A Set of Rogues

by Frank Barrett

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  _Moll's conscience is quickened by grief and humiliation beyond theordinary._

  "Stand aside, Moll," cries Dawson, stepping to the fore, and facing Mr.Godwin. "This is my crime, and I will answer for it with my blood. Hereis my breast" (tearing open his jerkin). "Strike, for I alone have doneyou wrong, this child of mine being but an instrument to my purpose."

  Mr. Godwin's hand fell by his side, and the knife slipped from hisfingers.

  "Speak," says he, thickly, after a moment of horrible silence brokenonly by the sound of the knife striking the floor. "If this is yourdaughter,--if she has lied to me,--what in God's name is the truth? Whoare you, I ask?"

  "John Dawson, a player," answers he, seeing the time is past for lying.

  Mr. Godwin makes no response, but turns his eyes upon Moll, who standsbefore him with bowed head and clasped hands, wrung to her innermostfibre with shame, remorse, and awful dread, and for a terrible space Iheard nothing but the deep, painful breathing of this poor, overwroughtman.

  "You are my wife," says he, at length. "Follow me," and with that heturns about and goes from the room. Then Moll, without a look at us,without a word, her face ghastly pale and drawn with agony, withfaltering steps, obeys, catching at table and chair, as she passes, forsupport.

  Dawson made a step forward, as if he would have overtaken her; but Iwithheld him, shaking my head, and himself seeing 'twas in vain, hedropped into a chair, and, spreading his arms upon the table, hides hisface in them with a groan of despair.

  Moll totters down the dark stairs, and finds her husband standing in thedoorway, his figure revealed against the patch of grey light beyond, forthe moon was risen, though veiled by a thick pall of cloud. He sees, asshe comes to his side, that she has neither cloak nor hood to protecther from the winter wind, and in silence he takes off his own cloak andlays it on her shoulder. At this act of mercy a ray of hope animatesMoll's numbed soul, and she catches at her husband's hand to press it toher lips, yet can find never a word to express her gratitude. But hishand is cold as ice, and he draws it away from her firmly, with obviousrepugnance. There was no love in this little act of giving her hiscloak; 'twas but the outcome of that chivalry in gentlemen which dothexact lenience even to an enemy.

  So he goes on his way, she following like a whipped dog at his heels,till they reach the Court gates, and these being fast locked, on alittle further, to the wicket gate. And there, as Mr. Godwin is about toenter, there confronts him Peter, that sturdy Puritan hireling of oldSimon's.

  "Thee canst not enter here, friend," says he, in his canting voice, ashe sets his foot against the gate.

  "Know you who I am?" asks Mr. Godwin.

  "Yea, friend; and I know who thy woman is also. I am bidden by friendSimon, the true and faithful steward of Mistress Godwin in Barbary, todefend her house and lands against robbers and evil-doers of every kind,and without respect of their degree; and, with the Lord's help," addshe, showing a stout cudgel, "that will I do, friend."

  "'Tis true, fellow," returns Mr. Godwin. "I have no right to enterhere."

  And then, turning about, he stands irresolute, as not knowing whither heshall go to find shelter for his wife. For very shame, he does not takeher to the village inn, to be questioned by gaping servants andlandlord, who, ere long, must catch the flying news of her shamefulcondition and overthrow. A faint light in the lattice of Anne Fitch'scottage catches his eye, and he crosses to her door, still humblyfollowed by poor Moll. There he finds the thumb-piece gone from thelatch, to him a well-known sign that Mother Fitch has gone outa-nursing; so, pulling the hidden string he wots of, he lifts the latchwithin, and the door opens to his hand. A rush is burning in a cup ofoil upon the table, casting a feeble glimmer round the empty room. Hecloses the door when Moll has entered, sets a chair before the hearth,and rakes the embers together to give her warmth.

  "Forgive me, oh, forgive me!" cries Moll, casting herself at his feet ashe turns, and clasping his knees to her stricken heart.

  "FORGIVE ME, OH, FORGIVE ME!"]

  "Forgive you!" says he, bitterly. "Forgive you for dragging me down tothe level of rogues and thieves, for making me party to this vileconspiracy of plunder. A conspiracy that, if it bring me not beneath thelash of Justice, must blast my name and fame for ever. You know not whatyou ask. As well might you bid me take you back to finish the night indrunken riot with those others of our gang."

  "Oh, no, not now! not now!" cries Moll, in agony. "Do but say that someday long hence, you will forgive me. Give me that hope, for I cannotlive without it."

  "That hope's my fear!" says he. "I have known men who, by mere contactwith depravity, have so dulled their sense of shame that they could makelight of sins that once appalled them. Who knows but that one day I mayforgive you, chat easily upon this villany, maybe, regret I went nofurther in it."

  "Oh, God forbid that shall be of my doing!" cries Moll, springing to herfeet. "Broken as I am, I'll not accept forgiveness on such terms. Thinkyou I'm like those plague-stricken wretches who, of wanton wickedness,ran from their beds to infect the clean with their foul ill? Not I."

  "I spoke in heat," says Mr. Godwin, quickly. "I repent even now what Isaid."

  "Am I so steeped in infamy," continues she, "that I am past all cure?Think," adds she, piteously, "I am not eighteen yet. I was but a child ayear ago, with no more judgment of right and wrong than a savagecreature. Until I loved you, I think I scarcely knew the meaning ofconscience. The knowledge came when I yearned to keep no secret fromyou. I do remember the first struggle to do right. 'Twas on the littlebridge; and there I balanced awhile, 'twixt cheating you and robbingmyself. And then, for fear you would not marry me, I dared not own thetruth. Oh, had I thought you'd only keep me for your mistress, I'd havetold you I was not your cousin. Little as this is, there's surely hopein't. Is it more impossible that you, a strong man, should lift me, thanthat I, a weak girl,--no more than that,--should drag you down?"

  "I did not weigh my words."

  "Yet, they were true," says she. "'Tis bred in my body--part of mynature, this spirit of evil, and 'twill exist as long as I. For, evennow, I do feel that I would do this wickedness again, and worse, to winyou once more."

  "My poor wife," says he, touched with pity; and holding forth his arms,she goes to them and lays her cheek against his breast, and there standscrying very silently with mingled thoughts--now of the room she hadprepared with such delight against his return, of her little table inthe corner, with the chiney image atop, and other trifles with which shehad dreamed to give him pleasure--all lost! No more would she sit by hisside there watching, with wonder and pride, the growth of beauty 'neathhis dexterous hand; and then she feels that 'tis compassion, not love,that hath opened his arms to her, that she hath killed his respect forher, and with it his love. And so, stifling the sobs that rise in herthroat, she weeps on, till her tears trickling from her cheek fall uponhis hand.

  The icy barrier of resentment is melted by the first warm tear,--thissilent testimony of her smothered grief,--and bursting from the bonds ofreason, he yields to the passionate impulse of his heart, and claspingthis poor sorrowing wife to his breast, he seeks to kiss away the tearsfrom her cheek, and soothe her with gentle words. She responds to hispassion, kiss for kiss, as she clasps her hands about his head; butstill her tears flow on, for with her readier wit she perceives thatthis is but the transport of passion on his side, and not the untaxedoutcome of enduring love, proving again the truth of his unmeditatedprophecy; for how can he stand who yields so quickly to the firstassault, and if he cannot stand, how can he raise her? Surely and moresurely, little by little, they must sink together to some lower depth,and one day, thinks she, repeating his words, "We may chat easily uponthis villany and regret we went no further in it."

  Mr. Godwin leads her to the adjoining chamber, which had been his, andsays:

  "Lie down, love. To-morrow we shall see things clearer, and think morereasonably."

  "Yes," says she, in
return, "more reasonably," and with that she doeshis bidding; and he returns to sit before the embers and meditate. Andhere he stays, striving in vain to bring the tumult of his thoughts tosome coherent shape, until from sheer exhaustion he falls into a kind oflethargy of sleep.

  Meanwhile, Moll, lying in the dark, had been thinking also, but (aswomen will at such times) with clearer perception, so that her ideasforming in logical sequence, and growing more clear and decisive (as anargument becomes more lively and conclusive by successful reasoning)served to stimulate her intellect and excite her activity. And the endof it was that she rose quickly from her bed and looked into the nextroom, where she saw her husband sitting, with his chin upon his breastand his hands folded upon his knee before the dead fire. Then wrappinghis cloak about her, she steals toward the outer door; but passing himshe must needs pause at his back to staunch her tears a moment, and lookdown upon him for the last time. The light shines in his brown hair, andshe bending down till her lips touch a stray curl, they part silently,and she breathes upon him from her very soul, a mute "Fare thee well,dear love."

  But she will wait no longer, fearing her courage may give way, and thenext minute she is out in the night, softly drawing the door to thatseparates these two for ever.