow that we shouldmeet for half an hour secretly?"

  "Not secretly," says I. "But there is no reason why you should not visither openly. Nay, it will create less surprise than if you stay away. Forwhat could be more natural than your coming to the Court on your returnfrom a voyage to see the lady you risked so much to save?"

  "Now God bless you for a good, true friend!" cries he, clasping my hand."I'll come, but to stay no great length. Not a drop will I touch thatday, and a fool indeed I must be if I can't act my part without bunglingfor a few hours at a stretch, and I a-listening every night in theparlour of the 'Spotted Dog' to old seamen swearing and singing theirsongs. And I'll find an opportunity to give--Moll a hint of my pastfolly, and so rescue her from a like pitfall. I'll abide by your advice,Kit,--which is the wisest I ever heard from your lips."

  But I was not so sure of this, and, remembering the kind of obedienceMoll had used to yield to her father's commands, my mind misgave me.